The Prince's Wedding

by Justine Davis

  She was surprised by the obvious genuineness of their emotions. Then she chided herself. They were human, after all, and there was no reason that being royalty precluded loving your children. At least they weren't afraid to show it, as she guessed other monarchs might be.

  The limo had reached the fence, and while the airport personnel, with the help of a couple of people in that same white uniform with the gold and black trim that she now supposed was for the royal staff or whatever they were called, did their best to control the group, it still surged forward. For a moment Jessie felt a jolt of fear, but the next thing she knew Lucas had rolled down the window beside him and waved to the crowd, who responded with ajoyous cheer.

  Once they were clear, Lucas powered the window back up and sat back in his seat. Jessie didn't look at him or speak. She was feeling a bit overwhelmed, and couldn't think of a thing to say anyway. Luxurious private jets, uniformed attendants, red carpets, mile-long limousines and throngs of cheering admirers....

  She smothered a sigh. Despite the obviously real feelings she'd seen between parents and son, Jessie knew that if she had to decide this instant, she would get right back on that plane and go home. She could never be part of this spectacle, this kind of glitter and pomp. It just wasn't in her.

  The size of the airport surprised her, as did the sleek, gleaming, and clearly state-of-the-art terminal. She'd known Montebello was wealthy, but somehow it was different seeing it in person. She would even admit it was beautiful, at least what she'd seen from the air of the island surrounded by Mediterranean waters glistening with more colors of blue and green than she'd ever realized existed in nature.

  She didn't really know how long the drive took. Lucas's parents—she found she was less nervous if she thought of them that way—tactfully chatted, putting no pressure on her to join in. At least, she assumed that's what their intent was, rather than an attempt to exclude her. She wasn't that paranoid. Not yet, anyway.

  This gave her a chance to look out the window at the passing landscape. Which, she admitted, was as beautiful as it looked from the air. And as varied as Lucas had promised her.

  The airport appeared to be on a large plain, but she could see mountains rising in the distance. Off to one side on a separate airfield adjacent to the airport, she saw what appeared to be military airplanes. She was startled for a moment when she saw the insignia they bore and realized they were American planes. Then she recalled the emphasis in the articles about Montebello on its strategic importance to the U.S., and the frequent mention of the military base that had been there for years. The sight of this little piece of home caused both a pang and a smile.

  From the airport they followed the coastline, and Jessie stared out the window, rapt. She'd thought Lucas had been exaggerating when he'd talked of "orchids and lilies of the field growing wild," but it was clear he hadn't been—that exotic-looking flower over there, just growing along the side of the road, had to be an orchid.

  As the coastline curved into a lovely, large, sweeping cove, she saw on the far shore the first buildings of what appeared to be a sizeable city. San Sebastian, the capital, she thought, remembering the maps she'd looked at when she'd first discovered who Lucas really was.

  She barely had time to soak in the natural beauty before they were in the midst of a place that could have been any cosmopolitan city on the globe. The buildings soared, glass and concrete and steel, the outward manifestation of the wealth of this small nation. Only the occasional touch of distinctive architecture betrayed they were in the Mediterranean, on the doorstep of the Middle East rather than any other similar-sized city.

  As they reached the other side of the cove, the road began to climb as the land changed from rolling hills to steeper terrain. The buildings they passed became older, more classical in style, and if she'd been told she was in an old Italian village, Jessie wouldn't have argued.

  They reached an open area amid the buildings that made her think even more of photographs she'd seen of Italy. A piazza, she thought, complete with tourists, cobblestones and pigeons, or whatever the local version of the ubiquitous bird was. And the requisite romantic horse and carriage or two to convey tourists to the local attractions.

  Of which they seemed to be one, she noted with some amusement as people turned to stare as they passed slowly through the crowded piazza. Some of them waved, some nodded, some even saluted in one way or another. She supposed those last were locals who knew who the big limousine belonged to. And again she thought what a strange way this was to live.

  Around the edge of the expanse were several shops and restaurants that fairly reeked atmosphere. And high prices, Jessie thought. There were even a couple with no visible signs to show what business they were in, which to Jessie had always meant if you didn't already know, you couldn't afford to shop there.

  She supposed Lucas knew them all, and patronized them. She had the feeling she had only seen the tip of the iceberg when it came to his wealth.

  "—Jessica?"

  It took her a moment to tune in to the quiet female voice and realize she was being spoken to directly for the first time on this strange journey.

  "Jessie, please. Or Jess," she said automatically, as she always did whenever anyone used her detested proper name. Then she caught herself, blushing, as she realized she had just corrected a queen.

  But Queen Gwendolyn responded with pure grace. "Thank you, dear. I'm honored. I was just saying that we were going to have a welcome dinner for you at the Glass Swan—" she gestured toward an elegant-looking restaurant overlooking the harbor "—but we were afraid it would be too much too soon. So we'll do it another day."

  "I.. .thank you. Yes, it would have been too much. It's been a very long day."

  "I'm sure it has," she said kindly. "So we'll just get you home where you can rest until tomorrow."

  "Thank you," Jessie repeated, this time with heartfelt gratitude, and the queen smiled.

  The car began to slow, and Jessie looked out. There was a gap in the buildings around the piazza where there stood only a tall, wrought-iron fence. In the center of the fence was a pair of even taller, ornate iron gates. There was an elaborate pattern in the center, and it took her a moment to realize that it was a crest of sorts, with a stylized "S" at the center.

  In the instant she realized the letter probably stood for Sebastiani, the gates began to open, confirming her guess. Yet no one seemed inclined to bother them—apart from a family of obvious tourists, clad in loud clothing and with cameras in hand, trying to peek into the tinted windows as they slowed to go through the heavy gates. They passed a guardhouse where a man in uniform bowed, then waved.

  "No crowds?" she asked, wondering if that was due to fear, or respect.

  "Not usually," Lucas said. "Most people know they're allowed in to tour the house on specific days, with few questions asked." He smiled. "A tradition we borrowed from your White House."

  Respect then, she decided.

  She turned to watch the huge gates swing closed behind them. Then she returned to facing front.

  And realized they'd entered Oz.

  Chapter 11

  She truly did feel like they'd entered another world once they'd passed through those gates. They'd gone from the quaint, bustling piazza that could have been in any crowded city, to expansive grounds that were like a huge park, with great swaths of green lawn, patches of profuse, exotic—to Jessie at least—flowers, which she guessed weren't nearly as casual in planting or maintenance as they were in appearance.

  Once they were out of sight of the gates, she never would have guessed that the city they'd just passed through even existed, let alone that it was so close. She remembered from the map she'd seen that the royal palace was on one tip of the island of Montebello, and she guessed that had to be where they were headed now. She'd just had no idea the grounds surrounding the palace would be so expansive. It wasn't home, but she didn't feel cramped or hemmed in, either.

  The drive rounded a small hill,
and she could see the sparkle of the Mediterranean at the bottom of the cliff. Each turn revealed another spectacular vista. It put her in mind of some of the high mountain roads back home, where every curve in the road brought you a different view.

  At last they turned slightly away from the sea, and the road rose as they headed up a slight grade. And then nothing could draw her attention from the amazing building that came into view.

  Here was the pure Mediterranean feel, two stories of sunwashed marble gleaming in the midst of all the greenery. A long, wide circular cobblestone drive wrapped around a large fountain, beautifully landscaped with flowerbeds and inviting benches. Across from the fountain was what appeared to be the main entrance to the large building.

  Palace.

  It suddenly struck her that this was the right word. She was about to enter a palace. Smaller than, say, Buckingham, but then, Buckingham didn't have this kind of view. Few places on earth had this kind of view.

  But she didn't get much chance to take it in. The limo pulled to a halt in front of that main entrance, and within seconds the man from the front seat had the back door open. The next thing she knew she was being guided up the massive front steps and into a marble-floored foyer with an exquisitely painted ceiling that soared so high it nearly made her dizzy to look up at it.

  Directly ahead was a wide, grand staircase that led to the second floor. Off to the left was a balcony that looked down on the foyer where they stood. She glanced around, but it seemed impossible to take it all in, all the marble, gilt details, and paintings. She would have thought the place would feel dark, heavy, but it was instead amazingly light.

  "You'll get the big tour tomorrow, if you want," Lucas said to her. "But now, I think you need to rest."

  "Rest sounds wonderful," she said gratefully.

  Sleeping for about a week sounded wonderful. She shouldn't be so exhausted, Jessie thought. All she'd done was fly on a plane. For many hours, of course, but she'd slept a bit during the flight. It didn't seem to make any difference, though; she felt as if she were about to drop. Stress, she supposed. Unfortunately, even if she slept for that entire week, when she woke up she would still be here in Montebello, and thus still under stress.

  But she couldn't even begin to articulate her feelings, and Lucas wouldn't understand even if she could. He was home, and happy to be here, she could see it in his face. She, on the other hand, was wishing she'd never decided to do this. Still she told herself she was just tired, that she'd agreed to this and it was time to stop whining about it.

  She hesitated when Eliya came to take the baby, but rationalized that the woman had taken care of him before and he'd come to no harm. Her exhausted brain tried to make up some nightmare scenario where she never saw Luke again, and this was all a plot engineered by the imperious Sebastianis to get rid of her, so there would be no dispute over who would raise Luke. After all, if her own sister could do what she'd done, what was to stop these total strangers, with all their wealth and position, from securing their royal heir however they had to? Who would question them if she disappeared, never to be seen again? She had no one left, no one who would care.

  Lord, you're pitiful, just get off it, she snapped at herself inwardly.

  Because of her silly thoughts, she followed Lucas rather meekly up those stairs. She wondered if her weariness was why the place seemed to expand with every step she went up, or if it was some strange optical illusion. At the top Lucas seemed to hesitate for a moment, then turned left.

  They went through a large room she guessed was a sitting room of some kind, or a common area for the upper floor. It was furnished in bold colors that could have overpowered the room were it not for the many tall French doors in the far wall, opening out onto a lovely terrace with a gasp-inducing view of the sea. As they continued, she saw a balcony that she recognized as the one she'd looked up at from below.

  But then Lucas was opening a door and gesturing her through. She stepped into one of the most incredible rooms she'd ever seen, decorated in luscious tones of blue and green, furnishings a bit ornate for her taste, yet fitting in this gilt-edged setting. The bed was a huge four-poster such as she'd only seen in pictures, so tall there was a three-step stool beside it. Each post of the bed was swathed in rich fabric of a deep royal—of course, she thought—blue, while the windows were draped in equally rich fabric of green patterned with the same blue. The matching bedspread had the unmistakable sheen of silk, and inanely Jessie wondered if anybody ever dared eat in bed around here.

  Beyond the windows she saw that she had a terrace of her own, with the same breathtaking view as the large parlor they'd come through. The thought of stepping outside to that view in the morning—or perhaps at night, since it would be so much warmer here, the novelty of that attracted her—was enticing, and she smiled.

  She realized that her bags were already here, placed neatly on the carved mahogany bench, upholstered in the same silk, at the foot of the huge bed. She wasn't sure how they'd managed that, and wondered if everything at the Sebastiani palace worked so quietly and efficiently.

  "I'll have someone unpack and press your things," Lucas said, "but for now why don't you lie down for a while? We'll have lunch in a couple of hours."

  "Lunch? What time is it here?"

  "Ten a.m. On Tuesday," he added, with the ease of one long used to crossing more time zones than he had fingers.

  She shook her head; another thing she could never get used to. "I would like to sleep for a while," she agreed. "And," she added, "I can unpack myself."

  "Of course you can," Lucas said easily.

  He turned as if to go, then turned back to her. He gave her a look she couldn't quite define. And then he leaned over, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. With exquisite care, yet so deeply and thoroughly that she was reminded of those days back on the ranch when she and the hand named Joe had fallen so totally and completely in love.

  When neither of them had known who he was. When the idea of this place, and him belonging in it, would have been the height of absurdity.

  He left her reeling, without saying a word. And she rather dizzily wondered why he'd put her in here, instead of his own room.

  She snapped out of her pleasurable haze. What on earth was she thinking? Did she really want to stay with him in this place, with his parents, knowing her private life would be public knowledge, and no doubt the subject of gossip from the moment it was learned she was sharing Lucas's bed? Not that it wasn't obvious by Luke's very existence, but it was one thing on her ranch, where everybody minded their own business, and something else here, where from everything she'd seen and heard, these people lived in a goldfish bowl. And she wasn't about to provide any entertainment for the fish watchers.

  That decided, and with a sense of relief that Lucas had had the sense to put her here, she slipped out of her travel-wrinkled clothes. She dug her nightwear out of the smaller suitcase, and with a sense of wicked glee at sleeping amid silk and satin in a faded T-shirt bearing the image of Taz, pulled it on and climbed up the steps and fell into the sumptuous bed. She was asleep in moments.

  * * *

  "She's lovely, Lucas," his mother said.

  "Yes. She is."

  Lucas continued his pacing across his parents' sitting room. Even the much-loved view of the gardens and the sea beyond, including the yacht harbor where his parent's luxurious, hundred-and-twenty-five-foot Sophia was docked next to his own smaller sailboat, were unable to hold his gaze for long.

  "Why don't you sit, son?" his mother asked.

  "Can't," he said briefly, making a turn and going back the way he'd come. He knew if he tried to be still, he would quite simply fly apart. He wasn't sure why, he should be feeling relaxed now that he had Jessie under his roof, but that wasn't how he was feeling at all.

  He saw his parents exchange glances, and wondered what they were thinking. They'd been married so long they could communicate without speaking, an oddity he'd accepted but never quite un
derstood.

  "She seems quiet," his father put in.

  "She's nervous," Lucas said, stopping for the space of two breaths before resuming his back-and-forth treks. "I had a devil of a time convincing her to come at all."

  "Is she angry with you?" his mother asked. "Surely she doesn't believe those tabloid stories."

  Lucas winced. He'd been unaware of the flurry of stories and rabid, wild speculation that had appeared in the trashy papers, but his personal secretary had placed a pile of them on the desk in his office downstairs, by way of warning and preparedness. He'd dreaded it, but he'd looked at them. The first ones were full of the news that he was alive, and later the news of Luke's existence had broken.

  The stories had ranged from the merely sensational, playing up his part in the breakup of the U. S. cell of the terrorist Brothers of Darkness—which had consisted mostly of trying to stay alive while in their hands—to the utterly lurid, focusing on the innocent, naive American he'd seduced and abandoned, with frequent mentions of his "alleged" amnesia. Those stories managed to plant the idea that he'd really known who he was all along, and had just chosen to dally with "a commoner" out of arrogant ennui, because his old thrills had palled.

  "She doesn't read them, thank God. If she did, I never would have gotten her here, not because of what was in those stories, but because they even exist. The idea of living in a glass house open to the world doesn't appeal to her."

  "Then why was it so hard to convince her to come here?" his father asked. Lucas had to smile inwardly at his borderline indignant tone. His father believed wholeheartedly there was no better place in the world than Montebello. He liked, respected, even admired the United States, but Montebello was still his pride and joy.