Their Christmas Royal Wedding Read online

  ‘Hey. Are you OK?’ She heard the clink of a cup being placed down, felt his approach and opened her eyes as he squatted down in front of her chair.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just had a wave of homesickness; a yearning to be sitting in my book store with a book and a cup of tea, chatting to customers, or students.’ Back to her safe, ordered world. She kept talking, as much to distract herself as anything else. ‘The book store was more than a job—it was like my home. My aunt and uncle bought it when I was young.’ The all too familiar guilt hit her again. They had used the savings they had planned to spend on their adventurous retirement and they had run the store competently, but without passion. But it had been different for Gabi. For her the shop had been magical. ‘I grew up in it and I always loved it. Loved the books, the smell of them, the feel of them and the sheer magic of them. I could literally escape into them. Live a different life, befriend the fictional characters.’ She broke off. ‘Sorry. I get a bit carried away.’

  ‘That’s fine. It’s nice to see. Even if I don’t get it.’

  Gabi frowned. ‘You must get it a bit. Think of your favourite book.’

  This was greeted by silence.

  ‘I do not read.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Gabi put her cup of tea down and leant forward.

  ‘Well, obviously I read reports and official documents and I read the news. Religiously. But if you mean books, fiction, poetry, then, no, I do not.’

  ‘OK. But what about a childhood book? Once you learnt to read didn’t you sit under the bedcovers with a torch, reading? You must have read something? Books about wizards? Books about princes? You must have read, or surely your parents read you bedtime stories.’

  That was something she knew Sophia had done, one of the few snippets her aunt had let fall. And if she tried really hard Gabi was sure she remembered, had a faint elusive memory of a soft, modulated voice, reading, making farm-animal sounds, singing softly at bedtime. Her mother, barely remembered except as an almost dream, hard to distinguish between what she had imagined in her grief and sadness and how much had been real.

  ‘No.’ His brown eyes shadowed. ‘None of the above. I did read the history of our countries, and there were some local authors that I was told to read from time to time. But fiction was seen as unessential.’

  Gabi stared at him and he gave a sudden chuckle. ‘You look absolutely horrified.’

  ‘I am utterly horrified. How can you exist without reading? It doesn’t have to be classic literature—it can be anything at all. But reading...it’s a means of escape.’ And you could do it anywhere. Reading had saved her as a child; allowed her to escape the knowledge that she was a burden. ‘And it’s enjoyable and...to me it’s necessary.’

  ‘So you think I should read?’

  ‘I think everyone should read.’

  ‘That’s a little dictatorial.’

  ‘Nope. It would be dictatorial if I chose their reading material. Everyone likes different things, different genres, different authors. Some people really can’t take to fiction, others may only like short stories. Then there are biographies and information books and history books and I guess for some people a technical book will float their boat or...’ She paused, waved her hand expansively. ‘You get the picture. What I mean is everyone should be encouraged to read. Especially in this world of technology, it’s important. For kids and for...’ She stopped—what was she doing? Waffling on about books to a man who had made it clear that nothing was more important than duty to one’s country, a man willing to pull the strings of the press, marry in the name of duty. Did Gabi spending time reading help her people, further her country’s purpose? No, it didn’t.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I guess once a book-store owner, always a book-store owner.’

  ‘I think I can see why you were so successful at it. You’re clearly passionate about books.’ He smiled. ‘Your whole face lights up and your enthusiasm—it is infectious.’

  ‘I am enthusiastic. I ran a store, ran literacy classes, and a book club. But now my life has changed.’

  ‘That doesn’t take away from everything you achieved.’ As if he could hear the sadness in her voice he stepped towards her. ‘I would have loved to see it, your book store, your former realm. To have met you whilst you were that person, but that person is still a part of you. The past doesn’t just vanish...it makes us who we are today. Your reading, everything you got from books, everything you learnt from building up a business you love, you’ll use all that. You really will.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The words made her feel better, made her feel as if her past life was important, rather than being swallowed up by this whole new world. ‘I hope so.’ She glanced at him a little shyly. ‘I did think that maybe I could open this library up. Redesign it to make it more accessible to staff—not force anyone to come and read, but maybe simply offer access? I could get lots of tables, comfy chairs, drinks machines and obviously catalogue the books. Put the valuable ones up high, get a better mix of authors in...’ She shrugged, clocked the intensity of his dark brown eyes. ‘Or is that a stupid idea?’

  ‘I think that’s a great idea.’

  ‘You do? Really?’

  ‘Really. I don’t say things I don’t mean, Gabriella.’ She could see his sincerity and it warmed her, as did his toe-curling smile.

  ‘And now why don’t you start with me?’ he said.

  For a minute she had no idea what he meant. Start with him how? Perhaps she could move forward, lift her hand, touch his cheek, move her hand down and cover the beat of his heart, stand on tiptoe, brush her lips against his...

  Bad idea. That box was ticked; kissing him again would mess with her head, fuzz her brain, to say nothing of pandering to his ego. And that wasn’t what he meant anyway, she realised as she saw him turn to scan the bookshelves.

  ‘I would like you to choose me a book,’ he continued.

  Gathering herself together, she looked round at the shelves. ‘A book?’ she echoed.

  ‘Yes. You have shown me how important books are to you—I would like to try and understand that.’

  The idea touched her; perhaps all he could offer was an alliance, but at least he was trying and she appreciated that. ‘OK. That sounds good.’ A few moments’ thought and she headed over to a corner of the room. ‘This is where I’ve put my keeper shelf. Here, try this and this.’ The first a book she was sure he’d love, an incredibly clever account of the life of a centenarian, and second, ‘This is a book I’ve read and reread all my life. A Canadian classic—the story of a red-haired girl.’ An orphan like herself.

  Reaching out, he accepted the books and she forced herself not to react as his hand brushed hers; told herself it was scientifically impossible to have such heightened sensitivity that the fleeting contact triggered a shiver over her skin.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘I hope you enjoy them, but if you don’t that’s fine too. There are plenty of others I can suggest.’ Resisting the urge to reach out and grab his hand, to put scientific theory to test, she reminded herself of why Cesar was here. ‘We seem to have got distracted—what happens next? With us?’

  ‘I suggest we go on a date.’

  ‘A date? So, like a fake date?’ Visions of being paraded in front of the press filled her brain. ‘How would it work?’

  ‘Leave it to me. What is your schedule today?’

  Gabi checked her netbook diary, showed the screen to Cesar, who scanned the timetable and grimaced. ‘Is this a sample of a typical day?’

  Gabi nodded. ‘There is so much to learn.’

  ‘There are different ways to learn,’ he said. ‘I will pick you up at twelve; you are supposed to be studying.’

  It was time she set aside to studying Casavallian history, wanting to learn as much as she could about her country, the country she would soon rule over.

 
‘Leave it all to me,’ he declared. ‘Just dress up warm.’ Now his smile would melt the polar ice caps and she felt her toes curl. ‘And don’t look so worried. A date with me is not an ordeal. I promise.’ Now his voice was a low, deep melted-chocolate rumble that slid over her skin. ‘The idea is to have fun.’

  Fun. Surely that was a good thing, right? As long as she kept her head, remembered the date part was a show for the press. Yet unwanted anticipation sizzled her veins. Giving up, she smiled back. ‘I’ll wear my favourite toque.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  GABRIELLA WAS TRUE to her word. At twelve exactly she entered the reception room with a red and white striped woollen hat sitting jauntily atop her head; she wore a red fleece-lined coat over jeans. And worry in her eyes.

  ‘I take it the press are waiting outside.’

  ‘Yes, but it’ll be fine,’ Cesar said. ‘Trust me. We only have to face them for a few minutes tops until we get to the car. And your hat...“toque”, was it?...it will bring you luck. Come.’ Without thinking, he held out a hand and when she put her hand in his, he felt a sudden warmth. Hand-holding was not something he did—too cosy, too intimate... Belatedly he reminded himself it would look good for the cameras, felt a jangle of discomfort that that hadn’t been his motivation. Enough. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded and he pushed the door open and they walked hand in hand towards the car, a security detail between them and the pack of reporters.

  ‘Where are you going, Princess?’

  ‘Is it a date, Cesar?’

  He smiled easily, but said nothing as the door to the car was held open for them and Gabriella slid in.

  Once in the car, he directed the driver to, ‘Go, Roberto.’

  Gabi turned. ‘Won’t they follow?’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’ He met her gaze. ‘Relax, Gabriella—as I said, this will be fun. I promise.’

  ‘OK. I’ll try. Maybe you should tell me where we are going.’

  ‘But that would ruin the surprise.’ Anticipation curved his lips at the prospect of seeing Gabriella’s face when she saw the venue of their date. He wanted to see her smile; knew that the headlines had worried her, knew that the prospect of marriage must be preying on her mind. ‘I will give you a hint. I am taking you to Aguilarez.’ He gestured to the window. ‘Perhaps you can consider this to be a geography lesson. If you watch you will see how the landscape changes; the countryside becomes craggier, more mountainous. Harder. In terms of history sometimes I believe it shows the differences in our cultures, as I told you at the maze.’ Gabriella turned to look, continued to study the countryside, the towns and villages as their journey progressed. Cesar took the opportunity to study her, the classical beauty of her features, the regal straight back, the gloss and shine of her hair.

  After a while she turned to face him. ‘I see what you mean. It is very different from Casavalle.’

  ‘And I believe the difference in geography has impacted on our countries’ histories,’ he said. ‘On Aguilarez crops were harder to grow, conditions were harsher, tougher and that meant my people either resented or looked down on your people who enjoyed better harvests and an easier lifestyle. So unrest began and grew into full-scale war. At other times it was Casavalle who was the aggressor—wanting to rule the entire island, to get rid of the constant need for defence, the constant threat.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now modern technology, worldwide trade, imports and exports, tourism, the treaties and agreements made by our ancestors have meant we are both prosperous countries and allies. Yet...’

  ‘You still believe that alliance to be fragile.’

  ‘It is difficult. As children my brothers used to play with toy soldiers and the opposing armies were from Aguilarez and Casavalle. One day my oldest brother will be King and my next brother is rising the ranks in the army, as was ordained from birth.’

  ‘And you? What did you do as a child?’

  ‘I tried to broker a truce—after all, even then I knew diplomacy was my future.’

  ‘What would have happened if you hadn’t wanted to be a diplomat? What if you’d decided you wanted to be a surgeon or a banker or a teacher or...?’ She broke off. ‘You get the picture.’

  Cesar shook his head. ‘It didn’t work like that in our families. Some options, most options weren’t on the table. It was accepted each of us would take on one of the designated royal roles. So it was best not to consider anything else.’ He looked at her. ‘But do not feel sorry for me. I love my job; it gave me an opportunity to meet many people and I hope to do good, for Aguilarez and other countries too.’ The trips abroad, to ravaged, war-torn countries, the children who had literally nothing, invaded his mind, the images stark and vivid. In truth, those were the people he wanted to help the most.

  But when he had asked his parents if his role could change, become more humanitarian, if perhaps he could set up a foundation, take up a more hands-on role with charities close to his heart, they had vetoed the suggestion. Now when he could he made anonymous trips, made anonymous donations and wherever possible he used his diplomatic influence to increase foreign aid.

  Seeing the way she scrutinised his expression, he pulled himself to the present. ‘And as a diplomat I believe that it would be good for Aguilarez and Casavalle for us to marry.’

  As the car started the steep, almost vertical climb up the mountain roads, she clutched her arm rest. ‘Where does this lead?’

  ‘To the palace of Aguilarez.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Her face scrunched with worry and he understood immediately. ‘We aren’t meeting my family or anything like that.’ As the car slowed he nodded at her. ‘Ready.’

  ‘Hold on. I’ll just put my toque on.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a bit like a security blanket.’

  He opened the door and climbed out at the gates that led to the Aguilarean royal palace. The gates were ornamental and spiky; set in the vast stone wall that surrounded the estate, they imposed their presence, made it clear that only those welcome could enter. Even now the temptation was there to look up and to check for defenders on the parapets.

  Behind them a few hardy reporters had followed and cameras clicked and whirred. Reporters shouted questions. ‘Are you taking the Princess to meet your family?’

  This time Cesar stopped for a moment. ‘Keep calm, guys. My family are not here. I am taking the Princess for a toboggan ride—on private royal property. No doubt we will see you again on our way out.’

  A few photos later and they got back into the car and headed towards the palace.

  ‘I hope tobogganing is acceptable?’

  ‘Try and stop me. I love tobogganing. In fact, I, Princess of Casavalle, challenge you, the Prince of Aguilarez, to a race. Instead of fighting it out on the battlefield we’ll take to the slopes.’

  Her smile lit her face and he could almost feel it warm him. ‘I accept the challenge, Princess. But, tell me, what is the winner’s prize?’ His gaze lingered on her expression, snagged on her lips. ‘A kiss?’

  A silence and then she tossed her head in a regal acceptance; he’d known she wouldn’t back away from a challenge. ‘Agreed.’

  * * *

  Gabi hadn’t felt like this since she’d arrived in Casavalle—in truth she wasn’t sure she’d felt like this ever. Her whole being felt alive as they stepped out of the car into the crisp sunlit air. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. All around them was the brilliant white of the snow; the air tasted different at this altitude, tanged with cold and snow and dappled with sunlight. As she looked out at the peaks and crags and the loom of the palace in the distance she could feel exhilaration swell through her.

  Turning, she faced him and now her heart pitter-pattered, leapt and bounded as she recalled their bet. Waited as he opened the boot of the car and tugged out two toboggans. Simple, sturdy and wooden, they looked brand new and Gabi h
ad to admire Cesar’s ability to make things happen.

  ‘Right. This way,’ he said, and they started to tramp across the snow to the start point at the top of a hill. ‘A practice run and then we race?’ he suggested and she nodded agreement and lowered herself on the toboggan.

  And with that she was off, an adrenalin-fuelled cry left her lips and carried on the cold air as she zoomed over the compact white snow, manoeuvred the toboggan skilfully, oh, so aware of Cesar running parallel to her. The journey to the bottom of the hill was one of unalloyed joy and she climbed off and beamed at him. ‘That was amazing. Now I’m ready to race.’

  ‘Then let’s do this.’

  Once they were back at the top her breath caught and it was nothing to do with the uphill climb and everything to do with Cesar and his sheer masculine beauty, enhanced by the slight flush to his cheeks, the light in his brown eyes as they rested on her. ‘May the best person win,’ he stated.

  This time the descent was different; oblivious to the scenery and driven by a desire to win, Gabi focused on the end goal. Balanced her weight, used her instincts and willed her toboggan to fly straight and true to the finish line ahead of Cesar. And in the final seconds she edged it, skimmed over the finish line by a whisker, climbed off the toboggan with a whoop of triumph. ‘I did it.’

  ‘You did.’

  And as they stood there it was the most natural thing in the world for her to say, ‘In which case, I claim the winner’s prize.’

  Stunned by her own daring...stupidity...madness, she stepped towards him; her hormones punched the air and did a happy dance. Her brain tried to intervene and Gabi shut it down. What better time, what better place than this? No fear of hidden cameras, of having this moment recorded and splashed across the media. And it wasn’t as though she were committing to anything—it was just a kiss. The result of a challenge, no more.