Now it was getting on for midday and still she hadn’t returned and his slowly ignited temper was in danger of erupting. He could hear Andrei talking quietly on his cell-phone and then the aide gently cleared his throat as he finished the call.
‘Your Majesty?’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘The Princess’s car arrived back at the palace a short time ago and she—’
‘Have her sent here as soon as she—’
‘You don’t have to have me sent anywhere,’ came a voice from behind him. ‘I came all of my own accord!’
He whirled around to see Zabrina standing there, a look of challenge sparking from her green eyes which matched the faint sarcasm underpinning her words. Her cheeks were flushed with roses, as if she had been outside in the fresh air, but there was no contrition on her face, he noted. No sense that she had offended him on so many levels he didn’t even know where to begin.
‘Where have you been?’ he questioned coldly.
She opened her mouth as if to respond and then looked at Andrei.
‘If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness?’ said the aide smoothly, backing out of the double golden doors with indecent haste.
Roman wanted to demand that his aide stay, or that Zabrina return later, when he might deign to schedule in a slot to see her. Or even to suggest she wait until they were having lunch—because any of those propositions would demonstrate very firmly who was in charge. But the glint of determination flashing from her eyes made him realise that any such request would be futile. And besides, why not get it over with?
‘So,’ he said coolly, once the doors had closed behind Andrei. ‘Are you going to answer my question and tell me where you’ve been?’
She made a big show of wiggling her shoulders so that her dark hair shimmered against the yellow blouse—the fine fabric hinting at the slender but muscular body beneath. Had she done that deliberately to emphasise her allure? he wondered achingly. To remind him how much in thrall he was to her agile physicality?
‘No ideas, Roman?’ she asked, with equal aplomb. ‘You aren’t going to accuse me of trying to seduce my new, Petrogorian groom?’
‘Hardly,’ he snapped. ‘Since you were seen leaving by car, with Silviana!’
For a moment she looked as if she was about to smile, but then seemed to change her mind for her face took on a completely different look. Softer. Thoughtful—almost gentle. And that put the fear of God in him like nothing else, because gentleness was alien to him and he didn’t trust it. Very pointedly, he lifted his arm to glance at his watch. ‘Whatever it is, will you please hurry up and tell me because I haven’t got all day?’
‘Roman, I went to visit Olga. I found out where she lives.’
A barrage of feelings hit him. Cold fear, dark dread and anger. But anger was the overriding emotion which made him shoot out his response to her. Because wasn’t it easier to focus on that, rather than confront the sudden blackness which was hovering at the edges of his mind? ‘What the hell did you do that for?’
‘Because I was confused by some of the things you told me.’ She licked her lips. ‘I guess I found it hard to believe that your mother never even wrote back to you.’
‘You think all women are fundamentally good—and mothers in particular?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘In that case, I pity you your naivety, Zabrina. I lost faith in your sex a long time ago.’
But she shook her head as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Some of the things you said didn’t add up,’ she continued. ‘Why she used to hide away. Why she used to only come to you under cover of darkness. It seemed to me that Olga must have known something and she did. That was another reason why she was sacked.’
Roman’s heart clenched as if some malevolent iron fist were squeezing it tighter and tighter. He wanted to turn and run, or to put his hands to his ears like a child and block out whatever was coming. But that would be the behaviour of a coward, and he was no coward. And hadn’t he weathered the worst of the storm all those years ago? What could possibly be left to hurt him now? ‘What did Olga know?’
She sucked in a deep breath and now he saw the flicker of fear and darkness in her own eyes. ‘Your father used to abuse your mother,’ she said. ‘Mentally and physically.’
‘No!’ The word thundered from his lungs. ‘That is not possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I would have known.’ He could hear the break in his voice as he shook his head in denial. ‘I would have protected her.’
‘No, Roman. You would not have known, because your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to know. She wanted to hide her pain and distress from you. She wanted to protect you, which is a mother’s instinct. And how could a small boy possibly save a woman from the wrath of his powerful and autocratic father? That would only have put you in danger and that was the last thing she would have wanted.’
He curled his fingers into his palms so hard that he could feel the deep imprint of his nails, but the sharpness of that didn’t come close to the fierce stabbing of his heart. ‘How could you possibly know what she wanted?’ he raged. ‘Are you the one who is now capable of reading minds?’
‘No. But I have helped many women like your mother at my refuge in Albastase—’
‘Poor women?’ he demanded in disbelief.
‘Yes, poor women—and some rich ones, too. As well as all the others in between. Because abuse knows no age or class boundaries, Roman, and there are victims everywhere. Olga told me that your mother often used to have black eyes. That was why she would read your bedtime story in darkness and why she sometimes ducked out of sight if she saw you walking down the corridor. It was why she had to leave, because she knew she was incapable of being a good and loving mother towards you, if she was constantly being beaten down.’
‘Then why...why didn’t she take me with her?’
Zabrina heard the raw note of anguish in his voice as he whispered out that stark and heartbreaking question and she wanted so much to comfort him. To take him in her arms and hold him. But not now. Not yet. Because didn’t he need to feel this? To really feel it—to have the ugly wound laid wide open after all these years, so he would be able to recover from it at last? Afterwards—maybe once he’d heard the whole story—that would be the time to offer him solace. If he still wanted her. ‘She tried to take you,’ she said simply. ‘But, of course, your father discovered her plans and made sure she was spirited away in his private jet in the dead of night, while you were fast asleep. I don’t know if you can imagine how different those times were, but a waitress from Missouri would have had no clout against one of the most powerful men in the world.’
‘She never got my letters?’ he questioned suddenly.
Zabrina bit her lip, because, oh, how she wished she could sugar-coat this one. But she couldn’t do that either. ‘I don’t think so. I suspect the letters might have been destroyed as soon as you dispatched them,’ she said. ‘But she wrote to you.’
He narrowed his eyes and the flare of hope he was so desperately trying to repress made her heart turn over with love and sorrow.
‘She wrote to you through Olga, but the letters only got through after your father died. I have them.’
There was a long silence while Roman digested this and he could feel the powerful thunder of his heart as he looked at the Princess who stood before him, her green eyes wide with compassion. ‘Why did I never receive them?’ he demanded, but deep in his heart he knew the reason.
‘Olga tried to contact you after your father’s death,’ she said gently. ‘But she was blocked every time. By you.’
He nodded, painfully aware of his own contribution to what had happened. ‘Because the thought of seeing and speaking to her again after all those years was more than I could endure,’ he said slowly, almost as if he had forgotten she was in the room with him. Was that why he did
nothing to conceal the bitter break in his voice? Or because he know that his Princess would understand? ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of reliving...’ He swallowed. ‘Of reliving all that pain.’
‘I realise that,’ Zabrina whispered. ‘And so does she. She knows you were responsible for the anonymous donations paid into her bank account for so many years and she thanks you for your generosity.’
‘I want to hate my father for what he did,’ he said, his voice changing into a rasp. ‘In fact, I do hate him.’
‘Well, don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Just let it go, Roman. For hate brings nothing of value to anyone’s life and you don’t know the truth about his own upbringing, I assume?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No, I don’t. He never wanted to discuss it. He never wanted to discuss anything.’ His father had never talked to him, not properly. It had been like living with an automaton who had demanded increasingly high levels of perfection from his only child. Had he ever felt guilty about the way he’d treated the woman he had married? Could that have been the cause of the unexpected tears he had shed, just before shuddering out his final breath, his hand tightly clutching that of his son? Roman gave a heavy sigh because Zabrina was right. He needed to forgive, or there would be no peace in his own heart. His thoughts cleared and he looked into her clear, bright gaze, his mouth feeling as if it had been crammed full of stones as he asked the question he had been dreading.
‘And my mother?’ he asked, bracing himself for the inevitable reply.
‘She’s alive,’ Zabrina said, very quietly.
He froze. ‘Are you serious?’
She nodded. ‘Totally serious. Your mother is alive and well, Roman. She sent you this.’
She bent and reached into her handbag and pulled out a small pouch and inside was a delicate necklace—a cheap silver chain with a blue enamel bird dangling from the end. ‘It’s a bluebird,’ she whispered, as she let it spill into his open palm. ‘The symbol of Missouri state, where she comes from. She sent it to Olga, with one of her first letters. She wants to see you. We could invite her to the wedding, if you like. Or you could go and see her on your own, if...if you don’t want the wedding to go ahead.’
His fingers closed around the little locket. ‘You’re saying you want to call it off?’ he husked.
Zabrina closed her eyes in despair as she watched him replace the necklace in the pouch and put it in his pocket. How could he be so dense? How could he fail to see the evidence which was before his eyes, that she wanted him so much she would walk to the ends of the earth for him? But deep down she knew the answer to that. Because he hadn’t been shown enough love in his life—that was why he couldn’t recognise it. His trust in love had been destroyed and this was her chance to help him rebuild it, and she had to take it, no matter what the outcome. Even if he felt she now knew too much about him, to be comfortable with them sharing a life.
‘Calling it off is the last thing I want to do,’ she said. ‘I want to be your wife more than anything in the world, because I love you, Roman. I think I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you, when you were Constantin Izvor. I loved you as the man, not as the King, but I love the King too—if that makes sense. You make me laugh and you bring me joy, and, yes, you can be infuriating at times but I’m sure I can, too.’
‘Zabrina—’
‘No. Let me finish, because this bit is important,’ she said in a low voice which, infuriatingly, had started shaking. ‘When I told you all those things about what I expected from our marriage, I was wrong. When I said I would turn a blind eye if you wanted to have affairs with other women, I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I do actually, but I wasn’t being honest with myself. Because the truth is that I would be beside myself with jealousy and rage if you ever touched another woman. I want you exclusively, Roman, maybe even a bit possessively. So if that isn’t your idea of what you want out of a royal marriage, then—’
‘Zabrina, Zabrina, Zabrina.’ He pulled her into his arms and smoothed his thumb down the side of her face as if he were seeing it for the first time. ‘I never wanted that kind of marriage and the thought of you being with anyone other than me repels me. In fact, the idea of you being jealous is rather reassuring—because we both know that I’m capable of feeling it, too.’ He paused and his voice was a little unsteady. ‘Except that I will never give you cause to be jealous, because I love you, Princess.’
‘You don’t have to say that,’ she whispered.
‘I know I don’t. I’m not in the habit of saying anything I don’t mean and I don’t intend to start now. But learning how to express myself is a whole new skill set, so you will have to make allowances for me.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, I think I could manage to do that, my darling.’
She touched her fingers to his jaw and Roman could see the wonder shining from her face and her sweet expression smote at a heart which was already full and somehow all the pain was just draining away from him, leaving him feeling as if he’d shed a heavy burden he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying. It would have been so easy to kiss her and allow their bodies to help heal the pain and take away the sense of time wasted, and a mother’s love denied. But this was too important to take the easy way out. He needed to find the right words to say to her and make sure she believed them. ‘Just like you,’ he said slowly, ‘I fell in love the first time we met and wished you weren’t a princess so I could just go ahead and seduce you.’
‘But you seduced me anyway!’
‘So I did.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know if you can appreciate just how out of character that was for me, Zabrina—to shrug off my sense of duty and make as if it didn’t matter. And I resented you for that. I resented your power over me.’
‘You never wanted a woman to have that perceived power over you again,’ she guessed slowly. ‘Because you didn’t want to risk being hurt again. I understand that. But I will never hurt you, Roman—certainly not intentionally—and if I do, then you must tell me and we’ll talk about it.’
He felt his heart lurch. ‘I want to marry you,’ he breathed. ‘If I could marry you here and now, then I would. And because these words do not feature in the official Petrogorian ceremony I will say them to you now. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met—both inside and out. You are brave and strong and caring and I am blessed to have you in my life. I love you with every fibre of my being, Zabrina. Believe me when I tell you that.’
‘Oh, I do,’ she whispered, the break of emotion in her voice fracturing her response. ‘I so do.’
EPILOGUE
‘OH, ZABRINA, YOU look so beautiful.’ Eva clapped her hands over her mouth as she stared up at her big sister. ‘Like a real queen!’
‘That’s because,’ said Daria, glancing at the diamond-encrusted watch which had been a bridesmaid gift from her future brother-in-law, ‘in approximately an hour’s time she will be a queen! Are you nervous, Zabrina?’
Zabrina shook her head so that her tulle veil shimmered. ‘Not nervous,’ she said softly. ‘Just happy.’ She sighed. So very happy. Because Roman made her happy every second of every day. Soon she would legally be his wife and she couldn’t wait. She wanted to start on this new phase of life with him. The two of them, together, as man and wife. She heard the sound of distant trumpets playing a triumphant Petrogorian fanfare and, turning to both her sisters, she gave a smile so wide it felt as if it might split her face in two. ‘Shall we go?’
As they nodded, she reached out and took the fragrant white bouquet from Silviana, the gilded doors were flung open and she began to make her way down the aisle towards her beloved King. Embroidered with over one thousand tiny pearls, the train of her dress was heavy, which meant she had to walk slowly. But she wanted to walk slowly. She wanted to make the most of every second of her wedding day to her one true love. To the powerful soulmate who had emerged from all the turmoil and heartbreak as a different man,
once all the barriers with which he’d surrounded himself had come tumbling down. She could see him standing waiting for her beneath an arch of flowers, his pewter eyes dark, a gleam of anticipation in their depths as he watched her approach. dpg
Faces turned as she walked—some she recognised but many she didn’t. Her parents were there, of course. Her mother sitting bolt upright in her recently cleaned ‘best’ crown and her father paying rather too much attention to the busty redhead seated at the end of the row. Zabrina found herself wondering how they would adapt to being grandparents. Maybe a brand-new generation would bring a little light and freshness into their cynical relationship. You could but hope.
Along the aisle she moved, watching heads incline and women curtsey. There were members of the Albastasian aristocracy alongside their Petrogorian counterparts—as well as royals from Maraban, from Greece and from Britain. There were A-list actors and academics—and a devastatingly handsome but rather dangerous-looking Sheikh called Zulfaqar, whom Daria had been flirting with all during the rehearsal last night. Zabrina intended have a stern word with her sister after the ceremony and warn her off, because apparently the desert King had a terrible reputation with women. But for now, she just wanted to reach her beloved Roman and say her vows.
Her heart was beating very fast as she handed her bouquet to Daria, and as she saw Olga sitting in the front row, with three of her grandchildren, Zabrina felt a great tremble of emotion. Maybe she was more nervous than she’d thought. But the moment Roman grasped her fingers within the warmth of his, she felt nothing but a powerful sense of excitement and contentment filling her heart.
‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured.
She could feel her cheeks grow warm. ‘Beautiful for you.’
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her and she realised that he wasn’t seeing the spectacular white gown, or the white tulle veil held in place by a glittering diamond crown. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the chain which hung from her neck. A cheap little silver chain from which dangled a tiny bluebird. Her ‘something blue’, worn by every traditional bride.
One Night Before The Royal Wedding (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 15