Their Christmas Royal Wedding

CHAPTER ONE

Royal Palace, Aguilarez, November

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS Prince Cesar of Aguilarez looked down from the helicopter at the looming trees, the jut and crags of the mountainous terrain as the pilot began their descent to the helipad that topped the fortress-like palace he had grown up in. A palace he had visited only infrequently in the past three years. When need dictated.

The whir of the blades couldn’t distract him from the grim tone of his thoughts. Now he’d been summoned back to a family summit—called, presumably, to figure out a strategy in the face of the scandal that had rocked the royal House of Asturias. And not just the house, but also the royal family of Valenti, rulers of the neighbouring country of Casavalle.

Two small countries that shared the same island—shared also a history of feuding and war. A relentless succession of invasion attempts had left both countries battle-scarred, until eventually a fragile peace had been negotiated. A peace that had endured for over two centuries as both countries had prospered.

A peace now under threat.

All because of his younger sister Meribel.

What had she been thinking? Like all five royal siblings Meribel had been brought up to know that Aguilarez came first, that duty was paramount, and emotions were an irrelevance.

So Meribel’s actions defied belief. To date she’d jilted Crown Prince Luca Valenti days before their wedding. Whilst pregnant with another man’s baby. The whole idea of the marriage had been to cement an alliance; now the alliance was in tatters.

Then they’d been hit by the next scandal, because it turned out that the Crown Prince of Casavalle wasn’t the Crown Prince after all, because Luca had a long-lost, hitherto unknown older sister—Gabriella Ross.

To compound the situation Gabriella’s existence had been discovered six months after the death of Casavalle’s King, so just before Luca was due to ascend the throne of Casavalle. Now Gabriella Ross, a woman brought up in Canada, with no knowledge of her heritage or the royal blood that coursed through her veins, would take the throne.

The whole situation was a mess and little wonder the people of both Casavalle and Aguilarez were crying foul, with accusations of deceit and counter deceit on all sides.

Hence the summons to Cesar, requesting his presence at the Aguilarean palace. Though the request had been an order and, whilst he understood the need for a meeting, the manner of the summons tasted bitter in his throat: a curt demand with no hint of family affection. No surprise really—the Asturias family didn’t do affection. Thus it had always been and thus it always would be.

No matter, he was here now, and as he alighted onto the helipad he braced himself as if for an ordeal, even as he inhaled the fresh snow-tanged mountain air with a sense of appreciation that he had come home to the country he loved.

Minutes later he entered the throne room, where his parents were already seated at the enormous circular wooden table, faces serious. Behind them up on a dais, the imposing stone throne embedded with jewels, the spoils of victories of the distant past, dominated the room. The surrounding walls were adorned with tapestries and paintings that depicted past battles and a pair of crossed swords topped the marble fireplace.

‘You’ve cut it fine, Cesar,’ King Jorge said. ‘We are due in Casavalle for talks in a few hours and we have much to discuss.’

As he bowed first to his father and then his mother Cesar switched to ambassador mode, the role he’d been brought up to, destined for from the day of his birth. ‘Apologies, Father.’

Present no reason as it will only be seen as an excuse.

His mother now. ‘First we must talk about Lady Amelia.’

‘We must?’ Cesar could not imagine why this would be necessary—Lady Amelia Scott-Browne was his current girlfriend, though he was pretty sure a break-up was imminent. There had been signs of possessiveness, signs that Lady Amelia had forgotten the rules she’d signed up to. First and foremost being no long-term future. Because Cesar had no intention of getting married. Marriage equalled a bullet he fully intended to dodge. After all, he was the spare heir—there was no necessity for him to marry. Both his brothers had been marched to the altar, both had produced the requisite heirs. So there was no need for him to be entrapped in an unwanted union.

‘Yes, Cesar, we must. You need to end the...association.’ His mother made a small moue of distaste.

‘Why?’ It seemed a fair question; his parents had never interfered in his ‘associations’ before. Rather they tended to simply pretend they did not exist.

The King leant forward. ‘Because we have a plan.’

‘What plan?’ Foreboding prickled his neck as he faced his parents.

‘The best way to forge an alliance and show the world that Aguilarez and Casavalle are still friends is through marriage. So, Cesar. You will marry the new Crown Princess of Casavalle. Gabriella Ross will become your bride.’

Cesar felt the loom of the metaphorical wall at his back, could hear the hiss of the oncoming bullet.

Royal Palace of Casavalle, December

It was no good. Sleep was not going to happen. Gabi had counted two thousand seven hundred and five sheep, tried deep breathing, reminded herself that it was practically sinful not to be able to sleep on sheets this luxurious, surrounded by every comfort a queen-in-waiting could expect. But all to no avail; her brain buzzed and whirled with too many thoughts to allow sleep.

Queen-in-waiting. The words caromed around her brain, underlay every waking thought, every dream-filled night, and the bizarre surrealism made the whole situation seem nigh on impossible. How could she, Gabriella Ross, be royalty? For thirty-one and a half years of her life she had believed herself to be an ordinary person; she’d been brought up by her ordinary, elderly aunt and uncle in a small town in the Canadian mountains. She had inherited their bookshop, which she had adored, had built it into a thriving business—that had been her life.

Now...here she was in the palace of Casavalle. All because eight months ago she’d found two letters, written by her mother, who’d died when she was only three. One letter to King Vincenzo of Casavalle and one letter written to Gabriella herself.

Letters that revealed Gabi’s true identity, the fact that her father had been King Vincenzo Valenti. A father she would never know, who had never known of her existence. The irony was obvious: in all her childhood reckonings, when she’d spent so many hours wondering who her father was, one of her fantasies had been that she was a secret princess. A fantasy she’d long since outgrown.

Giving up on the attempt to sleep, she sat up, propped up by sumptuous pillows on a mattress neither too hard nor too soft. As she looked round the shadowy splendour of the room, furnished in gold and red, a verdant Christmas tree in the corner, redolent with twinkling lights and beautiful painted baubles, a sudden burst of homesickness nipped her. Her tiny bedroom in Crystal Lake, the simple pine furniture, a poster of a hockey-player crush from her teen years still tacked up in her wardrobe...

Stop.

There was so much to be thankful for: she’d gone from having no family at all after the death of her aunt and uncle to gaining two brothers, both of whom she had bonded with instantly. As an added bonus Luca, a true prince, had fallen for Gabi’s best friend, Imogen. And Antonio, her next brother, was soon to be married to Tia, who Gabi already loved. In addition, Queen Maria, the princes’ mother, had welcomed her with dignity, grace and warmth. They all had.

Yet...guilt still haunted Gabi. Luca had been brought up believing himself to be the heir to Casavalle and now he had to stand aside for her. The impact on the whole family she had wanted so badly and already loved brought her disquiet. Along with an overwhelming fear that she couldn’t do it; couldn’t be the fair, just, wise ruler Casavalle deserved.

She didn’t even know how to look the part. That was why sleep eluded her, held ransom by her nerves—because in mere hours that evening it was her Presentation Ball and the very idea caused her insides to curl in sheer horror. Because it was imperative she pull this off.

For the good of both Casavalle and Aguilarez, she had to win people over to her cause, try to stem the after-effects of the scandals that rippled the country and caused unrest. But that meant she had to face all the dignitaries, her every movement scrutinised both at home and abroad. Had to face the Royal family of Asturias, including the formidable Prince Cesar, who, rumour had it, was less than pleased at being recalled home from his ambassadorial duties.

Sometimes it felt that simply by existing she was causing so very many problems. Life for both royal houses would have been easier if she hadn’t found out the truth. The feeling horribly familiar—as a child she had known her aunt’s and uncle’s lives would have been easier, happier without having been burdened with Gabi. Peter and Bea had been an elderly childless couple, who had been unexpectedly landed with Gabi. And now Gabi had landed in Maria’s... Luca’s... Antonio’s lives, had upended their lives just as much as she had Peter’s and Bea’s.

It was no use; she couldn’t lie in all this splendour any more—the doubts, the weight of responsibility, the fear of making a fool of herself would crush her into the soft pillows and suffocate her.

She swung her legs over the sumptuous mattress and wriggled her toes into the soft plushness of the carpet. Pulled on jeans and an oversized sweater over her flannel pyjamas, tugged on a pair of running shoes. Maybe she’d tiptoe into the kitchens and make herself some camomile tea or even get a snack—she’d eaten nothing at dinner, too nervous at the idea of the ball.

Carefully she snuck down the vast passageway, told herself that there was no need to sneak—technically this was her palace. Only it didn’t work like that—here she was hemmed in by rules and shibboleths, a hem woven by fear of bringing the Valenti name into further disrepute. As her mother had over thirty years before. Sophia Valenti had fled her royal marriage without explanation, deserted her husband and vanished in the dead of night. Once the scandal had died down she’d been written out of Casavallian history as the shortest of footnotes.

As she approached the kitchens Gabi’s courage failed her. Despite the lateness of the hour she could hear activity, staff preparing for the next days and weeks. For the ball, for Christmas—it seemed as if the palace never slept. The idea of appearing unannounced seemed impossible; after all, she didn’t even know where the teabags were...or if packets of cookies even existed in the royal lexicon.

It was then the idea came to her: she knew exactly where she wanted to be. The stables. There she knew she would find some calm and peace, with the magnificent beings that didn’t care whether she was a princess or not. There would be no judgement. Plus, just that day a gift of two beautiful horses had arrived from Aguilarez—and, ridiculous though it might sound, Gabi was worried they were homesick. She’d only been able to spend a few snatched minutes with them, posed for a photo and now suddenly it felt imperative to go check on them.

Before she could change her mind she tiptoed past the kitchens, along the vast corridor to a side door that led to the paved courtyard. Opening it quietly, she slipped out, braced herself against the cold bite of the winter wind, inhaled the tang of promised snow in the air. A scent so familiar and yet so different from the Canadian equivalent. She crossed the mosaic tiles, suddenly aware of the dead quiet of the night.

She entered the stables and instantly a sense of peace, of comfort, enveloped her and she headed straight for the stalls that housed the new arrivals. Gently she stroked the nose of the nearest, heard his whinny and moved closer to his warmth. If only these creatures could attend the ball tomorrow instead of the Asturias royal family.

A noise interrupted her fanciful thoughts, the sound of footsteps, the rustle of a coat... All sense of tranquillity disappeared, replaced by instant panic. Fear that she would be caught, a suspicion that royalty did not roam the stables in the wee hours of the morning with jeans pulled over their pyjamas. Instinct propelled her into the next-door stall and she dived down into the straw, lay still, her heart pounding her ribcage.

Cesar Asturias muttered under his breath as he crossed the courtyard of the Casavalle palace, having exited the palace after yet another meeting between the Asturiases and the Valentis. The whole situation had gone from bad to worse; the position seemed inescapable. He’d been called on to make the ultimate sacrifice: a political marriage. The diplomat in him applauded and accepted the necessity, saw that it would cement the alliance between Casavalle and Aguilarez, show the world that the Asturiases and the Valentis accepted Gabriella Ross as rightful Queen. The marriage would cancel out the insult of Meribel’s defection. The irony was not lost on him. Meribel had baulked at the last hurdle, decided she couldn’t go through with a loveless marriage for the sake of duty. So now it was Cesar’s turn to step up. So here he was, ready to attend Gabriella Ross’s Presentation Ball the following day.

The start of Campaign Marriage.

Because it was a campaign and he would plan it as carefully as any general had ever planned a military campaign. Obviously nowadays a royal bride and groom could not be forced into a marriage. And, as his father had pointed out, Gabriella Ross had not been brought up as royalty, might not understand or accept the convention of a marriage of political convenience. ‘So you will have to approach this carefully, Cesar. Make the girl fall in love with you,’ King Jorge had ordered.

‘No.’ Cesar’s reaction had been unequivocal. ‘I will not do that, Father, but I will convince Gabriella to marry me. But I ask you all—’ he’d looked around the room, at his parents and Queen Maria ‘—to leave it to me. I do not want Gabriella to be instructed or coerced or “persuaded” by any of you. We have all seen how wrong that went with Meribel. I will do things my way.’

So it had been agreed that Queen Maria would not mention the proposed union to her sons or Gabriella. And thus began his first steps towards a ball and chain, the imprisonment of marriage.

Dark thoughts swirled as he headed towards his car, and then he heard a whinny from the stables nearby. Another spurt of irritation huffed through him; he’d been horrified to learn that in a further ‘gesture of goodwill’ his family had gifted Gabriella two thoroughbred horses, one of whom Cesar himself was particularly fond.

His objections had been overruled.

No surprise there, then.

He remembered his father’s cold, emotionless voice.

‘The gift was necessary. If all goes well you will own those horses with Gabriella anyway.’

His mother, faintly exasperated.

‘You are irrational, Cesar. You have hardly even been to Aguilarez these past years. To claim affection for these horses is nonsensical.’

There you had it: in the Asturias clan if something made no sense it was invalid. Emotions made no sense, hence his parents’ marriage: a cold union, that had nonetheless produced five children. They had been faithful to each other yet not once had he ever seen either offer the other a sign of intimacy or simple affection. No wonder Cesar had vowed from an early age that marriage wasn’t for him, had revelled in his bachelor lifestyle. Made sure he had enjoyed life, ensured every relationship included fun and passion in the short term. Now a similar fate to his parents’ was before him; worst of all he understood that it was necessary.

A noise intruded on his thoughts, the soft whicker of a horse. Hell—it must be a sign. Perhaps he’d go and say hello to Ferron—nonsensical or not, he was fond of the beast. But as he entered the stables he halted, suddenly sure he wasn’t alone. There had been movement, an indrawn breath, a rustle of fabric. Swiftly he moved forward towards Ferron’s stall, saw the beautiful horse was fine. Noiselessly he moved towards the next-door stall, pushed the door open and stepped inside, all his senses on alert. Could be a saboteur, a horse thief...?

Surely that was a figure lying in the straw. Hoping to evade detection? Swiftly he pulled his phone from his pocket, turned on the torch, held the light up and blinked; there on the straw lay one of the most beautiful women he’d seen in his life. Long chestnut hair, straight classical nose, high cheekbones. And impossible, nay, criminal, to ignore the length of her slim curvy figure, clad in jeans and oversized jumper, over...he squinted at the cuffs of her wrist...checked flannel pyjamas.

OK, Cesar. Time to stop staring and time instead to figure out why Gabriella Ross, Crown Princess of Casavalle and his possible bride-to-be, was hiding in a bed of straw.