Their Christmas Royal Wedding

by Nina Milne

  She had no idea whether or not the words even made sense but she was fairly sure they gave nothing away, would hold up to being quoted to the press if it came to it.

  The rest of the reception passed in a daze; her head ached as she chattered and laughed and stood with Cesar in a desperate attempt to appear normal. But now her body no longer yearned for the night to come; instead dread and anticipation weighted her tummy. Because come what may she knew she couldn’t sleep with Cesar that night. In truth she didn’t even know what to do for the best.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CESAR HAD WATCHED the conversation between Amelia and Gabi, had known instinctively that something bad had gone down. But there was no way to discover what it was, no way he could risk any speculation or notice by marching over to join the conversation.

  Instead he waited until they had finished, then moved towards Gabi.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘All OK?’

  ‘Fine. Why shouldn’t it be?’ Her voice was calm, a smile tipped her lips—she seemed every millimetre the happy bride. Dammit, she’d learn how to don a mask all too well, almost well enough to fool him.

  Almost.

  Because as the reception progressed through the speeches, through the laughter and banter and cacophony of good wishes that accompanied them, he knew she was faking, sensed she was more brittle, more edgy, more...elusive.

  Yet he was sure no one else would have the least suspicion and her composure, the way she was acting the part of loved-up, happy regal bride, made him feel edgy himself. This was too reminiscent of his own parents’ marriage, every public show of affection an act. The idea that his touch now made her uncomfortable was one that caused a cold hand to grip his insides.

  Then finally it was time for the bride and groom to leave. Gabi was whisked away by Imogen and Tia to change into her going-away outfit, a simple off-white trouser suit cinched at the waist with a glittering belt, her shoulders covered with a faux-fur shrug. Cesar received a clap on the shoulder from Antonio, a hug from Luca.

  ‘Look after her,’ his new brother-in-law murmured.

  More hugs from Imogen and Tia; his parents wished them well with cool hauteur, but at least accompanied by smiles.

  The car journey back to Aguilarez, achieved in stilted silence, was laden with a sense of foreboding. Sadness touched Cesar along with trepidation—this was not how it was supposed to be. The day had started with such beauty and happiness—he would never forget the sight of Gabriella headed towards him down the aisle, stunning in her radiance.

  Now he could see pain and tiredness etched on her face and all he wanted to do was make it go away. He reassured himself that it was all a misunderstanding that could be sorted out with a few words. After all, what could Amelia have said to cause this utter change in Gabi?

  Once Roberto drove up to the palace door, they alighted. Cesar had planned to carry his bride across the threshold, could see now that such a move would be rebuffed.

  Instead he led her into the lounge.

  ‘I’ll get a fire going.’

  Gabi shrugged and went and sat down, chose a single armchair, perched on the end, her hands clasped together.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, her voice colourless, cold, so unlike her usual tones fear gripped him again.

  ‘I am assuming Amelia said something.’ He frowned. ‘What I don’t understand is why you seem to have already condemned me. Without giving me a chance to explain.’

  Gabi’s laugh contained no mirth. ‘So you can try to cast an illusory word web, spin a diplomatic codicil to our marriage agreement, a waiver, a...’

  ‘That isn’t fair.’

  A shrug of her slim shoulders and then, ‘OK. You’re right. I suppose I should have fact-checked. Why did you split up with Lady Amelia when you did?’

  The question froze him in his tracks; his brain jumping ahead, he saw the train headed down the tracks. ‘It was time to end the relationship.’

  ‘Don’t play word games with me, please.’ Now her voice cracked slightly, but her eyes met his, the challenge clear. ‘Did you split up with her so you would be free to marry me?’

  Think. But his brain refused; he knew he couldn’t lie to her, knew he didn’t want to. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you love her? Did she love you?’

  ‘I can’t answer for Amelia but I don’t believe she really did love me, regardless of what she might have said. I didn’t love her.’ Surely she could hear the truth in his voice. But she couldn’t—he could see the doubts converge in her expressive eyes, in the clench of the nails into her palms. ‘Did Amelia tell you I loved her?’ Dammit—he should have closed Amelia down better during the break-up conversation, had been too worried about further scandal and hadn’t foreseen this.

  ‘But you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ she said softly. ‘You could hardly tell me, the woman you wanted to marry for political reasons, that you are in love with someone else. And you wouldn’t admit it now. Because you wouldn’t want to hurt me and you want to make the best of the situation.’

  Somehow he had to make her see that this was not how she thought it was, but for once words wouldn’t come, his brain fuzzed by panic, by the sear of guilt that he had hurt her, by the idea his marriage was already falling apart. ‘I did not love Amelia.’ She had to believe him. ‘I had no wish to marry her. I had no wish to marry anyone.’ Oh, God. That had come out wrong as well. ‘Except you.’

  ‘For duty. Because your parents told you to. For the sake of our countries.’ Her voice was dull.

  Try again.

  ‘You knew this marriage was not about love, but about forging an alliance.’

  She nodded. ‘I did know that our marriage was based around duty but I also believed you were truly free, that your break-up with Amelia was nothing to do with me. If I had known the truth, I wouldn’t have married you.’

  And now he could taste the ash of bitterness in his mouth and still he couldn’t find the right words to protest, to reassure, to tell her she had this all wrong. Because words had deserted him as emotions roiled.

  Now he saw a tear glisten in the corner of her eye, saw her impatient swipe to get rid of it. ‘I’m not sure I can be second choice. Again. For the rest of my life.’

  ‘That’s not how it is.’

  ‘That’s exactly how it is. My aunt and uncle—they were amazing people and they did do their best. But they didn’t really want a child; they had their life exactly how they wanted it and they had plans. They had saved for years in order to go travelling and then retire to sunny climes. Instead they took me in, gave up their dream. For duty. To do the right thing. You are doing the same.’

  Every word slammed into him as he tried to figure out the flaw in her argument, tried to work it out. ‘It isn’t like that.’

  ‘To me it is exactly like that. You see...’ She gave a tired smile. ‘I am not trying to be difficult. But now it feels to me as though I am second best. Again. A catalyst to sending someone’s life down an unwanted path. Again. I don’t think I can live the rest of my life like that.’

  Still no words would come. He looked at her and his heart tore. ‘It wouldn’t be like that.’

  Another shake of her head and then she rose, the weariness evident in her movement. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m too tired now to find a way out of this mess. I will sleep where I slept before. Goodnight, Cesar.’

  All he wanted was to move over and take her in his arms, hold her and tell her it would be all right. But he couldn’t, knew it wasn’t all right. Knew he had to figure out a way to make it all right, if he could just subdue the emotions that crashed and tore through him, made thought impossible, were filling him with unfamiliar panic and loss of control.

  So he watched her leave, before slamming his fist into the wall.

  * * *

&nbs
p; Gabriella changed out of her going-away outfit, chosen with such care and excitement and now a garment she wished never to see again. Her movements were jerky, almost uncoordinated, as she dropped the jacket to the floor, a horrid, torrid reminder of what had started out the happiest day of her life and then degenerated into this. It would have been bad enough but what made the whole mess even worse was the fact that she loved Cesar.

  Still loved him. What was she going to do? How could she spend the rest of her life with a man who loved someone else? A man who had given up his life for duty and relegated Gabi to the role of burden once again.

  Her glance fell on her suitcase and the pain, the mortification intensified as she recalled the sleepwear she had brought with her. All designed for a honeymoon, for nights of decadence, for the great sex that had been on offer. Instead she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, followed by more layers as she realised sleep would be impossible. Knew she couldn’t stay here, not tonight, not on her wedding night. The urge to run was overwhelming. Necessary. She glanced out of the window. The sky looked cloudless; she knew that snow was on the way.

  She and Cesar had laughed, joked about a white Christmas, about being snowed in together with nothing to do.

  But the snow was not due yet and even if it came she wouldn’t go far. Cesar had arranged for Ferron and Arya to be brought here so they could spend time riding on their honeymoon. She would ride just a little way, remain on royal grounds.

  She added more layers, woollen ones to keep her warm, her waterproof fleece parka, woollen hat, scarf, gloves, warm riding boots, slipped out of her room and hesitated, knew that Cesar would veto this night-ride idea. But she didn’t care; she had to leave. Carefully she slipped down the back stairs.

  Not letting herself have time to think, she carefully opened the front door a crack and slipped out and headed for the stables, entered and stood close by Arya, taking comfort from her uncomplicated nudge of greeting. Soon after she set off, her breath white in the dark cold air, the moonlight bright and cold on the path ahead.

  Her brain hurt as she tried to see a way forward. She imagined the scandal if she ended the marriage now. Impossible. The headlines, the fallout would be too much. The only way possible would be to continue forward, trapped in a marriage she could no longer tolerate. Yet the idea of leaving Cesar wrenched her with hurt too, but better the pain now than a constant mind-numbing, soul-destroying ache of a one-sided love, in the knowledge he would have preferred a different life with a different woman but was stuck with her, putting a brave face on it. The mortification in itself stabbed her with a new pain.

  The thoughts jostled and scrambled, hurled themselves round her brain. Was this how her mother had felt? All those years ago when she’d fled Casavalle, trying to decide if her marriage had been a mistake, if she could live with being a burden to the man she loved. As the thought added itself to the mix Gabi suddenly became aware of the swirl of snowflakes.

  Dammit. She’d lost track of the time—come to that she’d lost track of her surroundings. A rookie mistake. Yet the snowflakes were welcome, a sudden dose of reality. What the hell was she doing? She was running away—as her mother had done. Fleeing from the problem, rather than trying to find a way to sort it out. Her mother had regretted her flight, had left it too late before she’d decided to go back. If Sophia had stayed, spoken with Vincenzo, everything could have been so different.

  Gabi knew that her situation was different from her mother’s; Vincenzo and Sophia had been in love whereas Cesar didn’t love her. But why was she so sure that Cesar did love Amelia? His denial had been steadfast, but it had also been clear he was racked with emotion. Her thoughts fought for clarity but could find none, yet she knew with a bone-deep certainty that Sophia would tell her to turn, go back, that running solved nothing. If Cesar did love Amelia then they still had to work out the best way forward. Together. She tugged on the reins and Arya obeyed but the snow was falling thick and fast now and Gabi felt a sudden sensation of panic. Told herself to stay calm.

  It was then that the horse gave a whinny of fright. Gabi saw the glow of eyes looking at her from behind a bush and then Arya reared.

  * * *

  Cesar paced the spare bedroom, up and down, driven by sheer anger with himself. For messing up so spectacularly, for hurting Gabi, for not being able to make it right. Dammit, that was what he did—he made things right. And instead he’d stood there like a fool, an idiot, a gibbering, incoherent ass.

  He couldn’t leave it like this; he had to see her, talk to her. He pulled open his door and strode down the corridor, knocked on her door.

  ‘Gabriella. Let me in. It’s me.’ He knocked again, louder this time. ‘Please, Gabi. We need to talk.’

  More silence. Cesar frowned. Gabriella was not the sort of woman to cower in her bedroom in silence. He tried the door, realised it wasn’t locked, hesitated and pushed it open. The room was empty. The bathroom door was open and she clearly wasn’t in there.

  Turning, he made his way down to the lounge, the kitchen, and it was then that it struck him. She’d be in the stables. Sure he was correct, he left the castle and ran across the flagged courtyard, registered the swirl of snowfall; the cold flakes sizzled as he entered the familiar hay-scented warmth and looked round.

  His heart skipped a beat as he realised Gabi wasn’t there. And neither was Arya. Panic impaled him—a swirl of snowflakes could transform into a storm up here on the Aguilarean mountains and Gabriella was out there somewhere.

  Fear clutched his heart, squeezed it, pulled the strings until breathing became difficult. And it was in that moment that the truth dawned on him. He loved her; he loved his wife.

  Then he moved. Raced around for provisions, wrapped himself up warm and then mounted Ferron. Set off on the route he assumed she would have taken. It was impossible to see any tracks, the snow coming down too hard now, the sheer cold combated by the adrenalin that propelled him forward, calling her name. Gabriella. Gabriella. Gabriella. The echo seemed to get lost in the increasing deluge of snowflakes that poured relentlessly from the sky, obliterating any signs of the path Gabriella might have taken.

  Bent low over Ferron’s neck, he scanned the small area he could see in front of him, terrified that if she had fallen, he would miss her or, worse, trample her. Then he heard the soft thud of hooves and felt a surge of short-lived relief. It was Arya but the horse was riderless and panicked, lathered in sweat, eyes rolling, and he cursed as he managed to grab the bridle and secured her reins to Ferron’s saddle. Soothed and calmed whilst inside terror raged.

  Where was she? Lying somewhere injured, hurt or... No! He would find her. Had to find her. Tell her that he loved her. Fear churned deep and cold—the idea that he wouldn’t be given a chance to tell her he loved her, say the words, that he might lose Gabi, his love, his wife, his life, brought a chill sheen of moisture to his skin.

  He rode on, tried to quell the rise of fear. And then out of the corner of his eye he saw something, a flicker of colour through the dense snowfall. He squinted, rode towards where he thought he’d seen it, recognised it as a scarf, a bright red woollen scarf tied around the branch of a tree. It was one of Gabi’s and hope surged, along with thankfulness for her resourcefulness.

  On and on they trudged, until eventually he made it to the tree, looked around, and there she was. She was scrunched in a ball; he could see that she had tried to dig out a snow cave for warmth, an action that could undoubtedly have saved her. He dismounted, tethered the horses to a tree and dropped down next to her.

  ‘Gabriella.’ His heart stopped; she lay so still, her eyes closed, her face frosted and pale and so, so cold. Worse, there was a trickle of blood on her forehead. ‘Gabriella.’

  Then her eyes fluttered open and she breathed his name.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. It is going to be all right. I love you, Gabi. I love you.’ As he uttered the words over and over again,
he lifted her up, assessed her situation quickly. Thankfully her clothing was warm, but it looked as though she’d tumbled off Arya. The forehead wound was superficial but he wasn’t sure if anything else had been broken.

  ‘Here.’ He pulled out the thermos he had brought with him and held the drink to her lips. As if the smell of the hot tea woke her, she opened her eyes, looked up at him. ‘Did you say you loved me?’ Her smile was so sweet, so happy, she took his breath away.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Good.’ She sipped the tea. ‘I love you too. Now I think I’ll go to sleep.’

  ‘No, Gabi. Not yet. You need to come home. With me.’ She loved him. The words soared through him and he dampened the joy. Not now. The words could simply be born of delirium and either way his priority now was to get her home.

  Somehow, by dint of coaxing and lifting, he managed to get them both up onto Ferron. Gabi, half-awake now, tried to help, but she was hampered by a twisted ankle and the fact that the cold had seeped through to her very bones.

  ‘I love you,’ he murmured again, the words so tender and so true and so blindingly obvious. He needed her to hear them, hoped she would remember them, but knew, if she didn’t, he’d have the rest of his life to tell her.

  But right now, as they set off on their journey back, Arya in tow, he wanted to say it all.

  ‘I love your smile, your courage, your bravery. Love how much you care about books and literacy and your family. I love the way you frown. I love the way you have taken on your new role, your new family. I love that you have shown me that it is OK to risk my heart; I will do everything I can not to hurt you, or lose you. But if you can’t love me, I’ll accept that and, yes, it will hurt, but I still wouldn’t change loving you. You’ve made me look inside myself. Made me realise that I can be more than a superficial person. It’s good to make the best of things but sometimes you have to do more than that. You have to put yourself out there. And from now on I will. I want to do more for the causes I believe in. I also love your courage, the way you laugh, your inner beauty and your outer beauty, the way you lose yourself in a book. You make me happy, Gabi, and I love you with all my heart.’