He walked over to her side and offered her his arm as he took her over to the window, for he had not been oblivious to her pale fidgeting throughout the meal. ‘You seem a little distracted, Catherine,’ he murmured.
Unseeingly, she gazed out at the perfectly manicured palace gardens and told herself not to react. If Catherine he wanted her to be—then Catherine she would be. Hadn’t she learnt her lesson over that particular quibble?
‘Do I? Well, it’s been a pretty overwhelming experience,’ she answered truthfully, and then lowered her voice so that only he could hear her next remark—because surely a new bride was allowed a little coquetry with her husband, no matter how exalted his position. ‘And I just can’t wait to be alone with you.’
‘Neither can I.’ He didn’t miss a beat as he saw her lips part. ‘But you must be patient for a little longer.’
‘P-patient?’ She turned her eyes up to him in bewilderment. ‘You mean there is some other sort of c-celebration we must attend?’
‘Hardly a celebration,’ said Xaviero, his voice hardening. ‘Now that you are my wife, protocol demands that you must meet my brother, the King. When the meal is ended, we will be driven to the hospital.’
‘Y-your brother? But…’
He raised his dark brows. ‘But what?’
‘Your brother’s in a coma, Xaviero.’ Tiredly, she shrugged her shoulders—aware of the weight of the pearlencrusted bodice and the tiara still in her hair. ‘Does it…does it have to be today?’
‘You mean, he won’t know or won’t care when I introduce him to my new bride—that we could wait a year and he wouldn’t notice?’
Hearing the condemnation in his voice, she lowered her own. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. It’s just that you look exhausted—it’s obvious you’ve been under a lot of strain since you came back and took over. Would it be so very wrong if we spent a little time on our own tonight—and went to see Casimiro tomorrow?’
Didn’t the guilt which was churning inside him make him want to lash out? ‘Is it too much to ask,’ he questioned, in a voice of silken danger, ‘that you wait a little longer to satisfy your sexual appetite?’
She wanted to gasp out her outrage, to vehemently deny his softly uttered accusation—but, of course, she could not. Not when there were the island’s most important dignitaries on the other side of the room, no doubt trying to ignore the fact that the newlyweds seemed to be having some kind of disagreement.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ she said, her calm voice belying the painful scudding of her heart. ‘And you know I’m longing to meet your brother.’
‘Then why make all this fuss?’ he questioned softly.
Somehow he had managed to twist her words and leave her feeling inadequate—as if she had failed him on every level. The first test of royal life, and she had somehow flunked it.
Pausing only to change from her wedding gown into something more suitable for hospital visiting, Cathy joined Xaviero in the back of the limousine for a tense journey across the city as she nervously twisted the new gold wedding band round and round on her finger.
But all her own insecurities were banished when they were ushered into the intensive-care room at the top of the high-tech building, to a room dominated by a white bed which for one awful moment almost resembled a bier. Her fingers flew to her lips and she bit back a little cry of distress.
For there lay the King. His eyes were closed and his muscles wasted through inactivity—but he was still recognisably a formidable figure with the same high slash of autocratic cheekbones as his brother. At well over six feet, he seemed to dwarf the narrow bed on which he lay and the deep, hoarse sound of his breathing echoed heartbreakingly through the room. Cathy looked at all the medical paraphernalia of tubes and resuscitation equipment which surrounded him and had never felt so helpless in her life. That a fine, fit young man could be struck down like this…
And then she glanced over at Xaviero, and as his tortured features burnt themselves into her vision her heart clenched. He looked haunted, she thought guiltily. No wonder he had been so tetchy and so ill at ease with her. How must it feel for him to see his brother lying there like that and to be unable to do anything to help him, for all his power and his position? And there she had been—petulant about a name-change and because she’d barely had any time alone with him. A shudder racked her slender frame and for a moment their eyes met in a shared moment of silent pain.
‘Casimiro,’ said Xaviero heavily. ‘I would like you to meet my wife.’
And Cathy went through the motions of sinking in a low curtsey. The head nurse had advised her that the King might be able to hear her, and that she should talk to him. And so, shrugging off any feelings of self-consciousness, she sat and told the stricken monarch how happy she was to have married into his family and how she would do everything in her power to be a good princess. She found herself searching his inert, cold features for some kind of reaction—any kind of reaction. Could he understand anything she was saying to him? How terrible if his mind was locked in some frustrating prison—hearing everything and yet unable to respond.
By the time they left, a small crowd had gathered outside the hospital and Cathy was aware of the flash of a camera exploding in her face as Xaviero’s security ushered them through to the car.
But once the powerful vehicle had moved off, her new husband reached out and pulled her close to him, staring down into her too-white face. ‘I have been harsh with you, Cathy,’ he said bitterly. ‘Can you forgive me?’
‘It…it doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, but it does.’
‘No, I have been putting my own concerns first,’ she whispered. ‘Instead of realising all the responsibilities which have been pressing down on you.’
He pushed her hair back from her cheek. ‘Having you so close—and yet unable to touch you—has been driving me half crazy with desire.’ His mouth softened into a smile tinged with sadness. ‘And you were brilliant with my brother.’
Basking beneath the unexpected compliment and sinking into the longed-for warmth of his embrace, Cathy found herself wanting to smooth away those hard lines of strain from his formidable features. ‘Does he get many visitors?’
All Xaviero wanted to do was to block out the nightmare image of what they had just seen, but her eyes were dark with a question he had no right to ignore. ‘We have no other living relatives.’ He shrugged. ‘I go, when I have time…although every second is now planned out for me, as you know, so it is not as often as it should be. And, of course, I do not find it as easy to talk to him as you just did.’
‘That’s because women are better at that kind of thing.’
‘Are they?’ He allowed himself a brief smile. ‘And naturally, the King’s security and privacy is paramount, which means that no other visitors are permitted—not even his aides.’
Cathy thought about Casimiro’s terrible loneliness and isolation, lying there with only the nurses going about their daily duties of helping keep him alive, and she bit her lip. ‘Could I…could I go and visit him—would that be all right? I mean, I’m a relative now, aren’t I?’
Xaviero looked into her shimmering blue eyes, taken aback by her tentative request—since a desire to visit the sickbay would not have been a request made by any of his past lovers. ‘I don’t see any reason why not,’ he said gruffly.
‘Then I’ll ask Flavia to sort it out.’
He pulled her properly into his arms at last—and the sweet, fresh smell of her after the sterility of the hospital bay made him want to weep for all the joys his brother had lost. ‘Oh, Cathy,’ he said as he stared down at the uncertainty written on her trembling lips, wanting her to wipe some of the pain away with the tenderness of her touch. ‘Cathy, Cathy, Cathy.’
Trembling with the pent-up emotion of all that had happened, she paid no heed to the fact that he had rebuffed her more than once. She was just empowered by a need which matched the naked hunger in his eyes and her ar
ms reached up to lock themselves around his neck while their lips collided in a kiss. She heard the small ragged sigh which escaped him and felt the beat of his heart so close against her own. ‘Xaviero,’ she whispered.
‘I want you,’ he declared unevenly.
And, oh, how she wanted him. Back in a suite decorated with fragrant white roses, Cathy let him carry her straight to the bed, where he began undressing her with a sudden urgency.
‘You haven’t carried me over the threshold,’ she teased.
‘You want to go outside and come in again?’ he demanded, lifting his head from her breasts, which he was baring—button by button—his eyes almost jet-black with desire.
Terrified of tempting a fate that had kept them segregated since she’d arrived and too transfixed by the shivers of desire which were skating inexorably over her skin, Cathy shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I just want you.’
‘Then you shall have me, mia bella. All night long, I am yours.’ Making a sound a little like a low growl, Xaviero stripped the clothes from her body almost ruthlessly, his fingers and his lips reacquainting themselves so deliciously with her flesh that she immediately choked out a little gasp of pleasure.
But that first time of making love as man and wife was not the slow coupling she might have hoped for. It was wild, almost primeval—though no less thrilling because of that. And the pleasure was exquisitely sharpened by abstinence. Yet it felt as if he was using the sex as some kind of catharsis to exercise unknown demons. Sobbing out his name as Xaviero shuddered inside her, Cathy clung to him as he breathed something in Italian against her damp skin.
‘I’ve…I’ve missed you,’ she said eventually.
Lazily, he turned onto his side, his finger tracing an undulating line from hip to breast, where it lingered and teased the rosy little tip until she gave a moan of pleasure. ‘And I have missed this…’ Letting the hand now splay luxuriantly over the silken globe of her bottom, he felt much of the strain and tension dissolving in that soft, sensual touch. ‘You are…sensational,’ he breathed.
‘Am—am I?’
‘I’d forgotten quite how much,’ he declared unsteadily.
Wordlessly, they made love again and when it was over Cathy lay there staring up at the ceiling as her heartbeats gradually began to slow—not wanting to disturb a moment of the perfect harmony she felt. But as her own pleasure began to fade she felt a strange foreboding creep in to replace it. They were close, yes—but only physically close. The sense of oneness she had longed for had so far failed to materialise. Was she being greedy or unrealistic in expecting it to happen so soon? Or was she foolish in hoping that it might happen at all?
All night long, I am yours, he had said.
And for the rest of the time, what then?
Chapter Ten
THE next weeks were spent immersing herself in the art of being a princess—and Cathy was endlessly grateful for the adaptability she’d learnt while working at the hotel. Seamlessly slipping between chambermaiding and receptionist duties, she had been able to turn her hand to just about anything—and these were skills which proved invaluable in her new life.
And didn’t throwing herself into her new role help her paper over the cracks in her marriage?
Busying herself with tasks befitting a brand-new royal helped Cathy forget that her worst fears were being realised, day by day. And that the ice-cold heart of her new husband could not be thawed, no matter how much tenderness or passion she showed him in their bed. Only at night did he let his guard down—but the ardent lover he became crumbled into nothing but a memory by morning. The mask of his regency was assumed as soon as his valet began laying out his clothes and he became a distant stranger once more.
It was as if she had no real part in his daily life—when he treated her with the undemonstrative civility he might show one of his aides. She was never allowed to show affection, nor to disturb him—and if she wanted to speak to him, she had to make an appointment like everyone else! Reminding herself that she had been chosen as his wife primarily because she would accept such conditions, she resolved to say nothing. And, like generations of women before her, Cathy played down the shortcomings in her relationship by reaching outside it for fulfilment.
Her days were spent organising her new office and deciding on what staff she would need to help her. There were posts for a private secretary, assistant secretaries and ladies-in-waiting as well as a hairdresser and a language coach. Although English and Greek were taught in all the schools, Cathy had started to study Italian, which was the main language spoken on Zaffirinthos. From being a non-academic child herself at school, suddenly she could see the point in learning, if it actually had some kind of purpose.
And Xaviero’s aides were proposing a grand joint tour of the island to introduce her to the people—even though the dark cloud of Casimiro’s continuing coma meant that they were reluctant to pin down a date. But by then Cathy had started to visit the King on a regular basis and found that increased exposure to the inert figure on the white bed made his incapacity seem far less shocking than it had done at first.
She found herself actually looking forward to the visits—at least they made her feel as if she was being properly useful. She soon got to know all the nurses, who—once they’d stopped viewing her with a certain suspicion—soon started to warm to her. Because here, in this stark and bleak setting, all status and privilege seemed completely irrelevant.
Each day Cathy would sit with the King, while a bodyguard stood keeping his own vigil behind the bullet-proofed glass which had been specially installed. She found herself telling him about her blundering attempts to learn Italian and about how much all the staff at the palace talked about him and missed him. She described her little garden in England and how she hoped her tenants were looking after it properly.
And despite her own increasing loneliness, she tried to do what she had promised herself from the very beginning—to be a good wife to Xaviero, even though their time together was so restricted. Her foolish heart leapt with pleasure whenever they had a joint meeting scheduled, when they would sit at opposite ends of a long, polished table while their aides tossed out subjects for discussion. Or, briefly, they might exchange smiles if their respective retinues happened to pass each other along the wide, marble corridors of the palace.
They were rarely alone, except in bed when they would fall into each other’s arms as if their lives depended on it. And in the pleasure that followed, Cathy couldn’t bring herself to spoil the moment with a litany of complaints about how little they saw of each other. Maybe it was the same for every royal wife—one of the downsides behind the supposed fairy tale of privilege. In a way, with her limited access to him, she still felt a bit like a mistress—despite the bright band of gold on her finger and the royal crest which adorned her notepaper.
At meal times, there were always members of staff hovering silently in the background, pretending not to listen but watching carefully for any sign that the royal couple might require something—leaving Cathy to eat rather self-consciously, worried that her table manners might not be up to scratch. Perhaps that might explain why the waistbands on some of her dresses had become a little loose of late.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ said Xaviero one evening as she was dressing for a formal dinner arranged for a visiting Italian dignitary.
‘Have I?’ she questioned. And if her voice sounded a little dazed, it was because she was still reeling from the fact that Xaviero was here—in her dressing room. He had wandered in to ask her to fix his cufflinks—a ridiculously simple and yet oddly intimate request which had left her feeling slightly flustered, until she had gathered her thoughts together enough to realise why.
Because they didn’t do intimacy—not unless it was in the purely sexual sense. Xaviero had a valet to do his cufflinks. A tailor to measure his clothes. Aides he could confide in, and question about current affairs. Chefs to prepare his meals. He didn’t need a wife in the way that ot
her men did. His wife was an accessory—a compliant woman who was fast learning to be a competent princess.
‘You know you have,’ he said as he slowly circled her, like a predator eyeing up his victim. ‘That dress fitted you perfectly the last time you wore it.’
‘Only a few pounds,’ said Cathy. ‘And I’m…I’m surprised you noticed.’
Xaviero’s eyes narrowed, allowing his gaze to drift over the creamy décolletage which was displayed to perfection by the soft sheen of the scarlet gown she wore. His voice thickened and he felt the familiar kick of lust. ‘I notice everything about your magnificent body, mia bella—and you certainly don’t need to lose any weight.’
‘I wasn’t trying to.’
She looked strained, he thought. The slight weight loss had made her cheekbones appear sharp and slanted, so that her face looked all eyes. Was she doing too much? Driving herself too hard in her attempts to fit in—attempts which hadn’t gone unnoticed. Hadn’t the court already expressed approval of her induction into the di Cesere family—despite initial misgivings about the wisdom of his hasty marriage to such a woman?
‘Would you like a weekend away?’ he questioned suddenly.
Cathy finished clipping in a diamond earring and met his eyes in the mirror, her heart beginning to thud with hope. A weekend away? Maybe like the honeymoon they’d never had? She turned round in the chair, a smile on her face as she beamed up at him. ‘Oh, Xaviero—I’d love it! Do you really mean it?’
‘Why not?’ His lips curved into a speculative smile. She had been remarkably modest in her outgoings—in spite of him giving her carte blanche to spend his fortune as the mood took her. In fact, as far as he knew she had asked for nothing. If she had been trying to impress him with her restraint, then she had succeeded admirably—and maybe now was the time to reward her. ‘You and Flavia could fly to Milan,’ he suggested softly. ‘Buy yourself something from the latest collections.’
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