Royal Weddings

by Clare Connelly

  “Very good,” he said softly.

  Her response was a tight smile.

  She waited for him to serve and again she returned the ball but this time he was too quick. He sent it back over the net low and fast, and on the other side of the court, so that even Superman would have struggled to return the ground stroke.

  “Thirty, fifteen,” he said, as though she couldn’t keep score.

  She ground her teeth together and swapped to the other service square. His next serve was an ace and her mutinous glare forestalled him pointing out that it was game point.

  He lifted the ball, then bounced it at his feet. He watched her for a moment and then dropped the ball. He walked towards the net slowly and she did likewise, curiosity spurring her forward.

  “I’m going to win,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t argue.

  “I don’t want you to confide in me because of a bet.”

  Charlotte swallowed. “So why did you suggest it?”

  His smile was lopsided and he shrugged. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  Her eyes were enormous. He lifted a hand and curled it over hers, where it rested on the top of the net. His thumb curved beneath her wrist and stroked her pulse point. “Tell me because we were about to make love. Because you wish we had. Tell me because you’ve come to care for me. Tell me because I’m asking you to. Please.”

  Her heart was cracking. She stared into his eyes and felt aches and pains lodge in her chest cavity. She nodded jerkily, her eyes showing that the agreement was not an easy one to give.

  “I got scared,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. The net stood between them, and Ashad could do little more than stroke her wrist, comforting her, silently imploring her to continue.

  When Charlotte didn’t say anything else, he prompted, “But you told me you have experience…”

  “Not good experience,” she said with the sense of shame that accompanied the confession. She had seen a psychologist afterwards, Dr Medusans, who had helped her come to terms with what had happened. But the shame had never dissipated.

  Ashad studied her beautiful face with confusion. Had her lover not been skilled?

  “You don’t enjoy sex?”

  Her enormous eyes lifted to his. “We didn’t have sex,” she said, the words robotic.

  “You said you’re not a virgin,” he responded.

  “I’m not.” She swallowed. “We … he …” She closed her eyes, unable now to meet Ashad’s face. “I told you that I arrived at his house and saw that he had become obsessed with me.” She pushed back the memory; it was so fresh despite the fact it had happened years earlier.

  “And that you had already been intimate.”

  “No, we hadn’t.” She bit down on her lip. “I liked him, but part of what I liked was that he never pressured me. He knew that I couldn’t just sleep with my boyfriend. I thought he would wait – that he wanted to marry me, even.”

  Ashad nodded, stroking her wrist gently, calmly, hoping she felt his heart’s truth through his fingertips.

  “When I saw all those pictures and realised that I’d fallen into a trap, he knew it was over.”

  Danger was ahead. Ashad felt it. A murderous rage was festering in his chest. “And?”

  “He told me that if I wasn’t going to be with him, he’d make sure no else would ever want me. That no royal marriage would be arranged for a slut like me.” She didn’t realise she was crying until tears dropped from her eyes and landed on the back of her hand. She looked down, as if just noticing that his hand had curved over hers; that her tears had dribbled onto his flesh, too. She made to pull her hand away but he held it tight and lifted it to his lips, kissing her wrist gently, then chasing one of her tears with his tongue.

  His anger was a raging tsunami but he didn’t indulge it. He wouldn’t. Because she needed him to support her, not to indulge his own emotions. “But you weren’t a slut,” he said softly.

  She shut her eyes again, unable to see the disappointment she knew he would feel.

  “I often wonder if I could have fought harder. The thing is, I was terrified. And I kept telling myself that I’d misunderstood. That somehow everything was going to be okay. I didn’t fight him.”

  “He raped you,” Ashad said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  “No. Yes. I mean, I hate that word because I think of rape as violent and something that happens in dark alleys, not … by your boyfriend, in his bed, with the flowers he’d bought for you sitting in a vase right near your head.”

  “He raped you,” Ashad said softly, insistently. “And that’s not your fault.”

  “I know that. It took me a long time to realise it though.”

  “I scared you yesterday.”

  “No!” She turned her hand and squeezed his fingers now. “It wasn’t you. It’s just that no one’s touched me since him, and I just found it overwhelming. The memories, even though you’re nothing like him, and I didn’t feel anything like that when he … when we… it was so different.”

  “I’m sorry.” He lifted his hands to her shoulders and he gripped her tight. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” She blinked at him, and strangely, having revealed this part of herself to him, she felt lighter. As though the guilt she’d carried for years had been dispersed momentarily.

  “To have, even unknowingly, caused you pain. I would never have wanted you to relive those feelings and memories.” He lifted a hand higher, cupping her cheek. “I wonder, though, at the wisdom of your parents, in arranging your marriage. Syed is a good man; but what if he wasn’t? What if your husband to be turned out to be unpleasant or sexually aggressive?”

  Syed. Crap. Why did she keep forgetting about her intended husband?

  “My parents signed a contract with your uncle the day after it happened. There had long been an understanding between them, first that I would marry Zahir, and then that I would marry Syed. But after they learned what had happened with Marook, they feared the truth would come out and that Adin would refuse to accept the arrangement. I was spoiled, you see. No longer the perfect princess bride to barter. And so they locked the arrangement in place in a way that could never be set aside. Not even if Syed wished it, or I wished it. Don’t you see that, Ashad? We are prisoners of this agreement.” She sobbed.

  “Do you want to marry him?” He asked desperately.

  “Didn’t you just hear me? I have to. I have to.” She pulled away from Ashad and walked slowly beside the net. He did the same, until they met at the edge. She guided him back to the chairs that surrounded the court, sitting beside the Tiffany & Co bag. “My parents never said they were disappointed, but I know they were. They had never liked Marook, and I had dated him to defy them.” Her smile was humourless. “I won’t defy them again.”

  Ashad didn’t sit beside Charlotte. Instead, he crouched in front of her, his hands light on her knees. “Is this the same woman who stormed into my office, reminding me that we’re in the twenty first century?” He smiled at her and the world cracked open – she could see hope and light in his face and she wanted to reach for it.

  “But I’m still a princess of Falina.”

  “And I am a prince of Kalastan.” He leaned forward. “What if I told you I could fix this? Would you trust me again, Charlotte?”

  “Fix it how?”

  He lifted off the ground and sat beside her now, lifting the shopping bag. His eyes held hers. “Trust me.”

  She did. She did trust him. She nodded slowly. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying.” She looked at him with confusion. “Are you going to tell Syed? And Adin?”

  “That you were raped, many years ago?” His anger briefly popped into the words and he covered it with effort. “No, azeezi. That is your trauma, and while I am grateful you have shared it with me, I recognise that you chose to do so. Who you tell, and when, is exactly that – a choice. I will not add extra grievance to what you suffered by violating your privacy.”

 
She expelled a small sound of surprise. “How do you know just what to do? I needed you to say that to me, and yet I didn’t know it until you spoke. Thank you.”

  He nodded, then handed the bag to her. “This is for you. I had meant to give it to you yesterday, but …”

  “Yes.” She smothered the rest of his statement, not wanting to revisit what had happened the day before. She peered into the bag with interest. “What is it?”

  “Have a look.”

  With interest, she dug out two boxes, both larger than she’d seen from the jeweller. She opened the ribbon on one, her fingers deftly disposing of its satin length before cracking the lid off the top.

  The most beautiful mask she’d ever seen was inside. It was designed to cover the eyes and nose only, and it was decorated with hundreds of diamonds. She stared at it with an expression of confusion.

  “It’s beautiful …” She looked at him, then back to the mask. “I already have a costume for the ball.” She thought of the mask she’d been going to wear. The whole outfit was black – an incredible gown and mask that had been designed for her. Hope filled her now though – a hope borne purely of love and trust. “But I’ll wear this instead.”

  And she would find a new dress – one that was as bright and beautiful as the mask warranted. “Thank you.”

  He watched as she carefully placed the mask beside her and reached for the second box. She opened it, and at the sight of the garments inside, flushed to the tip of her head. “Ashad,” she said, the word choked from her.

  For inside was the most beautiful bra and pair of underpants she could have imagined. The bra was made of a fine mesh material except for in the very middle of each cup, where there was a strange thickening of the fabric – it was coarse and had small beads stitched into it. She ran her finger over it, and then turned her attention to the front of the bra. There were strings of diamonds along the cups. In between, there was a diamond, perhaps twenty carats. The pants were no less stunning. The same mesh material, with delicate diamonds beaded down the front, and at the waistband, it looped three times, in what she imagined would create the impression that she had been tied up by diamond rope.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, the inappropriateness of the gesture making it impossible for her to enthuse over the gift even as her stomach knotted and her heart leaped somersaults.

  “I want you to wear them to the ball. Think of me as they touch you intimately. And afterwards, I want to remove your dress so that you are wearing only these, and your mask. I want to obliterate any thought from your mind but pleasure, and me. Will you do that for me, Charlotte?”

  A shiver of anticipation was bundling through her. “Ashad…” she thought of her parents and Syed, of Marook and her past, and then she thought of Ashad and her nod was determined.

  “Because I don’t care who you’ve been with, or who you are to marry. I know only that I need you, and I think you need me too.”

  She nodded again. “Yes. I do. I will.”

  * * *

  Ashad left shortly afterwards. As he stood on the edge of the tennis courts, he reached down and squeezed Charlotte’s hand one last time; a small gesture that spoke of a big promise. “Trust me,” he mouthed and she nodded, her smile radiant.

  “I do.”

  Emerging down the path at that exact moment, followed by a servant who carried a tray of refreshments for the Kalastani delegate and the Falinese princess, Eloise froze, so that the servant almost bumped into her. She watched the interaction with a deep sense of unease.

  It was over within a second; and for all she knew, he was simply reassuring Charlotte about the wedding.

  But then, Eloise knew a thing or two about unrequited love. Her own experience gave her insight and knowledge.

  She recognised it between the two of them and she turned on her heel, anger pinking her cheeks. “Take it back,” she snapped at the servant as she stormed into the house.

  So her daughter had fallen for the wrong prince, had she?

  Well, well. Eloise would have to act to put all thoughts of that from Charlotte’s mind. It would not be easy, but Eloise was nothing if not determined.

  She reached for her phone and dialled the number. It connected on the third ring.

  “We need to speak; there might be a problem.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The first thing Charlotte noticed when she put on the bra was the purpose for the stitching and beads in the middle of the cups. At first, it was just strange, but as she wore the bra and applied her make up, her nipples became achingly aware of the sensation. The friction was causing desire to pool in her gut, and she knew it was by design. Every shift she made, every movement, heightened her awareness.

  The bra was something a man gave to his lover, knowing that it would keep her in a state of arousal.

  She pursed her lips, wondering if she should remove it, knowing she wouldn’t. Because it felt good. Incredible. Not as incredible as his fingers or mouth would have, but it was an excellent stop-gap, until she could be with him.

  And she would.

  Telling Ashad the truth about Marook had freed her. She was no longer a prisoner of her past. She had told a man the truth and he still wanted her. He didn’t think she was a slut; nor did he blame her for what had happened.

  Syed, she refused to think about.

  The dress she’d hastily selected hung on the door to her wardrobe. She walked to it, her eyes assessing the material, her fingers reaching to feel it.

  The dress was truly spectacular. A princess gown, the likes of which she’d never imagined wearing.

  She dislodged the hanger with care, draping the gown against her body. It had cap sleeves that would conceal her bra, and a modest neckline, that dipped only slightly in the centre. It was fitted to the waist, where it flared into an enormous skirt – a skirt that swooshed as she walked and had been filled with even more diamonds.

  A knock at the door sounded and she held the dress against her front.

  “Hang on,” she called back, perplexed. Then, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me. Mika.”

  “Mika!” She grinned. “Come in.”

  Her friend and servant pushed the door inwards. She had dressed for the ball already. “Oh!” Charlotte made a sound of approval. “You look perfect.”

  And she did. Mika had chosen a green dress that perfectly matched her eyes, and a classic black mask with emeralds framing the outline. Large peacock feathers had been attached to one side, and her lips were painted a dark red.

  “You do, too. Or rather, you will. Why are you not ready, Char? Your mother is already greeting the first of the guests.”

  “Oh!” Charlotte bit down on her lip. “I hadn’t realised the time. I’ll just be a moment.” She dropped the dress lower, preparing to step into it, but Mika’s indrawn breath had her pause.

  Mika was staring at the bra; it shimmered in the light like a pool of glitter and diamond dust. The enormous stone in the middle caught her attention.

  “Charlotte?”

  “It’s just lingerie,” she said with a shrug. Why hadn’t she anticipated that she’d need to explain this? Because she hadn’t thought that anyone else would see her in her underwear.

  “Did you buy it?”

  Charlotte swallowed. “Where else would I have got it?” She said, without answering the question. She pulled the dress around her hips then higher, slipping the sleeves up her arms. “Would you do me up?”

  Mika’s expression showed uncertainty, but she nodded.

  “Did your mother tell you that Yelana Katshin is staying at the palace?”

  “Yelana?” Charlotte hadn’t seen her old friend for many years. “I thought she lived in Turkey?”

  “She does. Apparently your mother called her earlier today and asked her to come. Something about a man she has to meet.” Mika laughed with no idea that she’d put a seed of pain in Charlotte’s mind. “You know what a match maker Eloise is.”

&nb
sp; “Yes,” Charlotte’s smile was tight. “Did she say which man?”

  “No, but you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to guess, do you? It must be the prince from Kalastan. Ashad Al’Eba. What do you think? Would he be good for Yelana?”

  Charlotte shook her head on autopilot. “I think he’s already met someone,” she mumbled.

  “Well, not according to your mother. Eloise made a point of telling me that she’d spoken to Ashad about Yelana and he’d been very interested.” Mika looped the last button through its hole then stood backwards to admire the overall effect. Strangely, the sight of Charlotte in a gown such as this did odd things to Mika’s own heart.

  “Oh, Charlotte. My darling. I can see you as you will be on your wedding day. I cannot believe the time has almost come for you to leave Falina, and me. How I will miss you!”

  Tears clogged Charlotte’s throat but they were tears that sprung from many different wells. “You will come to Kalastan to visit me,” Charlotte murmured.

  “Of course. But no more of this. The ease with which we’ve been able to spend time together…”

  “Stop,” Charlotte demanded imperiously. “You are going to make me cry.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Mika laughed. “You have a mask?”

  Charlotte nodded. The Tiffany box was on the foot of her bed. She moved to it, lifting it carefully, peeling the lid off and staring down at the artwork. And it was artwork. Each gem meticulously placed to maximise the effect. She couldn’t even imagine what the mask and lingerie must have cost. Tens of millions of American dollars, easily. She lifted the mask onto her face, tucking it over her ears and beneath her hair. She had styled her hair loose, with large, rolling curves that fell over her shoulders.

  She turned to study the impact and even she could see what Mika had meant. The gown was unbelievably beautiful. The mask was a show stopper. And when she placed her feet into a pair of slippers that had been embellished with crystals, she looked just as Cinderella might have.