The Royal Marriage

‘Well, that’s fine. If you feel quite happy with that then go ahead. I don’t want the damn money. Take it.’ She jumped up from her seat and glared down at him. ‘I don’t care about the fortune. I’ll go to London and model and make a fortune of my own. I—’

‘Gabriella, have you the slightest notion of how many girls try to model, and what the percentage is of those who actually succeed? Not many, I assure you. Now, sit down and stop carrying on like a spoiled brat.’

‘I am not a spoiled brat,’ she spat. ‘I have rights.’

‘Well, unless you comply with my arrangements—and the terms of your father’s will—as of Saturday morning those rights fly straight out the window,’ he said, in a firm, cold voice that sent shivers down her spine. ‘I assure you, Gabriella, that if you do not behave properly I will not lift one finger to assist you.’

‘Oh! How could you?’ she threw at him, trembling, her hair thrown back and her eyes the colour of emeralds. ‘I hate you, Ricardo. I really loathe and detest you.’

‘Well, that bodes well,’ he muttered, picking up a financial magazine and leaning back in the wide leather seat while Gabriella stomped off to the other end of the plane to nurse her temper.

The following couple of days were filled with activity. From the moment she set foot in Maldoravia Gabriella was taken in hand by personal assistants, servants, and Ricardo’s charming aunt, the Contessa Elizabetta. She barely saw Ricardo, but although she felt rather lost and forlorn, she also could not help being excited at all the preparations taking place. There were fittings for her wedding gown, her trousseau, her going-away outfit—all of which she tried hard to seem uninterested in. But her innate sense of and love for fashion made that difficult.

On Wednesday afternoon she sat with the Contessa and her new personal assistant Sara—an Englishwoman of thirty, who had been hired at the last minute for her efficiency and for the fact that she had worked at Buckingham Palace and at several other royal establishments and knew the ropes. Gabriella had eyed her suspiciously at first, and said that she didn’t need an assistant. But with supreme tact and charm Sara had won her over. Now both the older women exchanged glances and the Contessa raised her brows as Gabriella stared out of the window and for the thousandth time expressed her views.

‘It’s just not fair. I don’t know how he can do it. And to say he’d simply inherit my money and be done with it. I mean, can you imagine?’

‘I think Ricardo is merely trying to help you, my love,’ the Contessa replied soothingly.

‘Well, I don’t care. Sara?’ Gabriella said, turning round to face her assistant, who sat next to the Contessa wearing an elegant beige suit. ‘Don’t you think I could be a success as a model? I mean, look at me. I’m exotic, I’m tall enough, and I have all the right measurements,’ she pleaded.

‘Yes. But, you see, the trend at the moment in London is for sylph-like blondes. I’m afraid you might considered a little too…uh…’ Sara searched for a suitable word ‘…too voluptuous. Perhaps in the future your look will return, and then you could consider it. In the meantime, if we could just go over tonight’s seating arrangements?’ she went on, producing a file and flipping through it. ‘I think you would feel more at ease.’

Gabriella rolled her eyes and flopped into the nearest armchair. ‘You really mean me to marry him, don’t you?’

‘Well, my dear, I don’t see what other solution there is,’ the Contessa said kindly, patting her coiffed silver hair with a bejewelled hand. ‘After all, I can think of worse fates than being married to Ricardo.’

‘I’m glad you can,’ Gabriella muttered under her breath.

‘He’s very handsome—and quite a catch. I can think of all sorts of women who will be wild with jealousy,’ the Contessa replied in an encouraging tone.

‘Ah! You see! I knew it. Other women. That’s precisely what I’m worried about. He says he wants a marriage of convenience,’ Gabriella said, curling her legs under her and leaning further back into the armchair. ‘That means he will have all sorts of horrid mistresses and I shall be left to wither in this—’ she waved her hand expressively ‘—in this dungeon.’

‘I would hardly call the Palazzo Maldoravia a dungeon,’ Sara countered, hiding a smile. ‘Your apartments are equipped with the finest furnishings, and the Jacuzzi works wonderfully. I had it tested myself.’

‘It might as well be a dungeon for all I care,’ Gabriella muttered.

Thursday dawned a beautiful sunny spring day. From the windows of her rooms in the Palazzo, Gabriella looked out at the perfect sky. The Mediterranean glittered clear and blue below, like a magical pond.

And now what was she to do? she wondered, opening the French doors and moving towards the balustrade of the balcony. Her black hair blew in the light morning breeze and the scent of jasmine filled her nostrils. At any other time she would have been enchanted. But right now the idyllic scene was lost on her. For the first time in her life Gabriella Guimaraes had come to the true realisation that she was not in control of the situation—and that, more than anything else, was driving her crazy.

That, and the fact that she was deeply and dangerously attracted to her future husband and damned if she would let him know it. What could be worse, she wondered, than to marry a man you found devastatingly attractive when probably right now he was making love to another woman?

‘Oooh,’ Gabriella seethed, throwing her head back as she clutched the stone parapet and stared at the sky. She would never abase herself, never forgo her pride, never give in to him, never, ever submit to the kind of humiliation she had seen too many women go through.

As her father’s only daughter, she had accompanied him in adult circles from her earliest childhood. Very soon she had seen what too many women’s plights were, had listened to confidences beyond her years and seen men she knew were married parading their beautiful mistresses in full view of society. Why, she would rather live in hell than become one of them! It was absurd. For, although he was always charming, she knew that Ricardo only treated her like that because he was too polite to do otherwise, that deep down she was nothing but a duty, an obligation to be dealt with, another piece of business to be resolved. It was too infuriating. Too humiliating for words.

She turned back towards the room, hands clenched, her well-manicured nails digging into her palms at the thought of Ricardo and his behaviour over the past weeks. He had been wonderful and kind and the best friend anyone could have wished for when her father died. And she appreciated that—was grateful. But that was how he thought of her. A little girl he was sorry for because she was alone in the world. An obligation he had to fulfil.

She had racked her brains to find a solution, had again tried to persuade him to change his mind about the wedding that was to take place later today. But in vain. Ricardo had merely admonished her to pay attention to the protocol that had been instilled into her from the moment she’d stepped foot in the Principality. She sighed, stared out at the sea again, and her shoulders slumped. For the first time in her life she felt defeated. Instead of an excited bride she resembled a young queen preparing to face the gallows.

‘He might as well be a frog,’ she muttered under her breath. But deep down she knew that was not quite true, that it was precisely his undeniable attraction that disturbed her. If she were truthful she would have to admit that she even felt a fondness for the man he had proved himself to be—found his virile presence next to her disturbing yet reassuring. And for some reason she could not feel quite at ease in his company—particularly as flashes of that swim at the waterfall kept haunting her imagination, leaving her weak and wanting in a way she had never experienced previously.

Determined to get a grip on herself, and not allow him to perceive any of her weaknesses, Gabriella turned again back into the room and headed for the shower. There was no use trying to delay things any longer. She would marry him because, for now, there was no other way out. But he would find that he had a wife to be reckoned with.

In his office downstairs in the Palace Ricardo was experiencing his own set of doubts. His councillors were actually pleased that he was embarking on matrimony. They’d often mentioned the succession, and hinted at how providing an heir as soon as possible would eliminate the possibility of his uncle Rolando ever becoming Prince. But Ricardo had no illusions about his marriage. It was not going to be easy. Gabriella had made it plain that she meant to be as uncooperative as possible.

He raised his brows and let out a sigh. If he had not been a man of honour he would most definitely have got out of the duty that Gonzalo had forced upon him. He had even studied all the clauses of the will to see if there was any out. But none had presented itself. There was nothing for it but to bite the bullet and go through with it. He just hoped that Gabriella would behave. He’d had her primed in all the etiquette by his aunt, Contessa Elizabetta, and by the efficient Sara Harvey, whom thankfully she had taken to.

The Contessa was attractive and sympathetic, and had listened to Gabriella’s complaints—at the same time managing to prepare her for what was going to be a state occasion at very short notice. Gossip was rife, he realised ruefully. Everyone wondered if the young girl was pregnant. An amusing assumption under the circumstances, he reflected, pushing away the papers he’d been studying and getting up from behind the huge mahogany desk.

Pregnant. Ricardo almost laughed. There was nothing amorous in their relationship. Far from it. In fact he wondered how they were going to fare in that department. He had never come close to kissing her again, and the day by the waterfall was nothing but a distant memory.

But one that would not quite disappear.

Still, despite that one occasion, Gabriella had kept him at arm’s length. This stuck in his craw. Most women found him devastatingly attractive. But Gabriella had made it plain that she had no desire for any intimacy, and on the few occasions when he’d tried to get things on to a happier footing she had rejected him outright. He grimaced, then glanced at the message from Ambrosia, to which he still hadn’t replied, and rose from behind the desk. He would deal with that problem in due course. Right now it was time to prepare for his wedding—hardly the moment to be ringing his mistress. The future would take care of itself. He could do no more than perform his duty.

The rest was up to fate.

‘Gosh, you’re absolutely beautiful!’ Princess Constanza, Ricardo’s attractive younger sister, had just arrived for the wedding with her husband, the handsome Count Wilhelm of Wiesthun, and their two enchanting young children, who were to be attendants at the ceremony.

Gabriella turned away from the mirror. She was standing still while the designer’s assistants gave the finishing touches to her magnificent yet simple satin wedding dress, a confection from Paris. Despite her unease she smiled at the attractive young woman at the door, and the pretty children.

‘Hello, hello.’ Constanza wafted in, a chestnut-haired woman of twenty-eight in a chic pale pink satin designer suit. She went over and kissed Gabriella on both cheeks. ‘I heard all about what happened. You poor, poor thing. I was so sorry to hear about your father. And now you’re stuck with Ricardo,’ she remarked, grimacing and flopping onto the chintz sofa. ‘He can be perfectly odious—even though he’s a super brother.’

Gabriella eyed her and smiled. ‘Are those your children?’ she asked, watching the two little faces peeking at her from behind the sofa.

‘Yes, little rascals. They’re looking forward to being your attendants. I just hope they’ll behave. Particularly as we weren’t here in time for the rehearsal. Come, children,’ she said, turning and pulling them out, giggling, from their hiding spot. ‘Come and meet your new aunt.’

Gabriella’s face lit up. Like most Brazilians, she adored children. Crouching, she beckoned to the lovely little girl and boy. ‘Hello.’ She reached out her hands to them. ‘Oh, you’re so beautiful,’ she exclaimed, stroking the little girl’s golden curls and smiling at the little boy, who grinned back shyly. They were already dressed, the girl in a pale blue satin bridesmaid’s dress that was a tiny replica of her own, and the boy in a page outfit with velvet knee britches and a lace ruffled shirt.

‘Ricky is three, and named after you know who.’ Constanza rolled her eyes. ‘And this is Anita, who’s four.’

‘What lovely names. Are you really going to help me at my wedding?’ Gabriella asked them in a conspiratorial tone. Both children nodded seriously. ‘I’m counting on you,’ she said, straightening, and took their hands.

At that moment the Contessa hurried in, suitably attired in a rustling blue silk dress and coat. Several rows of large pearls hung about her neck and her ears gleamed with diamonds of the first water. She was followed closely by Sara. ‘Ah, Constanza, there you are. I was worried your plane might be held up due to that storm in Germany. I see all is arranged. Now, Gabriella,’ she said, turning towards her, ‘run downstairs, my love. Ricardo wishes to see you.’

‘But it’s bad luck for the bridegroom to see the bride on their wedding day before the ceremony,’ Constanza exclaimed, sitting up abruptly on the couch. ‘He must know that.’

‘Rubbish,’ her aunt dismissed with a wave of her bejewelled hand.

‘If it was me I wouldn’t go,’ Constanza said, jumping up and straightening the folds of the wedding gown.

‘Oh, who cares? It really doesn’t matter,’ Gabriella muttered.

‘At least take the gown off and slip something else on,’ Constanza urged.

Their eyes met and, despite her desire to remain cool and aloof, Gabriella nodded.

Slipping into the walk-in-closet, she carefully removed the gown and hung it on a hanger, where its train spread out across the thick-piled beige carpet. She swallowed and her eyes filled with tears. At any other time it would have been the gown of her dreams. She turned quickly away and slipped on a pair of sweats and a short T-shirt that revealed her midriff. Serves him right. She sniffed, raising her chin belligerently and making her way down the wide, ornate corridor painted with frescoes and gold leaf. Tough luck if he didn’t approve of her. She was damned if she was going to be everything he wanted.

He’d soon learn.

A knock on the double-panelled gilt door made Ricardo start. He’d been daydreaming for a moment.

‘Come in.’ He turned and faced the door, which a liveried servant was opening.

‘You requested my presence?’ Gabriella said with mock sweetness, thrusting her thumbs into the top of her sweats and standing at an angle, her foot drumming the floor.

Ricardo watched her, half-amused, half-irritated. She certainly did not look like a blushing bride preparing for her wedding, which was to take place within hours. He was about to make a pithy comment about her T-shirt when he realised with a touch of humour that she had done it on purpose, to provoke him. He smiled inwardly. Let the wedding take place. Then he would make very sure she never went around looking like this any more. As his wife it would be utterly inappropriate.

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