The Future King's Bride (The Royal House of Cacciatore 3)

‘Well, yes!’ She put her hairbrush down with trembling fingers. ‘You’ll have to divorce me!’

‘Millie, stop it,’ he said gently.

‘But you will!’

‘How long has it been now?’

‘Nearly four months!’ she wailed, and to her fury he burst out laughing. ‘Don’t!’

‘Come here,’ he said tenderly. ‘What does that book you’ve got say?’

Millie sniffed. She hadn’t realised he’d noticed her reading it. ‘Not to worry until it’s been at least a year.’

‘Or not to worry at all, more like it,’ he said sternly.

‘Why aren’t you worried about it?’ Millie questioned.

‘What if I told you that I was having too good a time just the way things are?’ he said simply.

‘Are you?’ she asked softly, in delight.

‘Yes, cara. I am. Now, come over here and have a look at the designs for the statue.’

She walked over to him and leaned over his shoulder, looking down at the plans. ‘Oh, Gianferro,’ she breathed. ‘It looks beautiful.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ he agreed, with a smile of satisfaction.

All three brothers had decided that it was high time that their mother should have a monument erected in her honour, and a prestigious Mardivinian sculptor had been given the precious commission. It was to stand just outside the capital, in stunning landscaped gardens with a small lake and tinkling fountain. It would be a place where families could picnic and children could play, and lovers could lie and look at the rare trees and shrubs.

The statue was unveiled six months later, on a beautiful, sunny spring day, and Millie sat with her sisters-in-law—their faces all soppy with pride and love as they watched their three dark husbands bow before the marble image of their mother.

Prince Nicolo. The Daredevil Prince.

Prince Guido. The Playboy Prince.

And King Gianferro. The Mighty.

As the three men walked towards their wives Ella laid a hand on Millie’s arm, her face concerned.

‘Are you all right, Millie?’ she questioned anxiously. ‘You look awfully pale today.’

Millie shook her head, and then wished she hadn’t as a wave of nausea hit her. ‘No, I’m just feeling a bit…under the weather,’ she said weakly as a shadow fell over her. She looked up with relief when she saw it was her husband.

‘You’re not sick, are you?’

Millie met Gianferro’s eyes, which were filled with love, as they always were, and some new emotion, too.

Pride.

She raised her eyebrows at him in question.

‘No, Ella,’ he said softly. ‘The Queen is not ill.’ Tenderly, he touched his hand to her blonde hair and smiled. ‘Shall I tell them, cara, or will you?’