The Prince's Wedding

by Justine Davis

  Lucas seemed to sense her change in mood, because he quickly suggested they move on, and he would show her the rest of the palace. The afternoon became a jumbled collection of impressions as they went down the grand staircase and into the ballroom she'd been looking into from outside. She held her breath, waiting for him to make some suggestion about a wedding being held here, but he said nothing beyond pointing out the main chandelier, an incredible waterfall of crystal teardrops.

  From there he showed her the library and two drawing rooms, one decorated in red, one in gold, which connected by sliding doors that could be opened to the large banquet room. She marveled at the huge tapestries on the wall and how the rich cherrywood of the furnishings blended well with the burgundy of the walls and draperies. With a fireplace at each end, the room inspired her to imagine what an incredible setting it would be, with dignitaries dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, glittering by firelight.

  She liked the more subtle, smaller dining room better, cream and gold accented in dark green, and liked the pastel-hued, light-filled breakfast room best of all.

  He took her to the picture gallery and archive room next. She had expected something of the sort, but still the string of portraits of Sebastianis down the years was fascinating. Old King Augustus bore a startling resemblance to Lucas's father—or the other way around, she supposed. In fact, the family resemblance through the years was strong; she could see traces of that stubborn jaw and fierce intelligence in almost all the portraits that hung there.

  Next to the big oils of the king and queen there was a portrait of the current family, with Lucas and his three sisters gathered around the royal couple, but no individual ones of the children were present.

  "None of you or your sisters?"

  "Not yet. The traditional portraitist unfortunately passed away a couple of years ago, and mother hasn't chosen a new one yet. She's rather particular."

  Jessie glanced back at the painting of the queen in full regalia, noticed the way the artist had, while not being fawningly flattering, captured the essence of her beauty and personality, the genuine smile that curved her lips, the twinkling glint in her blue eyes. "I can see why."

  "And this," he said, gesturing to the next room, "is the archives."

  "Amazing," Jessie said, more used to the idea of love letters kept in a shoe box than anything like this.

  "Family documents, letters dating back centuries, marriage agreements, treaties, declarations, you name it, it's all here."

  This brought something to mind that she'd been meaning to ask. "Including the famous feud?"

  "Especially that," he said, with a grin that belied the seriousness, to her at least, of the subject.

  "Is Luke in danger here?" she asked bluntly. "He's been kidnapped once, because of who he is. I won't let him become a target again."

  "Do you think I will?" Lucas said, an edge in his voice. "I can't deny that anyone high profile isn't always safe in this world. But Luke will have a cadre of protectors, willing to die for him if necessary."

  She frowned. "That's not my idea of reassurance."

  "There's little threat from Tamir any longer. Julia and Rashid ended the feud, then our friends began to marry into the families, and now the Sebastiani and Kamal families are all either friends or in-laws. We have to get along, whether we like it or not."

  Now that did reassure her. "Sounds...confusing."

  "I'll lay it all out for you, if you like." His smile was a bit crooked. "Or maybe Mother should. So much of it happened while I was gone, I'm not up to speed myself." He gestured at the room they stood in. "But you could say this is where the feud between my country and Tamir came to an end."

  She blinked. "In here?"

  He nodded. "This is where Julia and Rashid discovered the truth about the murder that started that feud all those years ago."

  "They themselves?"

  "Yes." He grinned. "They had to resolve it, or Julia never would have married him. And believe me, those two needed to be married."

  "Because she was pregnant with his child," Jessie said, remembering the news stories.

  "No," Lucas said, his voice suddenly tense. "Because they were crazy about each other. Let's go."

  She followed him silently. She'd hit a nerve, it seemed. Because her question had pointed out the difference in their situations? Because she'd inadvertently reminded him that he felt forced to marry the mother of his child, a woman he no longer loved?

  She wished she could believe he'd corrected her because he loved her in that same way, but nothing could erase the cold, business-like presentation that had been more job offer than proposal. There had been nothing of love in it, nor had it been spoken of since, not even the night they'd shared at the lookout. She told herself she shouldn't be surprised; why would a man who lived this life want a plain, ordinary woman like her?

  And there certainly hadn't been love in the actions of the man who had walked out without even giving her the opportunity to make a choice about her future. Just as he wanted to take away Luke's choices. Which she could not and would not let him do. No matter what it cost her. Her son's entire life was on the line here, and she had to fight for him while he was helpless to fight for himself. Even if it meant she lost his father.

  Lucas came to a halt at a huge pair of the most ornately carved and gilded doors she'd ever seen—and she'd swear the gilt was real gold. There was something about the warmth and sheen that screamed it.

  "You might as well see the heart of it, then," Lucas said, and from his edgy tone she gathered he was still tense. She was about to ask him for an explanation when he reached out and gave the doors a shove. They swept open automatically, and she guessed they had to be powered somehow.

  And then she was staring into a room that matched those doors, a huge expanse of glitter and gleam, with soaring columns, tile mosaics along one wall that portrayed what looked like historical events, portraits of the kings along the other wall. Then she saw the roller of thick, red carpet beside the door, and then the raised dais at the far end of the room, behind which hung a huge, exquisitely detailed map of Montebello.

  You might as well see the heart of it....

  The throne room. This had to be the throne room, she realized with a little shock.

  Never in her life had she ever thought she'd be standing in a throne room. Any throne room. The closest she'd ever been to seeing one at all was in television documentaries on Great Britain. She had to admit it had her a little awestruck.

  "My father was crowned here, and his father before him, back to the beginning," Lucas said, his voice softer now. "On an ordinary day, it seems too much, almost a gaudy display. But on a state occasion, it befits the mood, the tradition, the importance."

  She was moved by the solemnity of his words; he felt deeply about this, she realized. "And you will be crowned here?"

  "When the time comes," he agreed. "But that's a long time away."

  "I hope so," she said, meaning it. "I quite like your father."

  "Really? He intimidates most people."

  "I can see how. But when I see how he loves your mother, I can't be too scared by him."

  Lucas smiled then, and a tightness in her chest she hadn't even realized was there lifted.

  "It will be a long time," he repeated. "As I told you, he's as healthy as the proverbial horse, thank goodness. Speaking of which, let me show you what I'm sure will be your favorite place."

  Curious, as much at the sudden gleam in his eye as wondering what place could be more special than this, she followed his lead and was surprised when they stepped out through a side door she hadn't realized was there. Parked just outside were a couple of small vehicles that looked like golf carts, and he walked her over to one.

  "I usually walk, but I don't want to wait to show you this," he said.

  She got in, he went around to the driver's side, and they were quickly off. The vehicle was silent, and she realized it must be electric.

  She look
ed back as they pulled away, realizing anew how huge the palace was, yet at the same time understanding that as palaces went, it was fairly modest. One of the maids had told her—part of that unrelenting campaign to impress her—that the royal family had repeatedly rejected plans to expand, using the housing budget only for repairs to the existing building, saying such an expenditure was unjustified when there were still things to be done for the people of Montebello.

  The cart wheeled easily along a well-groomed path that made a curve to the right around a rise a hundred yards or so away from the palace. When the building went out of sight, she turned back to face forward again. And gasped.

  Below, in a small valley still within view of the sea, was an expansive set of buildings and structures that could serve only one purpose, and one very dear to her.

  Horses!

  It was the most luxurious, well-kept stable she had ever seen. A sudden image from some long-ago-read children's book popped into her mind, of stables with marble mangers, and horses's names on brass plaques above each stall. It was that kind of place, worthy of the finest blooded animals, Kentucky derby winners or the Lippizaners of Austria.

  "Brat would have been well housed," he said.

  The thought of her lovely but rough-and-tumble little buckskin in this setting made her smile. "She would love it, for a while, but I think she'd be longing for the mountains before too long."

  "Like horse, like rider," Lucas said, letting out a breath that sounded almost like a sigh.

  "Yes," she said honestly. "I can't deny that. But I said I would be fair, and I will."

  She meant it. And she couldn't say this wasn't fascinating, or that she was sorry she'd come. At least, as far as seeing this piece of the world was concerned; Montebello was beautiful, fascinating, and she could understand why some thought it paradise. If it wasn't for her mixed emotions about Lucas, and the intense pressure she felt because of why he'd brought her here, she would be having the time of her life.

  But only because she knew she'd be going back home soon.

  It wasn't that the luxury of this life wasn't amazing. She was constantly looking around and marveling that people actually lived like this. But for a country girl, used to the simplicity of life on her ranch, it was often overwhelming. And only proved to her what she'd already known; the expensive trappings of this kind of life weren't very important to her.

  But this, she thought, looking eagerly ahead as they continued toward the stable, this she could get used to.

  The main barn was a long, low building with at least twenty stalls on each side. Each stall had a long run outside, and she imagined they opened onto a large center corridor inside.

  "There are fans in the attic, every fifteen feet, to make sure the barn doesn't get too hot in high summer," Lucas said. "Each stall is fifteen by fifteen except the broodmare stalls, which are twenty by twenty."

  "I can't wait to see the inside," she said, leaning forward to peer at the circular corral, which back home they called a bullpen. A larger paddock was beyond that, and in it on the far side was a black horse.

  It was the horse that drew her attention most of all. From here she could tell little except his color, a gleaming black she was willing to bet was pure, unlike most horses called black who were really a very dark brown, as evidenced by lighter brown in areas on the flanks and nose.

  Lucas whistled, a piercing sound that made Jessie glad her head was turned. The black's head came up sharply, he looked their way and trumpeted an answer that made her heart beat faster. Stallion, she thought.

  And then the animal started toward them. First trotting in a high-action way that put her in mind of those Lippizaners she'd thought of earlier. And then he broke into a smooth, sweeping gallop that sent his heavy mane and tail flying. He was at the fence waiting for them when Lucas maneuvered the cart to a halt alongside the paddock.

  Jessie got out without waiting and took one look at the horse's classic, dished Arab face and whistled lowly.

  "He's beautiful," she breathed.

  "Meet Pitch," Lucas said. "As in 'black as.' Pitch, be polite now."

  Knowing the propensities of stallions, Jessie approached cautiously.

  "He's a gentleman," Lucas said, "but you're wise to go slowly."

  She lifted a hand but didn't touch, just let the animal sniff. He stretched his neck out farther, and on instinct she did as she did with Brat, puffed little breaths against his nose. The horse snorted, but didn't move, and after a moment nudged her hand in a signal that it was all right to come closer. In his way, she thought, the horse was as royal as his owners.

  Then she was stroking and patting the powerful neck, feeling the play of taut muscle beneath sleek hide, and there was room for nothing in her mind but the joy of being near horses again.

  She could have stayed admiring the stallion for much longer, but she was also eager to see the rest. The barn was everything the spruce-and-tidy exterior promised; a horse lover's dream. He showed her the tack room with a varied array of gear, the office with its modern computer to track feed, vaccinations, veterinary info, shoeings, and then let her wander from stall to stall to her heart's content.

  Each occupant was unique to her, from the delicately boned white yearling filly to the heavier built four-blood bays used to pull the royal carriage on state occasions. She introduced herself to all of them, savoring the beautiful lines, the intelligent eyes, and the immaculate conditions.

  "If I 'd known this was what it would take to enchant you, I would have brought you here first," Lucas teased.

  "Well, you should have known," Jessie retorted without thought.

  "Yes, I should have," he answered, his voice very quiet.

  She glanced at him then, but his expression told her nothing. She hated that polished, practiced facade. She'd never seen it on Joe; Joe's face had been open to her, readable. With Lucas, she never felt sure of what he was thinking.

  And she couldn't help thinking that that was because Joe had loved her, so he'd let her see.

  And Lucas did not.

  Chapter 13

  "It wasn't easy," Gwendolyn said in heartfelt tones. "If I had let things out of my hands, those children would have been spoiled absolutely rotten. Our people seemed to feel it was their duty to shower gifts of all kinds on each child as they came along. Lucas most of all, because he was the heir."

  Jessie had been surprised when the queen had invited her, alone, to her personal parlor. She'd arrived, after dressing hastily in her nicest linen pants and a pale yellow cotton sweater, to find Gwendolyn dressed in a lightweight dress of nearly the same shade of yellow. Somehow that made her able to relax a little.

  She'd been here a week now, long enough to see that the easy, close relationship between Lucas and his parents was a real one of long standing, not just one engendered by the near escape they'd been through. After a few awkward moments spent wondering if she was holding the proffered cup of tea correctly, or sitting in a ladylike manner, Jessie had asked about raising royal children.

  "I tried to raise them as normally as possible, keep them in touch with the real world despite—" the queen waved in a regal way that encompassed all of their surroundings "—all this. I'd seen what happened to royal children who grew up thinking this was their just due, who knew nothing of the real world. Fortunately, Marcus agreed with me."

  Jessie seized the chance to ask a question that had been lingering in her mind. "Lucas said you've been married thirty-seven years."

  "Close enough," Gwendolyn agreed. "I love Marcus more now than I did then. And I loved him a great deal then," she added with a smile.

  "Yet you told him no? Often?"

  "I see my son has been busy spilling the family history," she said, sounding so amused that Jessie knew she hadn't offended her. "Yes, I did, at first. Five times."

  Jessie's eyes widened. "May I ask why?"

  Gwendolyn gave a shrug that somehow managed to be elegant. "Everyone else did. I was supposed to be swept o
ff my feet by the simple fact that I was being courted by a prince. But I was a teacher to the British royal family. I had seen that life from the inside, and was certain it wasn't for me."

  Jessie's breath caught. It could have been her speaking those words. And by the way the queen was looking at her, she suspected the woman knew it.

  "Besides, I didn't want to leave my home. I grew up in the English countryside, and I loved it there. I couldn't imagine leaving it."

  "But you did," Jessie said, watching the woman's still beautiful face intently. Hearing her own misgivings voiced by this regal woman was one of the oddest sensations she'd ever experienced.

  "Yes, I did. Because, you see, in spite of my resistance, I fell quite in love with Marcus Sebastiani. And realized he truly loved me. And once that happened, there really was no choice but the one I made." Gwendolyn returned her intense regard levelly. "And I have not regretted it, not once in those thirty-seven years."

  The queen's words echoed in her mind as she walked through the royal gardens a while later. Gwendolyn was a very smart woman, so Jessie had little doubt her answers had been planned to alleviate Jessie's worries. But the queen was missing one important detail that made Jessie's situation different than that of herself and Marcus.

  Marcus loved her. He had chosen and married his queen for love, not duty. He had not been forced in any way —she had noticed the dates of their marriage and Lucas's birth, and there were months to spare.

  Once more that lost feeling swamped her. Why couldn't Lucas love her as Joe once had? Had that nasty tabloid story been true, once his memory had returned, had he realized he was too far above a mere American ranch woman?

  Unbidden, a memory of that night at the lookout flooded her mind with images and her body with heat. Could that really have been a man who didn't love her?

  Don't be a naive fool, she told herself. You know perfectly well that for a man, sex and love are often two totally different things.

  For Joe, they hadn't been, she protested silently. But Lucas wasn't Joe, not really. She had always believed a person was the sum of many parts. It wasn't just who you were inside that made you the person you were, but how you were raised, what you were taught and what you believed. And there couldn't be two men further apart in that than an itinerant ranch hand and a crown prince.