Their Christmas Royal Wedding

Get a grip.

This man was a stranger in the Casavalle stables; belatedly she wondered if she should be scared. Yet he looked vaguely familiar. Oh, God. Was he perhaps someone she should know? She had been introduced to so many people over the past weeks it was nearly impossible to remember them all, though she was trying.

But surely she would remember who he was...if she’d met him before... She couldn’t imagine forgetting a man with such a potent aura.

An aura that was messing with her head, making it whirl and think with her hormones rather than her common sense. Not the behaviour of a queen in waiting; she’d learnt that much. Think, Gabi. He was in the stables at midnight—good chance, then, that he had a reason to be here; something to do with the horses. Perhaps he’d been sent with the gift from the Asturias family, with Ferron and Arya. That would make sense. Perhaps she’d spotted him earlier in that whirlwind press photo and registered his presence. Maybe he’d come in to check on them.

Doubt flickered in her mind—to be brutally honest he didn’t look like a groom, but she still didn’t understand the hierarchy of how the royal entourage worked. Not that it mattered. The man was connected to the horses in some capacity—she didn’t need to know any more than that. Right now what mattered was that she should stop gawping at him. Royalty did not gawp.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And...um...sorry about that.’ She gestured to the straw with what she could only hope was a poised rueful smile. Knew it was more likely to be a grimace. ‘I was checking the horses. Sounds stupid but I was worried they may be a little homesick.’

An arrested look came to his face, and his dark brown eyes flashed with empathy, surely a confirmation that this man must be connected somehow with the horses.

He smiled at her. ‘That makes sense, or, if it does not, I do understand and appreciate it. But why the straw?’ Reaching out, he pulled a bit out of her hair.

Gabi was pretty sure there was some royal protocol or other that made the gesture punishable by death. Yet this man made the move seem natural.

‘I...you startled me and I just...dived for cover. I hadn’t realised someone else would be coming to check the horses. I’m so sorry to interrupt your work here. Please proceed with your duties.’

For a fleeting second an expression she couldn’t interpret crossed his face, and then he took the smallest of steps backwards, executed a bow.

‘Ma’am. There is no need for you to apologise. These horses are now yours and are yours to visit any time of day and night. I know they will appreciate your care.’

‘And I’m sure that they appreciated yours. Tell me, are you their...?’ She allowed her voice to question and he took another small step backwards.

‘I have been responsible for them. I stopped by tonight to ensure they have settled in, that they are not, as you say, “homesick”. Soon I will return to Aguilarez.’ He hesitated, studied her face. ‘If you like, before I go, we could take a moonlit ride; you could get to know Ferron and Arya better.’

Her turn to hesitate now; were royal princesses supposed to go on moonlit rides with strangers? Possibly not...but...her brain scrambled into overdrive, wanting, seeking reasons to justify her instinctive desire to say yes. This man wasn’t a stranger as such—he was part of the Aguilarez entourage. So this could be classed as a gesture of friendliness. Also he must love these horses and probably wanted a chance to have one last ride—it would be unkind to deny him that. And royalty often rode out accompanied by staff, and maybe she could use this as a fact-finding mission. Find out more about the Asturias family before the ball, especially Prince Cesar. And...dammit...she wanted to do this. Craved a ride on one of these magnificent animals in the company of this man.

‘Thank you. I’d like that. As long as you don’t have to be back...’

‘No. I do not need to leave yet.’ He gestured outside. ‘It is beautiful outside but cold—if it is not too presumptuous, I could lend you my coat.’

‘But then you’ll be cold.’

‘I am used to these temperatures, ma’am; I grew up here. My jumper will suffice.’ With a smile that rocked her backwards he hitched off his coat and handed it to her.

‘Thank you, though I suspect I’ll look ridiculous.’ Though perhaps no more ridiculous than she already did, with bits of her pyjamas protruding at wrist and ankle.

‘I’ll saddle them up,’ he said.

‘We’ll saddle them up,’ she corrected. ‘Which one would you prefer to ride? Ferron?’ After all, he’d gone to Ferron’s stall first—perhaps that was his preferred mount.

‘I would like that,’ he said.

Gabi couldn’t help but observe as he saddled the horse; his actions were deft and fluid as he tucked the stirrups under the saddle, manoeuvred the buckles of the girth—whatever his role he was familiar and comfortable around horses and Ferron seemed more than content. His murmured words and gentle touch demonstrated clearly that he was known to this horse and any minor doubts faded away.

Soon they had led the horses out and mounted.

‘Where to?’ he asked.

‘Through the woodlands,’ she suggested.

‘Sure.’ As he patted Ferron’s neck and they set off curiosity beset her. Now out in the moonlight she could see him more clearly, saw that his hands were smooth, his clothes definitely expensive.

‘So, have you worked for the royal family for long?’

‘All my life. You could say it is a family tradition.’ His voice was tinged with a low irony.

‘Do you regret it?’ she asked, and he frowned as if he wished he’d not given so much away.

‘Not at all, but it is sometimes hard to have your life preordained.’

‘I liked that about mine. My old life, I mean.’

‘You worked in a book store in Canada.’

‘I did more than that. My uncle and aunt owned the store and I inherited it on their death.’ Peter and Bea had passed away within months of each other and Gabi had grieved them deeply. She had loved them and would always be grateful to them for taking her in, for sacrificing their own dream for her. Without them, the knowledge she was alone in the world had been difficult.

But after a while her natural drive had come into force and she had thrown herself into her work. Kept up with her teaching schedule, where she taught children and adults with reading difficulties, whilst working all other hours to make a success of the bookshop. ‘It may seem like peanuts compared to ruling a kingdom but I loved my shop and it was thriving.’ She could only hope it still was—she’d hired a manager to run it, still called as often as she could.

‘And you had no idea of your heritage.’

‘None.’ She tried to keep bleakness from her tone, knew she hadn’t when he guided Ferron closer to her, as if his presence could offer comfort.

‘Then this must be hard,’ he stated.

Gabi turned to him, met the directness of his gaze. ‘You are one of the few people to have said that.’ And he was. Many believed that she should be thrilled at her ‘elevation’ to a position of fame, fortune and power.

‘Most people have a distorted view of royalty, that it is all about glamour and money and fame. That is part of it but there is a flip side to that coin.’

‘Yes...the rules, the...’ Gabi trailed off, suddenly aware that she mustn’t sound as if she were complaining; that would not be within the Princesses’ Behavioural Code either. ‘Differences are hard sometimes. It is an enormous adjustment.’ Change had come, huge, sweeping, terrifying change. Leaning down, she patted the horse’s neck, knew she needed to direct the questions away from her. Because for some reason this man was disconcertingly easy to talk to.

‘But what about you? You said you work for the royal family due to family tradition. Surely you’re not bound to them.’

For a moment discomfort touched his aquiline features, dappled and shadowed in the moonlight that filtered the leafy glade. ‘Tradition is important. My job pleases me...my life is a good one. I did not mean to sound as though I have regrets.’

Yet somehow she was sure he did and Gabi frowned, suddenly concerned. ‘You know that I won’t tell anyone about this conversation, or say that you have reservations about your work.’

Now he smiled, the smile warm and full of reassurance and it caused her tummy to flip as he reached out to touch her reins, careful, though, not to touch her and stupid regret coursed through her. ‘I thank you, ma’am, and I assure you too that this conversation is confidential. But I do not fear the Asturias family.’

‘Lucky you! I do...’ The words fell from her lips without her intent, meant to be light but she suspected they had wobbled with fear.

‘Why?’ Curiosity and a sharpness touched his voice. ‘What have they done?’

‘No...they’ve done nothing. It’s me. I am...worried. It’s my presentation ball tomorrow...well, later today, this evening and, to be honest, I’m terrified.’

‘Of the Asturias royals?’

‘Not only of them. Of everything. If I’d been born to this, I would know what I’m doing. But I wasn’t and I don’t. There are so many things that could go wrong. I could say the wrong thing to the wrong person and spark a political row. I could fall on my bu—fall over, or use the wrong fork, or get spinach stuck between my teeth. I’ll be on display to everyone and I’m dreading it.’

‘You have nought to dread. You are royal and, if I may say, you are beautiful—you will dazzle the guests.’

Her skin heated at the man’s words, because as he said them his gaze lingered on her and she felt a sudden shiver run through her. Of course, she knew he was just trying to make her feel better—she wasn’t beautiful. Her hair was her best feature, long, glossy and chestnut, but she had no idea what to do with it. As for the rest of her, she was ordinary, veering at gawky at five feet eight.

‘That’s kind, but I don’t want to dazzle anyone. All I want is to get through without making a fool of myself. I want people to believe I can do this role, can be a queen. And I doubt I’ll be able to convince the Asturiases of that, especially Prince Cesar.’

Her companion stilled. ‘Why do you say that?’

Gabi sighed, unsure why she was confiding in this man. Perhaps because she hoped, as a long-term staff member, he would reassure her. According to all she had learnt Prince Cesar had hardly been back home for years, his life a glittering ambassadorial whirl of diplomacy, travel and parties, usually with a beautiful woman on his arm. ‘Apparently Prince Cesar is angered at being recalled home to attend this ball and be presented to me.’

The man hesitated. ‘I would not trust gossip, ma’am. Prince Cesar is an ambassador. He will not be angered by the need to attend a ball for political reasons—that is his job.’

Gabi shook her head, suddenly realising she was gossiping. ‘Perhaps he simply doesn’t want to dance with me,’ she said lightly. ‘I have to dance the opening dance with him and he’s probably heard I can’t dance for toffee.’ Another reason to panic.

‘I am sure you underestimate yourself. I can see your natural grace from the way you ride.’

‘That’s different.’ Yet the compliment warmed her. ‘I’ve ridden since I was a teenager.’ A hobby and a love that had also got her out from under her aunt and uncle’s feet; aware that she had intruded into their life, Gabi had always done her best to give them space, wherever she could. ‘Until I came to Casavalle I never danced, especially not a waltz. Now I have to waltz with a stranger with everyone watching me.’ The idea made her shiver even in the warmth of his coat. Even worse that it was a stranger who was reputed to dislike her, whatever her companion said. ‘And, believe me, I am the despair of my dance teacher.’

‘I believe you will be fine, ma’am. You must have faith in yourself; imagine yourself as you are now. I promise you, if you have the grace and ability to ride a horse such as Arya you can waltz.’

His voice was full of conviction and she turned to him, felt her heart hop skip and jump at the strength of his words, wished she could siphon off some of that belief. ‘It is not only about the waltz,’ she admitted softly. ‘It’s the bigger picture too; I hope I’ll be able to do my job and act the part of Crown Princess.’

‘This is not a role, ma’am. You have no need to act a part; you are the Crown Princess, soon to be Queen.’ His voice, low and vibrant, seemed to ripple off the evergreen branches of the trees and into the silvery moonlit air. ‘This is not a part that can be abandoned at will, it is what you were born to be, albeit unwittingly.’

For a moment panic descended in a weighty thud and she could almost imagine her shoulders bowed. But she wouldn’t let it show. As if in sympathy the moon scudded behind the clouds and she became aware of the time. ‘We should turn back.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Yes.’

He opened his mouth as if to speak and then gave a small shake of his head. ‘No matter. You’re right. We should get back.’

They rode back in a silence broken only by the soft thud of the horses’ hooves on the turf. But she couldn’t help but study her companion, marvel at the tug of attraction she felt. He was not her type of man at all. The few men she’d dated in the past had all been average, pleasant...safe. This man was none of those. Though he’d been courteous, she sensed he would wield ruthlessness wherever necessary. As for safe—she could still feel the touch of his fingers in her hair as he’d brushed away the straw. Perhaps it was for the best that tonight he would return to his royal duties in Aguilarez; if she saw him again it would be a flash of a familiar face in a retinue.

They arrived at the stables; he dismounted with a lithe grace and headed towards her to help her alight. Hurriedly Gabi removed her foot from the stirrup and swung her leg over the horse’s back. Too hurriedly as it turned out. The horse shook her head and pranced. Caught in the length of the borrowed coat, Gabi lost her usual balance and with a muttered curse slid in an ungainly fashion from the horse.

Was caught in a firm hold that steadied her whilst also sending her pulse rate into overdrive. She could smell his aftershave and the woodsy smell made her dizzy. She could feel the hard muscle of his body against her back, his arms around her waist.

For a heartbeat they remained standing there and then he released her, stepped back and she turned. Their eyes caught and he cleared his throat; dark brown eyes seemed to sear into her own. ‘I should have remembered...to warn you... Arya always gets a bit spooked when you dismount.’

‘It’s OK. I should’ve known to take more care with a horse that doesn’t know me.’ Her voice too breathless as awareness swirled around them. He was so close she could reach out and touch him, so close that if she took a step forward and stood on tiptoe she could kiss him...

As if his mind travelled the same path his eyes darkened and desire sparked and ignited. ‘Your coat,’ she managed, through lips that seemed parched. Quickly she shrugged out of it, handed it over.

‘Thank you.’ Another stretch of silence and then, ‘You had better get back in. I will tend to the horses.’

‘Thank you for the escort and the midnight ride.’ She wanted to say more, knew she couldn’t. After all, she could hardly ask for a repeat date.

‘You’re very welcome, ma’am. And, truly, you have no need to worry about the ball tomorrow. You will dazzle everyone, including Prince Cesar. I know it.’

‘Th...thank you.’ Her brain seemed to be on auto repeat, because in truth their bodies were talking a whole different language. As if propelled by her hormones alone Gabi stepped forward, saw the man’s eyes glance to her lips then back up to her face. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, felt her lips part and her eyes close in sheer toe-tingling anticipation. Tried to grab onto common sense—princesses did not kiss strangers in the palace stables.

As if he recalled the same, he held out his hand, took hers and, lifting it to his lips, he kissed it. The old-fashioned gesture sent a shiver down her spine, and she wanted, yearned to take the initiative, step forward and cup his face, brush her lips against his.

But she couldn’t. She mustn’t. Because she was the Crown Princess on the morning of her presentation ball. So she did nothing.

‘Goodbye, ma’am.’

‘Goodbye...’ As he headed to the stables she watched him walk away, realised she didn’t even know his name, wondered if she would ever see her mystery man again. Not, of course, that he was hers... That would be ridiculous.

CHAPTER THREE

CESAR ENTERED THE glittering ballroom, which was resplendent with Christmas glory. Two enormous, magnificently decorated trees shone and twinkled and filled the air with the scent of pine and festivity. Lit chandeliers hung in illuminated splendour from the vaulted ceilings. Wreaths adorned the walls, and the arches and pillars were festooned with trails of greenery. Cesar walked behind his parents, flanked by his older brothers and their wives and his younger sister Flavia. The united front of the Asturias family had scrubbed up well: his mother’s ash-blonde hair sported the famous Asturian diamond tiara, her ice-blue gown was elegant and an echo of her eyes; his father and brothers looked supremely regal in their tuxes, their wives suitably designer-gowned and all gracious smiles. Flavia nudged him in the ribs. ‘I feel sorry for poor Princess Gabriella. We look like an invading force for all our smiles.’

Now guilt pulsed as he remembered Gabriella’s expressed fears, the dread she felt at the prospect of meeting the Aguilarez royals. Dammit—he should have told her who he was last night, offered reassurance. But once he’d realised she had no clue as to his identity, he had been unable to resist the opportunity to discover more about the real Gabriella Ross. He had little doubt she would have presented a very different side if she’d known the truth. Now at least he knew there was a spark of attraction, a base to build from. He’d sensed that from the moment he’d seen her sprawled in the straw; known with satisfaction, by the end of the moonlit ride, that the spark was mutual.

Anyway, there was no need for guilt; he had sent a letter of explanation so she wouldn’t be taken by surprise. He suspected she’d be hopping mad but as a queen-to-be she would have to school herself to mask the emotion in public. Cesar did realise that a furious woman was not the best start to Campaign Marriage but his plan was to use the ball to advance a charm offensive.

‘Cesar.’ His sister’s hiss pulled him back to the ballroom. Dignitaries and officials lined the walls, awaiting the all-important presentation that would indicate to the world that Meribel’s actions and the arrival of a new ruler had not affected the alliance between Casavalle and Aguilarez.

His parents advanced slowly down the deep gold and blue carpet laid on the marbled floor towards where the House of Valenti awaited. Now Cesar’s gaze was drawn unerringly to Gabriella and his breath hitched in his chest. The beauty that had poleaxed him the previous night was now on full display.

Her dress was an incredible concoction of elegance. Black and white, wide skirted, with an intricacy of lace and embroidered flowers over a white tulle. The straps were made of delicately shaped flowers that skimmed the creamy skin of her shoulders and Cesar’s throat parched. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves around a face of classic beauty, though he could see a shadow in her brown eyes, a tension in her smooth jawline. As she greeted his parents, he heard the murmur of her Canadian-twanged voice, the words a little breathless, a little rehearsed, the smile slightly strained, but overall she held up well and he found himself applauding inwardly. Next his brothers and now it was his turn.

Deep brown eyes raised to look at his face, the automatic greeting started, ‘Welcome your...’ then her voice trailed off, those brown eyes widened in shock and he realised in that instant that the letter had not reached her, decided that his hapless aide was toast. ‘What are you doing h...?’ Now her eyes narrowed as she put two and two together and he could see the anger dawn, heard the buzz of interest begin to hum round the room.

Cesar bowed. ‘It is an honour to meet you, Your Royal Highness,’ he said. It might be against protocol to interrupt but he knew it was better than allowing her to continue.

Gabriella looked down and then back up again and he could see the effort it took her to speak through no doubt gritted teeth. ‘And you...it is a pleasure to see you here. I know your ambassadorial duties are heavy and I’m very happy that you were able to make it in honour of our countries’ continued friendship.’

The words reeled off and only a slight flush on the angles of her cheekbones denoted her discomfiture as he moved on and she greeted Flavia. Cesar could only hope the damage had been limited, though he had little doubt the slip would be analysed, dissected and leaked to the gossip magazines worldwide.

Part of this was his fault, he knew, but Gabriella would need to learn to mask emotions and feelings if she was to survive the royal world.

‘Cesar, what was that about?’ His father’s tone was cold, and with rueful grimaces his brothers melted from his side. ‘The Princess looked less than happy to see you.’

‘I believe she simply got confused, Father.’

‘Please remember what was agreed.’

Ordered more like, Cesar reflected as he kept a filial smile on his face and accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

‘You are to woo the Princess, not antagonise her. This marriage is important and we are trusting you to do the best for your country. As your mother and I did.’

And are you happy? The words withered on his lips—there was no universe where he could ask his parents that. They quite simply would not comprehend the question. To them it was an irrelevance—they had done what was right; it would have been unthinkable to do otherwise. Happiness didn’t come into it. Oh, God—was this what he was doomed to? No. His marriage would be loveless but he would not let it be so cold and passionless and unfeeling. Couldn’t live like that or ask anyone else to. Easy words. Once the knot was tied there could be no escape.

But there was no choice and his father was right. If he wanted to make this marriage possible and, more importantly, make it work, he did need to woo Gabriella; and he had to admit the courtship had not got off to the best start.

Time to regain lost ground and tread carefully on it; all eyes would be on them, watching every move. Gabriella was standing in a small group with Queen Maria and a couple of dignitaries, who she listened to with courteous interest.

He approached and, aided discreetly by Queen Maria, soon they were left alone, or as alone as it was possible to be at such a function. Her brown eyes glinted with anger but to her credit she managed a thin-lipped smile. ‘Your Royal Highness. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.’ The words held more than a hint of bitterness. ‘And my discomfiture.’

‘Of course I am not enjoying your discomfiture, rather I would like to apologise for my part in this situation. I did send a letter of explanation but it appears you didn’t receive it.’

‘A letter?’ Her voice was low, though her lips remained upturned. ‘How thoughtful.’ The sarcasm trembled her tone and as subtly as possible he manoeuvred them towards a garlanded pillar, hoping to shield her from view. ‘It didn’t occur to you to use something more...up to date? Like a phone. Or perhaps even turn up in person.’

‘I was aiming at discretion.’

‘Well, you missed your target.’

‘Clearly. But here and now you have to do better than this. You need to look as if this conversation is enjoyable. People will have noticed that our greeting was strained.’

‘I’m not an award-winning actress.’

‘Then you need to learn. Fast. Part of being royal is an ability to wear a mask.’