Their Christmas Royal Wedding

‘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.

And when they next met she would not be beguiled into flirting, would not be befuddled by the feel of his arms around her and there would be no observers so she would have no need of diplomacy. She would get an explanation for his behaviour.

* * *

As the sun set over the courtyard, Cesar crossed the mosaic paving to the Casavallian stables and nodded to the stable hand who was already at work saddling up Arya. He stroked the horse’s nose and then opened Ferron’s stall. ‘I’ll saddle up Ferron.’

Twenty minutes later the horses were ready and he led Ferron into the courtyard and saw Gabi approaching, in jeans and a short navy-blue padded jacket with a furred hood from which he could glimpse a glint of chestnut hair. And she looked as beautiful as she had in full ball regalia. But today her eyes held a combatant gleam, though her expression softened as she walked up to Arya and patted her neck.

‘Good evening.’

‘Hi.’

‘I’ve arranged for a picnic to be brought to the maze.’

‘The maze? Is that allowed? I thought it was about to be opened to the public.’

She mounted Arya with an easy grace, leant forward to pat the horse and murmur words in her ear.

‘I’ve cleared it all with the palace gardeners, the Queen and anyone else I could think of. I thought it would be nice for you to see it in its festive beauty.’

As the horses trotted side by side he glanced across at her, tried to read her expression, but she seemed lost in thought and for a while he let the silence envelop them. Sensed that she was revelling in the evening sounds, the cold, crisp, dusky air, the puffs of breath from the horses, the orange red of the setting sun. In the silence after the hustle and bustle of the ball yesterday and her round of engagements today.

It gave him a chance to run over his strategy, the tactics necessary to win Gabriella. Again, today, his father had made his views clear.

‘Make her fall in love with you, Cesar. Turn on the charm for which you are so famed.’

The idea had been endorsed by Queen Adriana.

‘It is the best way. Gabriella is not like us; she will expect the more vulgar emotions.’

Anger had sizzled through him; Cesar did not believe emotions were a good thing but he wouldn’t condemn them as vulgar. Neither would he lie to Gabriella; to trick her into falling in love with him with promises of an emotion he could not feel was dishonourable. And unlike his parents he did not believe that in this case the end justified the means. It would make for a disastrous marriage and also be an illusion that would be impossible to sustain.

Cesar hoped and fully intended to achieve his goal in a different way. Yes, he would use charm. Because charm worked. He’d figured that out as a child; it had been a survival strategy. The best way to win over the stream of royal nannies had been charm, cuteness with a soupçon of cheekiness. An acceptance that to them he was a job, not an object of love or affection. Acceptance that they moved on. Cesar could still feel the wrench in his gut he’d experienced when his first nanny had left. Never again. Oh, she’d been nice enough, had been sad to leave him, but she’d still gone. To have a family of her own. Lesson learnt. Charm the nannies to maximise their care of him; smile and the world smiled with you. A cliché that worked, even if sometimes the smiles were fake.

Perhaps now it was indeed time for a smile, time to start the charm offensive. He shot a quick glance at her, straight backed and poised on Arya’s back. ‘So, did you enjoy last night?’ he asked.

‘It had its moments.’ A memory of their dance, how she had felt in his arms, shimmered in the air. ‘But on the whole? Honestly?’ Gabriella shook her head. ‘I felt out of my depth and utterly exhausted. The things that come effortlessly to you, to Luca, are a struggle for me. I’m not used to being the centre of attention and I hate it. The idea that everyone is watching me makes me nervous.’

‘You will need to get used to it.’

‘I know.’ The idea clearly was not one that filled her with joy and she gave her head a small shake as if to try and dispel the gloom. ‘And I’m sure it gets easier. But it’s not just the spotlight, it’s the public interest; most mornings I read stuff about myself that is either malicious, or untrue, or taken out of context or is surely not of any interest. I mean, how can how I like my eggs be interesting?’

‘The press is something you have to accept and in time you will learn to ignore the hurtful and preposterous. You will make connections with positive journalists and learn to use them to your advantage.’ Another example of the way charm and making the best of a situation could be useful.

‘I hope you’re right.’ As if hearing her own doubt, she shook her head again and then she frowned. ‘But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. You’re going to explain why on earth you didn’t tell me who you were.’