‘His schooling?’
‘Where else will he learn to become fluent in Greek and Italian?’ questioned Casimiro sardonically. ‘In Walton-on-Thames? He will also need to understand the island’s culture since it is his heritage. Because when I do marry, any legitimate son I may have will inherit the crown—but Ben will always be able to play a significant role within the kingdom. If he wants to.’
Everything he had said to her was like being slapped in the face with a cold fish, but one phrase hit her with greater force than any other. So hard, it made her feel as if she were reeling from the impact. ‘M-marry?’
Casimiro understood perfectly the stuttered and horrified word for he knew that a woman’s jealousy should never be underestimated. ‘If I’m staying on Zaffirinthos—which now I must—then I will need a wife.’ He smiled. ‘And in a way, your refusal to marry me has liberated me. This way, I’ll be able to find myself someone who’s much more suitable. Someone who will care for and love Ben when he is staying with us.’
That did it. There were many disadvantages to bringing up a child on your own, but one of the benefits was that you didn’t have to share them—or not be able to see them 24/7. Melissa thought of another woman with Ben—being a pretend mother to him when she wasn’t around. Tucking him up at bedtimes and holding onto his chubby little hand. Perhaps even witnessing his first faltering steps or hearing him stumble out new words. Her son enjoying a parallel life which didn’t include her. Nausea rose in her throat and threatened to choke her. Anything would be better than that. Even marriage to Casimiro.
She looked at him across the table, some inner voice urging her to stay calm—because what if he turned round and told her that it was too late and he’d changed his mind?
‘Actually, Casimiro—when I come to think of it—perhaps I was a little…well, hasty.’ Her fingers fluttered to the base of her throat where she could feel the mad racing of a pulse. ‘And perhaps, well, what I’m trying to say is that I would like to marry you, after all.’
He waited for a moment, just long enough to see anxiety cloud those bright green eyes—and then Casimiro lifted the linen napkin to his lips to hide his smile of triumph.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MELISSA’S whole life changed from the moment she agreed to marry Casimiro. One minute she was struggling to pay the bills and the next she was deciding whether a white wedding would be hypocritical. She tried telling herself that it was the same for every newly engaged woman—but deep down she knew that her experience was entirely different.
Most women weren’t tearing out their roots and moving to an unknown land—a Mediterranean island where she was to be crowned Queen. And most women wouldn’t need to undergo a dramatic change of image before they walked down the aisle. To ‘look the part’—as Casimiro unemotionally informed her during that tense ride back to her apartment, after the fraught dinner when she’d agreed to be his wife.
‘I won’t make any kind of announcement until you’re ready, Melissa. Otherwise you won’t know a moment’s peace. The circus will start soon enough.’
One word had jarred—along with the fact that he had been sitting on the far side of the car seat as if to emphasise the great gulf between them. ‘Ready?’
He had turned to her, his face a series of shifting shadows combined with the occasional illumination of a street light as the powerful car travelled towards her home.
‘But of course. You need to be prepared—and for that you will need an entirely new wardrobe. New everything, in fact—everything that will befit a queen. As will…’ He had scowled. ‘Why on earth did you call him Ben?’
This had made Melissa bristle with indignation and hurt. ‘What’s wrong with it? My maternal grandfather was called Benjamin—it’s a lovely name!’
‘It is not the name of a king!’
‘Funny as it may seem, I wasn’t actually thinking about his enthronement when I was giving birth to him!’ She had been too scared at the enormity of what was happening and what lay ahead. Even when she had clutched the wet and shiny newborn to her breast she had wondered if she would ever be able to support him properly. Party planning wasn’t the most secure career option in the book—everyone knew that.
Well, at least she now knew that Ben would never go short of anything—but at what price?
‘My brother’s wife, Catherine—she will accompany you on a shopping trip,’ Casimiro had continued. ‘As a royal princess herself, she will know exactly what it is you require.’
‘So you’ve…you’ve told her that we’re engaged?’
‘We are not yet formally engaged, Melissa—not until I put the ring on your finger. Xaviero and Catherine have been informed that we are to marry, yes—but that was mainly out of courtesy. Nobody else knows. Not yet.’
Melissa had nodded and blurted out a still shellshocked goodnight as the chauffeur opened the door of the limousine. And the next day she was as nervous as a kitten as she waited for Princess Catherine by the perfume section in one of London’s glitziest department stores, as arranged.
She didn’t know what she had been expecting—maybe a rash of security guards crawling all over the place, a bit like the grand ball in Zaffirinthos. As it was, a petite and beautiful whirlwind of a woman appeared without any fuss or fanfare and embraced her as if they were old friends. Dressed in a simple cotton dress, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, she didn’t look at all like a princess. Only the clutch of diamond bands which sparkled on her wedding finger gave any indication of her wealth or position.
‘Oh, it’s always easy to go around London incognito,’ she confided to Melissa as they headed straight for the designer floor of the store. ‘Though not so easy on Zaffirinthos, of course—which is one of the reasons we like living here in England. Although I have to admit that Xaviero got awfully homesick when we were there for the ball. Here.’ She scooped an armful of evening dre
sses off one of the rails. ‘You’ll need loads of these.’
It seemed to Melissa that she needed loads of everything—skirts, blouses, day-dresses, cocktail dresses, shoes, boots and handbags—and every single garment was made in the most costly fabric and to the highest possible standard. She didn’t think she’d ever worn real silk before and now it seemed it was going to be the exclusive fabric for the underwear and nightwear which she tried on with the guidance of an assistant while Catherine had a bubbling telephone conversation with her husband. Blushing, she remembered Casimiro’s cruel jibes when he’d seen her in her baggy T-shirt and wondered if he might approve of these.
They didn’t even have to carry any of the numerous bags home—because Catherine ordered for them to be dispatched directly to Melissa’s apartment.
‘You can sort them out from there,’ she said breezily as they travelled by limousine to the fancy Granchester Hotel, where they were shown a window table overlooking the park and where afternoon tea was laid out. ‘And get rid of all your old stuff while you’re at it.’
As she was offered a choice between Lapsong or Earl Grey tea Melissa suddenly felt like a fraud. This woman was going to be her sister-in-law—was she going to have to pretend to be something she wasn’t? And would Catherine be quite so friendly if she knew the truth about her?