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Their Christmas Royal Wedding
Nina Milne


Cinderella takes the throne… …and the hand of her Prince Charming? While adjusting to her new life as heir to the throne of Casavalle, Gabriella meets a handsome stranger, with no idea he’s Prince Cesar of Aguilarez. A convenient marriage would unite their countries, but their attraction is anything but convenient!







Cinderella takes the throne...

...and the hand of her Prince Charming?

In this A Crown by Christmas story, since discovering she’s heir to the throne of Casavalle, ordinary girl Gabriella is adjusting to her new royal life. On an impulsive nighttime horse ride she meets a handsome stranger and has no idea he’s Prince Cesar of Aguilarez. A convenient marriage would unite their countries, but their attraction is anything but convenient! Can duty and desire unite for a fairy-tale happy-ever-after?


NINA MILNE has always dreamed of writing for Mills & Boon—ever since she played libraries with her mother’s stacks of Mills & Boon romances as a child. On her way to this dream Nina acquired an English degree, a hero of her own, three gorgeous children and—somehow!—an accountancy qualification. She lives in Brighton and has filled her house with stacks of books—her very own real library.


Also by Nina Milne (#u76616908-6869-54ac-a8a3-d33634eb521d)

Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

Marooned with the Millionaire

Conveniently Wed to the Prince

Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée

Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

A Crown by Christmas series

Cinderella’s Prince Under the Mistletoe by Cara Colter Soldier Prince’s Secret Baby Gift by Kate Hardy Their Christmas Royal Wedding

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Their Christmas Royal Wedding

Nina Milne






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09185-5

THEIR CHRISTMAS ROYAL WEDDING

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Cover (#u37172589-0f9e-51be-ba4a-62edde39ec13)

Back Cover Text (#uc06b33da-2090-5145-b271-08d6c9183812)

About the Author (#udc1a2afa-a099-50ba-9eb6-dab4c7724ae0)

Booklist (#uabf4a1d6-6759-5a5e-9e26-8fce67829d5c)

Title Page (#ud196aae6-5cd5-5456-921a-e80225774a91)

Copyright (#u322f0db5-d9f8-5829-b5b9-6bd35e8431ec)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u0e4b11f2-8c61-5346-9765-769637459a40)

CHAPTER ONE (#ubaca21f7-3786-4806-b407-1b7ebe62d147)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4415c541-02b4-5d88-97a3-367a413f8608)

CHAPTER THREE (#u30166756-6de2-53c4-ae21-8368bef71fcc)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uec749b11-9b24-55cf-83c3-15b0e6bbcc8a)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)





CHAPTER ONE (#u76616908-6869-54ac-a8a3-d33634eb521d)

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.




CHAPTER TWO (#u76616908-6869-54ac-a8a3-d33634eb521d)


GABI LIFTED A hand to shield herself from the intrusive beam of light and instantly the man holding the torch redirected the rays to the floor. What to do, what to do? What on earth had possessed her to hide? Stupid, stupid, stupid. The urge to weep from sheer mortification was tempting but she refused to succumb.

Instead she had to embark on mission impossible to try and salvage even a semblance of dignity. As she looked up at the man, he stooped and held out a hand. ‘May I help you up, Your Royal Highness?’

Fabulous; he’d recognised her. Any forlorn hope that she could somehow pretend to be a fainting groom faded.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, figuring a hand up would be more dignified than a clumsy scramble to her feet.

His hand encircled hers, his grip cool and firm as he helped her up and then stood back. She darted a look at him, his face cast in shadows, the torch now by his side so she couldn’t see him clearly. Yet even in the gloom she registered handsome features and the bemusement that etched them. Dark short hair, strong features, firm jaw, tall, muscled body dressed in clothes that discreetly indicated expense. His dark grey woollen coat moulded broad shoulders and to her irritation she felt a sudden surge of...interest.

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 (#u76616908-6869-54ac-a8a3-d33634eb521d)


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.’

‘Well, clearly I am not royal enough. Why? Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ She lifted a hand to her cheek. ‘I am so angry and so mortified I could...’

‘Could what?’ His tone was low but harder now. ‘Ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for? You told me this ball was important. For you and for your country. As it is for mine. If you don’t want to blow this you need to pull it together. This is political now—if the public or the press believe we are fighting this will have ramifications on our two countries. Do you understand?’

Dear God, this was not going to plan but he needed her to get it and she did; he saw the understanding touch her eyes, watched her expression smooth to a semblance of serenity. She inhaled a deep breath and nodded. ‘Fine. You’re right. I understand.’

‘Good. And, ma’am?’

‘Yes.’

‘I truly do apologise.’

She shook her head, but the smile on her face made the gesture appear casual. ‘You let me make a fool of myself.’ Now guilt touched him as he remembered again how worried she had already been about the evening.

‘No! Gabriella. You didn’t.’ Without even meaning to he put a finger under her chin, tilted her face up so she looked directly into his eyes. And he saw the pain but also saw how hard she tried to conceal it. Remembered that until recently Gabriella Ross hadn’t even set foot in Casavalle; she had not been brought up to mask emotions and play a role. And he had no right to expect her to.

He, Cesar Asturias, ambassador extraordinaire, had screwed up and now he needed to fix it. ‘I swear it.’ He would not have her undone for his own fault. So, ‘Smile. Look at me as if you like me.’

‘I’ll try.’ She sighed and the sheer weariness in that breath touched him, as he understood just how hard this was for her.

‘You liked me yesterday. I am that same man.’

‘No. You aren’t. You are a prince, not an employee; you lied to me. Misled me, duped me, whatever term you wish to use.’

‘I kept my identity from you and I truly apologise for that. It was a mistake. But everything else I said was true, was real. Think back to my words. None of them were lies. Not one.’ He waited as she bit her lip, studied his expression.

‘Not one?’ she asked softly.

‘No.’ That he knew. ‘I promise.’

Perhaps she heard the sincerity in his voice. In truth, for the past few minutes he had forgotten that they weren’t alone, had wanted her to believe him with a fierceness that was out of proportion. Disquiet touched him and he dismissed it. It was vital he win her over, or the chances of her considering his suit were minimal. That explained the ridiculous swathe of relief when she gave a small nod and smiled a small but this time genuine smile.

‘For the sake of this evening and for the man I met last night I will give you the benefit of the doubt. But I wish that letter of explanation had reached me.’

‘Perhaps I could explain in person. Tomorrow. We could go for a ride.’

‘I have engagements all day.’

‘At the end of the day, then. We could have a picnic supper; leave the details to me. Meet me at the stables.’

As she hesitated, he suspected he knew the cause, knew he was right as he saw her lips twist half in rue, half in exasperation. ‘I understand you need to check before you accept—that is part of royalty. Sometimes simple decisions have ramifications.’ He also knew there would not be a problem. If she asked Queen Maria, consent would be granted—after all, Queen Maria had agreed this marriage would be a good one, though had stipulated she would not force Gabriella into it.

‘If it is the genuine wish of both, and they both believe they can have a happy life together, then and only then will I believe that this will work.’

Gabriella nodded. ‘I’ll confirm with you later. And now I must mingle. I mustn’t neglect my guests.’

‘You are right. But remember the first dance is mine.’

Worry-laced panic now skimmed her expression and without thought he took one of her hands in his, gave a quick clasp of reassurance. ‘I promise it will be a dance to remember,’ he said. ‘And, Gabriella?’

‘Yes.’

‘I told you I didn’t lie and I did not. When I told you that Prince Cesar would be dazzled I was telling the truth. You look beautiful and I am truly dazzled.’

Now she looked adorably confused, her nose crinkled and her blush deepened. ‘As if...’ she muttered.

‘I swear it. If there were not so many people watching I would prove it to you.’

‘How?’ Her voice was wary.

‘I’d kiss you.’ He smiled. ‘Or I would ask permission to.’

‘I... I... I...’

‘What would you say?’

Suddenly she returned his smile; an impish dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘Why don’t you try me and see?’ Clearly seeing that she’d wrong-footed him, she allowed her smile to morph into a small triumphant chuckle and he found himself laughing too. ‘Now I really must mingle.’ And with a look over her shoulder she glided away.






Had she really said that? Had she lost the plot along with the royal rule book? Gabi resisted the urge to go and hide behind a Christmas tree, to give herself a chance to regroup and figure out what had just happened. But she couldn’t; the royal ship needed to continue its regal sail. So she had to overcome the fluster and somehow rein in her thoughts, hide the tumult going on in her brain and her body.

Her mystery man was Prince Cesar Asturias and by rights she should be furious at his deception. Especially when he’d had the temerity to tell her she needed to pull herself together. Problem was he’d been right. She had been livid, hurt, angry, confused...and she’d been showing it. Royal rule number one: show no emotion.

And then somehow Cesar had got past her fury, because the apology in his brown eyes had been sincere and so too had been the glint of admiration. Dazzled, that was what he’d said. And that was all it had taken; she’d metaphorically melted into a puddle and flirted...practically promised to kiss him. Cue mental eye roll. Was she that much of a pushover?

Enough; she would banish Prince Cesar from her mind and focus on what she should be doing. Creating the right impression, making all these people believe she had it in her to rule.

And just like that the crushing weight of responsibility, the fear she’d mess this up, returned. The strangeness of wearing a ball gown, the unaccustomed shoes, the splendour of the room itself threatened to overwhelm her. But somehow she summoned the royal smile, the one practised in front of the mirror until her cheeks ached, as Queen Maria approached her, with yet another person by her side to introduce.

An hour later and, ‘You OK?’ She turned to see Luca at her side and she smiled, relieved to see her eldest brother, a man who understood all this.

‘I’m fine, maybe a bit overwhelmed.’

‘You’re doing great.’

‘At looking the part.’

He shook her head. ‘This isn’t about looking the part, or playing a part. You are a princess, Gabi, and you will be Casavalle’s Queen.’

‘That’s what Cesar said.’ Gabi regretted the words as she saw Luca study her expression.

‘Sounds like you got to know each other fast.’

‘Yes.’ Gabi pushed away the urge to confide; the relationship between the Valentis and the Asturiases was complicated enough. She didn’t need Luca to get involved or fire up on his sister’s behalf.

‘Well, he’s right, Gabi. You can do this. You’ve got this.’

‘Thank you. To you and Imogen. For having my back.’

‘That’s what family is for, Gabi. And now you have a family. To support you.’ Luca smiled at her. ‘So let’s show some Valenti-Ross solidarity and build on what you have started with Prince Cesar. I have spoken with his older brothers and his younger sister already. Now let’s go get some more publicity.’

Gabi nodded, understood the importance of this public meeting of the families. Luca had told her that a few months earlier he and Cesar had gone to see Meribel, and they had all made their peace. But that had been a private meeting; this was a public showing of togetherness, an assertion that neither family bore a grudge, that both families were friends.

He looked round. ‘But let’s bring Imogen into the mix too.’ He smiled as his fiancée headed towards him, clearly alerted by some mysterious couple radar, and for a mad moment envy tinged with wistfulness touched Gabi. She was happy for her best friend, for her brother, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she could ever find what they had. Could she ever find love, trust that someone would love her for herself?

‘Let’s do this,’ Luca said. With smiles and murmurs to other guests they made their way through the glittering, designer-clad throngs together and now Gabi felt lighter, revelled in the feel of being part of a family unit. Reminded herself that she did have support and backup and she was thankful for it.

They approached Cesar, who was speaking with Queen Maria, and Gabi gulped. Standing beneath one of the magnificent chandeliers, dressed in a tux that moulded his body, showed off those powerful shoulders and that lean, mean, fighting-machine body, he took her breath away. Again.

As if he sensed it, his dark brown eyes flicked to meet hers and she saw an answering flare there and her insides knotted in sudden desire. And she’d asked him to ask permission to kiss her. Madness—Cesar was not a man to flirt with; she might as well flirt with fire, dance and weave through the flames.

‘Cesar. Good to see you.’ Luca’s deep tone was pitched to carry without shouting and Gabi was aware that around them conversations slowed as the two men shook hands. ‘Much has changed since we last met,’ he continued, with a disarming smile. ‘I wish to assure you and your family that I for one have no complaint at all as to how things have played out. I am a very happy man. I have gained a sister and a fiancée I love. Gabriella you have met, but now allow me to introduce Imogen, my fiancée.’

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Imogen.’ Now Cesar grasped Imogen’s hand, seemingly oblivious to the buzz around them. ‘May I offer my sincere congratulations and wish you both happiness from myself and my family.’

‘Thank you.’ Imogen’s voice was clear. ‘I appreciate that very much. And please tell Meribel we wish her as much happiness as we have found.’

‘I will do that.’ Cesar’s smile was courteous; he was clearly appreciative of Imogen’s diplomatic answer. ‘And may I say you will make a wonderful diplomat if ever the urge takes you.’

At that moment the band struck up and Cesar’s smile changed, as if he’d upped the brightness meter, and he turned to Gabi. ‘My dance, I believe.’

She would swear she could feel the colour leech from her face; she, Gabriella Ross, was about to lead a royal ball, a ball in her honour. Crazy didn’t cover it.

‘You’ll wow them, Gabi,’ Imogen said. ‘And we’ll be right behind you.’

‘You’d better be.’ Gabi turned to Cesar, oddly reassured—he would know what he was doing so with any luck she wouldn’t make a complete fool of herself.

‘There is no need to be nervous,’ Cesar said softly as he took her hand and they approached the dance floor, where the orchestra had started the introduction, the melody touching and humming the air with motes of beauty.

‘There is every need to be nervous. I told you last night, this is not my forte.’

‘And I told you last night that you can do this. Plus what I didn’t tell you last night is that I have all the moves!’ As she glanced up at him, he did a disco move reminiscent of the seventies, the move so unexpected that she halted and looked up at him in surprise.

His face creased into a grin and he chuckled and she grinned right back. Suddenly the whole idea of the dance seemed less of an ordeal and as the orchestra began to play, she inhaled deeply. ‘OK. I can do this.’

‘We can do this,’ he said and then they were off.

Gabi focused on his left shoulder, murmured the instructions under her breath, tried to focus on the movements, but it was hard when Cesar was this close. So close his aftershave tantalised her, so close she now knew the muscles were real, hard under her fingers; she could see one errant black curl on the nape of his neck and she bit back a small moan. The feel of his arm around her waist was ridiculously intimate as he guided her with a deft gentleness that made her shiver. And all she wanted was to be even closer; somehow it felt as though the rest of the room, the guests, the noise, had all faded away to leave only them...no one else.

Until the music came to its haunting close and she blinked as if emerging from a dream, became aware of all the other couples on the floor around them, suddenly conscious of the attention they had attracted. Oh, hell! She hadn’t done anything stupid, had she? Drooled all over that beautiful tux, ripped open the jacket...

With as much dignity as she could muster, she managed a smile that she hoped looked cool but friendly. ‘Thank you. Your moves helped a lot.’

This pulled a return smile, but his was way more than friendly and his gaze felt like a caress.

‘Let me get you a drink,’ he suggested. ‘Before you take up your duties. There are many people who you must dance with tonight. But if we don’t get a chance to speak properly again, I hope to see you tomorrow evening. We have much to discuss.’

They did? Gabi watched the breadth of his retreating back, turned to smile dutifully at the elderly gentleman, an English lord, who now approached her. But as she spoke with him her mind and her body dwelled on Cesar and anticipation twisted her tummy at the thought of their next meeting.




CHAPTER FOUR (#u76616908-6869-54ac-a8a3-d33634eb521d)


COUNTLESS HOURS LATER and Gabi looked round the now empty reception room with a sigh of relief and eased her high heels off. ‘That feels better.’

‘Perhaps.’ Queen Maria’s voice held no censure, but it did hold a certain gentle implacability. ‘But you need to keep the shoes on, Gabriella. It is possible that a guest will return, or a staff member enter—it would not look good for you to be seen barefoot, unprepared.’

Human... The thought entered Gabi’s head as she slipped her aching feet back into the pointed, strappy, beautiful torture chambers. It would make her look human. Yet it didn’t surprise her that there was a royal protocol that dictated a sight of the royal feet was taboo.

Maria reached out and placed a gentle hand on her arm. ‘Thank you and you did well tonight.’

Gabi wasn’t so sure; she knew she’d made mistakes, had knocked a glass of water over at the table and she was pretty sure she hadn’t used the correct cutlery. All the while she’d been, oh, so aware of Cesar’s presence; half of her had wished he’d been next to her, half of her relieved he wasn’t. Instead she had spoken with his parents, wondered if she’d imagined the assessment in their eyes, the coldness behind the smiles. It was as if they saw the princess but not the person. But that was true of everyone. Except Cesar. Last night, this evening, he had treated her as a human being.

Now she glanced at her stepmother. ‘Cesar asked me to meet him tomorrow evening.’ A glance at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the room showed her the time. ‘This evening,’ she amended. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should or not?’

‘Do you want to?’ Maria’s eyes met hers and to her annoyance Gabi felt a blush creep over her face.

‘I’m not sure,’ she settled for, which was no more than the truth. Part of her wanted to go, to satisfy her curiosity as to why he hadn’t revealed his identity the night before. Part of her wanted to go because...

You want him to kiss you... that insidious voice whispered at the back of her mind.

No! No! No!

That was nuts. Because Cesar Asturias was not her type of man and no doubt he had simply been flirting with her out of...habit. The man had certainly dated his share of women, all far more beautiful than Gabi.

Maria surveyed her. ‘There can be no harm in meeting him,’ she said. ‘It would show that the two royal families are friends; would demonstrate the Asturias family’s acceptance of your position.’ The Queen’s expression held its usual serene inscrutability but there was something in her eyes, something elusive that Gabi couldn’t read. ‘But that can be done in public. I would not expect you to meet privately if you dislike him.’

‘I didn’t dislike him...’ Now the flush deepened and clambered over her cheekbones. ‘I... I think I’ll meet him.’ After all, she wasn’t going to kiss him and she did deserve an explanation. And she would get to ride Arya again.

The Queen nodded. ‘Now you should get some rest; it is a busy day tomorrow. You did truly well tonight.’

‘Thank you.’ Gabi knew praise did not always come easy to the other woman, that she expected a certain standard from her own sons and now from Gabi. But she knew too that she owed Maria so much. The Queen had shown no resentment towards Gabi, the woman who had usurped her own children’s line to the throne. Instead she had gone out of her way to help her, guide her and advise her. On impulse Gabi moved over and gave the older woman a hug. ‘And thank you for everything and the way you have welcomed me to Casavalle.’

For a second Maria froze, then she relaxed into the embrace, patted Gabi on the back before stepping back.

‘It has been my pleasure. I see how Luca and Antonio have taken you to their hearts. And I know your father would have been proud of you.’

The words caused a lump in Gabi’s throat: the familiar conflict of emotion. If only she’d found her mom’s letters sooner, then she would have met her father. For a moment she brooded on the second letter, the one she had told no one about. The one where Sophia explained that she had wanted to return to Casavalle. Once Gabriella was born she’d realised she had been wrong to flee, that she loved her husband and wanted to work it out, that she wanted to take back her request for a divorce. But then she had discovered that Vincenzo had started seeing someone else, a suitable woman, someone who ‘would be the wife I could never be’, ‘the wife Vincenzo needs’ and so she had decided it would be better for everyone if she remained in Canada.

Now, as she looked at Maria, Gabriella vowed again never to reveal that letter, knowing it would hurt Maria, impact her memories of a successful marriage, make her play the game of if and but. Gabi knew now too that if the papers got hold of the information they would splash it around with glee, uncaring of who they hurt in the doing.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I so wish I could have met him, but I am so very grateful to you for everything.’

Knowing Maria would be super uncomfortable if she saw the tears that prickled the backs of Gabi’s eyes, she smiled, blew the older woman a kiss and left the reception room. Hoped sheer exhaustion would allow her to fall into a dreamless sleep that did not feature Prince Cesar of Aguilarez.




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