A Royal Wedding

by Trish Morey / Caitlin Crews / Nina Harrington / Raye Morgan

  “A cautionary tale, is it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She was quiet as they rode through the villages, going higher and higher into the mountains. Of course she knew what he was doing. He planned to show her that choosing poverty over royal life was fraught with peril and ugliness and heartbreak. And he was probably right. But what choice did she have? Life with Alphonso promised to be much the same.

  They pulled off the main road about an hour later, so that Andre could show her a meadow back in the interior—a place where he’d camped as a boy. Red and yellow wildflowers littered the valley floor, leading up to a waterfall with a huge drop, making for a magical view. They stood beside the parked bike and took it all in.

  “Gorgeous,” Julienne said. “I’ve never seen anything more special.”

  He smiled and looked at her, thinking she was pretty special herself. It was amazing how happy it made him just to have her appreciate something that he loved. But then, it was amazing how happy it made him just to be with her.

  But any chance of that would soon be over. In just a few days she would be married to Alphonso—come hell or high water. It had to be.

  The meadow was so beautiful they found they didn’t want to leave it, and they walked down the path until they found a small stream. Sitting beside it, each on their own flat rock, they talked and teased each other, and just generally made the day last a little longer than they had planned.

  And finally Andre got down to business.

  “All right, Julienne, since you have all this worked out, tell me what you think you’re going to do with your life. If you get your wish and don’t have to marry Alphonso, what will your life be like?”

  Suddenly she was nervous. She hadn’t told him her plans and she knew he wouldn’t approve. “Well, I’d rather not go back to the convent,” she said, stalling for time. “I think I’m ready to move beyond that.”

  “Agreed.” He looked at her levelly. “But you are rejecting life as a princess, rejecting poor old Alphonso, and I want to know what you see for yourself instead. What is it that you have your heart set on? What is it that you would most like to do?”

  Could she tell him? She glanced his way and decided against it. He would never understand.

  “For a start, I want to learn how to drive,” she said, avoiding the issue altogether.

  “Didn’t anyone teach you that?” No mobile phone, no driver’s license—what sort of modern woman was this?

  “No. You know very well there are no cars at the convent. Except Popov’s, of course. And even if there were, they wouldn’t teach me. They were too afraid I’d run off as soon as I had a way to do it.”

  He waved that away. He really didn’t want to delve into it. “Okay, you want to learn to drive. That’s easy enough. I could teach you in an afternoon.” His look was penetrating. “Then what?”

  She avoided his gaze. “What do you mean?” she said evasively.

  “I mean, what is it that you want to do, Julienne? What passion calls to you?”

  Should she tell him? She looked at him sideways and scrunched up her face, ready to do the dirty deed. She knew he would never look at her the same way again once she’d admitted her passion to him.

  “Okay. Here it is.” She took a deep breath. “I … I want to go to pastry school.”

  He blinked, not sure he’d heard her correctly. He leaned closer. “What kind of school?”

  She looked up at him, baleful. “Pastry.”

  He shook his head, still at sea. “I don’t understand.”

  Now he was starting to annoy her. Didn’t understand! Hah!

  “Peach tarts. Napoleons. Eclairs.” She was facing him now, her passion expressed clearly in her face. “I want to learn to make them. I want to create new forms. I want to—”

  “Enough,” he said shortly, holding up his hand. He was finally getting the picture, and the picture filled him with horror. “You’re trying to tell me you would rather slave away in a hot kitchen all day than be a princess? You actually expect me to believe that?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Believe what you want,” she said sadly. “You asked me to tell you my passion, and I told you.” She turned away. “Let’s change the subject.”

  He knew he’d hurt her feelings, but he still couldn’t believe it. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then he tried again. This time he told himself he would remain calm.

  “Tell me how all this came about. What made you fall in love with the idea of being a pastry chef?”

  “I love good pastry. Who doesn’t?”

  “Yes. Well, I love a good steak, too, but I don’t plan to be a cowboy.”

  She rose and turned away. “Let’s just go.”

  “No.” He rose as well, taking her by the shoulders, stopping her and gazing down into her pretty face. “I want to know how it all began. Please tell me.”

  She searched his eyes. Could she trust him? But how could she not?

  “Okay,” she said slowly. They began to walk along the stream, back toward where the motorcycle was parked. “I guess it all began when Nooma, the cook at the castle, began to let me help her in the kitchen.”

  He frowned, wondering if the woman should be fired. “Did she do this often?” he asked.

  “Often? Yes, it was often. But it was my doing, not hers.” Her quick humor was back and she laughed at him. “What do you think I was doing all those long winter days, waiting for you to show up?”

  He didn’t laugh back. “I expected you to be improving your mind with worthy reading, learning to play the piano, practicing your French….”

  “Well, I wasn’t doing much of that. I was in the kitchen, baking pies.”

  He frowned. “Where was my aunt, the Duchess, during all this? I thought she was keeping a firm hand in your development.”

  She shook her head. She was going to have to rat on the lady, but she guessed it didn’t matter. She’d long ago moved to the coast of France. “Your aunt, the Duchess, was usually confined to her room with a headache and a bottle of vermouth most days until teatime.”

  He stared at her, aghast. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  “Because I wanted to be in the kitchen, not reciting lessons to the Duchess. It worked out better for both of us. She had her thing. I had mine.”

  He groaned. Guilt was piling up all around him. If he’d thought about it he would have realized the Duchess wasn’t living up to her agreements. But he was as bad as Julienne. When he came to the castle, he’d wanted to be with her, not quizzing the Duchess to see if she had been a hard enough taskmaster.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I had my lessons with the governess in the morning. I got plenty done.”

  “Well, I guess that’s a relief.”

  “And then I went to the convent. At first they wouldn’t let me into the kitchen at all. But about six months into my stay the convent cook came down with hives and someone had to take over the cooking. The next thing you know I was in there, baking away.” She smiled, remembering. Happy memories. “When I volunteered they were all relieved, and even after she got over the hives and came back she was glad to have my help in the kitchen. She taught me a lot.”

  He was shaking his head. “No one ever told me.”

  “No? Why should they?” She threw him a scathing look. “By that time you’d decided to wash your hands of me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m only taking off the rose-colored glasses and facing reality. You stayed away. You left me to my own devices. What did you expect? You’re just lucky I didn’t decide to become a bomb-throwing Marxist. Plenty of royals are into that these days.”

  That made him smile, and that was a relief. Life was better when the Prince was smiling.

  She remembered how it had been when she’d first come to the Diamante castle to live after her parents had died. At first she’d been afraid of him. He’d seemed so tall, so strong—so unsmiling. But then she’d become
more comfortable around him and their relationship had blossomed into something close to friendship.

  He’d made it a point to eat at least one meal with her a day when he was at home in the castle—just the two of them. Those were the times she really treasured. She’d had to sit through a hundred stern lectures about how she should behave, but it was worth it. When the lecture was over, his hard, handsome face would soften with affection and he would ask her how her day had gone, or what she’d learned from her governess, or they would take the horses out and ride over the hills. He was wonderful. He was her life.

  That all changed when she turned eighteen. He authorized a big party for her birthday. Her aunt invited a hundred young people from royal and noble families. There were afternoon games and then a sumptuous feast in the great hall, and finally a ball that lived up to all her fantasies. Even now, when she closed her eyes, it all came back to her—the swirling lights, the throbbing music, the excitement, the colors. The young men had all wanted to dance with her and the young women wanted to be her friend. For the first time in her life she was the center of it all. It was intoxicating—a magical night.

  But best of all was the last dance at midnight. And that dance, of course, was with the Prince.

  She still remembered the song that had been playing—”The Look of Love”. They had swayed together without either of them saying a word, and she’d felt as though she’d entered a dream. They were out on the terrace, away from all the others. There was moonlight, shadows and music—and a gorgeous man in her arms. The song began to fade away and she looked up, yearning toward him. His mouth was there, and then the kiss. Slow and deep and delicious, it awakened senses in her body she hadn’t known she had. And then he pulled away, and others surged out onto the terrace, and it was over.

  But everything changed after that.

  She had to admit she’d had her daydreams, even though she knew there was no reason for it. Thinking of that now, she sighed and sank against the back of his leather jacket, holding on to him as though she could hold on to the dream as well.

  They entered the peaceful valley that led to Giselle’s home about an hour later. Andre was looking forward to seeing her. She’d always been his favorite cousin.

  He remembered when she’d come to him for advice. What had he told her? He tried to think of his words at the time. Something about not being foolish, not to count on anyone else in this world. Love didn’t last. She was going to throw away everything for the chance to reach for something that would melt away like a snowflake once she’d grasped it.

  She’d laughed at him, called him cynical. Was she laughing now? They would see the answer to that one soon enough. He only hoped Giselle would be ready to tell the truth to them both.

  Julienne could sense his moodiness. Was she really as attuned to his emotions as it felt like she was—or was she fooling herself? She thought of all those long, lonely nights when she’d stared at the ceiling of her small cell in the convent and thought about the Prince. And all the waiting she’d done. That really was the hardest part, as hope slowly faded.

  And now here she was, holding on to him with both hands. It was glorious, and she meant to savor every second of it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE big Harley made a lot of noise driving into the valley— an excessive amount of noise for people trying to hide from too much attention, in Julienne’s mind. She had a feeling Andre had been looking for an excuse to ride it out into the countryside. But she had to admit she was enjoying the trip as well.

  As they neared the cottage where Giselle lived they stopped at a corner, and a young girl suddenly swung down, hanging off a branch on a tree before them.

  About nine years old, she was wearing ragged jeans and a yellow pullover with a faded picture of a monkey on the chest. She stared at them from under a curly mop of light brown hair and they stared back. Andre cut the engine and swung off the bike, ready to catch her in case she should fall, but not wanting to be too obvious about it.

  She let go just before he got into place, and landed on her bare feet all on her own. He grinned at her.

  “Are you one of Giselle’s girls?” he asked at last.

  The child nodded solemnly.

  He grinned at her again. “What do you know? For a moment there I thought you might be Tom Sawyer.”

  “Andre!” Julienne remonstrated.

  “I’m Lily,” she said. “Are you the Prince?”

  “Yes, I am.” He bowed low to her. “At your service.”

  Her dark eyes took him in and seemed to approve. “Mother says I can be a princess if I want to be.”

  “Do you want to?”

  She made a face. “Heck, no. They have to sit on silk pillows and eat yucky food and wear frilly pink dresses that stick out.”

  He exchanged a quick look with Julienne and both of them tried not to laugh.

  “Is that what your mother told you?” he asked her.

  “Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “I read it in a book.”

  “Well, I’m here to tell you right now your mother didn’t spend a lot of time sitting around on silk pillows when she was your age. And, while it lasted, your mother made a wonderful princess.”

  Lily seemed pleased with that. “But she didn’t like it. She told me she didn’t ever want to be one. And I don’t either.”

  “No frilly dresses for you, huh?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “I like my clothes just fine,” she said, kicking the dirt with her bare foot.

  Andre gave Julienne a significant look that she knew was meant to convey how sad this was for Giselle, who must be regretting what she’d given up every day. And he might be right. But that didn’t mean Julienne would regret giving up the royalty business. She wasn’t Giselle.

  “Hey, Your Highness,” Lily was saying, looking over the chrome and black beast before her. “I sure would like a ride on that motorcycle.”

  “Uh.” Andre looked at Julienne and she waved her permission, jumping down herself.

  “Go ahead. Give her a ride. Take her on in. I can walk. In fact, I’d like to. It’s so pretty in this valley. Let me take some time to enjoy it.” She handed over her helmet to the little girl and started off.

  The snow pack had been a good one this year, and the wild flowers were taking advantage of all the extra runoff water. The entire valley was a riot of color.

  She laughed as she watched Andre take Lily for a tour through the village, giving her a thrill with a couple of little wheelies while he was at it. Those elicited shrieks of happy excitement from Lily.

  Before she arrived at the cottage at the bottom of the hill a woman emerged from inside and waved at her. Probably in her mid-thirties, she had a full, sensual beauty that looked a bit careworn but must have been something spectacular when she was younger.

  “Hello,” she called out. “You must be Princess Julienne. Welcome! We’re so glad to see you.”

  Andre arrived with Lily in tow, and two other little girls gathered around, begging for a ride as well.

  “After lunch,” Giselle told them. “We’ve got salad and finger sandwiches. The girls made the sandwiches themselves.”

  Going into the cottage, they all sat down around a large table. The sandwiches were free-form, as you would expect when such young ones did the cutting. But everything was great—in a homespun way.

  But as Julienne began to look around the room she began to notice something. Everything was very simple, but there was a spare elegance to it that bespoke something other than poverty. As she studied her surroundings she noted more and more items that were first-quality and looked very expensive. One way or another, this family was doing quite well for itself.

  But Andre didn’t seem to have noticed.

  “Whatever happened to … what was his name? Tavist?” he asked his cousin.

  “Tavert?” Giselle looked at him, bemused. “You mean my husband?”

  Andre looked surprised. “Was that his name?”

/>   “It was, and it still is.” Giselle grinned at him.

  “Oh. I thought he was gone?”

  “He is gone, but he’ll be back. He’s in Paris right now, negotiating with a major distributor.”

  Andre was looking more and more confused. “A major distributor? Of what?”

  “Garden decor. Mainly statuary. You didn’t notice on your way in?”

  She led them to the window and pointed out the many fantasy creatures inhabiting the yard, from unicorns to geese to garden gnomes.

  “We started experimenting with cement forms and casting from our own designs. We sold a few in our little shop, but things didn’t really take off until we started selling on the internet. Now we have customers from all over the world.”

  They chatted a while longer, and Julienne hoped that Andre was coming to terms with the fact that his cousin’s life hadn’t been completely ruined after all.

  “So you’re still happy with the choice you made?” Julienne asked Giselle when she got a chance to talk to her privately. Andre was giving the girls turns at riding around the block on the motorcycle.

  “Absolutely. The best thing I ever did.”

  “You ought to let Andre know. He thinks you made a big mistake.”

  Very quickly she explained about Alphonso, and how Andre was trying to convince her to marry him willingly. Giselle listened to the whole story, asked a few questions about the background and the treaty, then shook her head.

  “Julienne, you do understand that the only reason you were paired with Alphonso was that Andre was already betrothed to that Italian princess?” she said, bringing up something Julienne had never heard a hint of before. She wondered if she’d heard what she thought she had.

  “Wh … what?”

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “Italian princess?”

  “Yes. And, believe me, he wasn’t ready to get married at the time. This was almost eight years ago. He fought it hard, but his father, King Harold, insisted he had to do it for the good of the country. And I have to admit Andre is all about duty and the country. He’s the essence of the patriot. He finally agreed to do it.”