Gabi glanced at him. His voice was matter-of-fact. No anger or frustration, simple acceptance. And, she supposed, why should he complain? He was a prince, and he did have a fantastically privileged lifestyle. Yet he had missed out on the magical Christmases that were so important to childhood. Not because of the lack of gifts but because of the lack of Christmas spirit and family cheer.
‘What about now?’ he asked. ‘How do you usually spend Christmas?’
‘I kept the book store open so that people could come and have some festive fare and some company. I realised there are a lot of lonely people out there. People on their own at Christmas. So I’d make some turkey sandwiches, tourtière, a Yule log, Christmas cookies and mulled cider and people could just drop in as they liked. I loved it.’ Homesickness threatened and she blinked quickly, reminded herself again that royals didn’t show emotions. ‘What about you?’
‘I tend to holiday at Christmas, sometimes skiing, sometimes tropical, always fun.’
No doubt the fun included a gorgeous girlfriend, but that was none of her business and before she could reply they arrived at the centre of the maze where Gabi halted. ‘Oh, my goodness.’
The space had been transformed into a magical grotto. A wooden carved nativity scene made her catch her breath as she went over and examined the lovingly exquisite detail, marvelled at the talent that had created the small figures, the people and the animals, the cradle, the Virgin Mary, all somehow imbued with a sense of simplicity, grace and awe.
A table had been set up, covered in an embroidered damask tablecloth, laid with gleaming cutlery and starched napkins. The centrepiece was a magical burst of Christmas colours. Heaters had been set up to combat the wintry night air, and additional lights cast a golden illumination. The air was rich with the scent of food laid out on the table in a display that made her mouth water.
Three staff members were putting the finishing touches to the table. One approached them with a smile. ‘Welcome. All is ready, Your Highness. The champagne is chilled, the picnic is laid out. I hope you both enjoy the food.’
With that, all the staff melted discreetly away and Gabi stared in delight at the tableau. ‘This is what you call a picnic?’
‘Yup. Picnic Cesar Asturias style.’
‘Impressive. It’s beautiful.’ And her heart gave a hop, skip and jump. Whoa. Keep this real, Gabi. You may be nearly Queen, but you’re still Gabi Ross, gawky book nerd. Not Cesar’s type of woman at all. This was a political gesture, nothing more.
Cesar pulled a chair out and Gabi sat down, waited for him to seat himself opposite her. He looked impossibly handsome and for a moment her head whirled. Focus. Instinct told her that perhaps this was more than a gesture. This was a man schooled in diplomacy, a man whose every word and action were no doubt dictated by policy.
‘Thank you,’ she said as she accepted a crystal flute brimming with champagne, lifted it in toast. ‘To answers,’ she said. ‘Speaking of which, I’d like some. What is all this about? What was the night we met about? Why was it so important to get an impression about the “real” me?’
He helped himself from a bowl of pasta salad, the shapes gleaming with oil, dotted with olives, capers and cubes of a tart, local cheese, and studied her across the table, his dark eyes thoughtful, his expression neutral, the only sign of tension the tautness of his jaw.
‘I’m Canadian as well as Casavallian,’ Gabi reminded him. ‘We favour the direct approach. There is no need to be diplomatic here. I’d rather you cut to the chase and told me.’
A shrug and, ‘OK.’ He nodded. ‘I wanted to see if there was a compatibility between us. Because I believe we should consider a marriage.’
‘Whose marriage?’ The stupidity of the question was apparent to her even as she spoke the words. Yet surely he couldn’t possibly mean...
‘Our marriage.’
‘You and me? You think we should get married?’ Panic threatened and she shoved her chair back; her fork fell with a clatter onto the china plate. ‘One waltz and a sip of fizz and you are proposing?’
Cesar rose to his feet. ‘Hold on. It is not a proposal. It is an idea for us to discuss. To consider as a possible future option.’
‘I think you’ll find that is the definition of a proposal. I don’t need to consider it. I need to leave. Now.’ She stood up. Was she overreacting? Gabi gave it a couple of seconds’ consideration and decided not.
He inhaled deeply. ‘Please stay. Tell me why you won’t consider it?’
Gabi opened her mouth and then closed it again. There were so many reasons, all so incredibly obvious to her. ‘Why would I consider it?’
‘For Casavalle. For Aguilarez. For our countries.’
The words, in their simplicity, echoed round the glade, caromed off the dark evergreen leaves, magnified and filled the air. Gabriella fought the urge to turn and run from the weighted knowledge that her life was no longer her own to live. Instead it belonged to her country.
‘You know our countries’ histories,’ he continued.
‘I do, and I know that in the past the enmity was deep and bloody. But there has been peace for over two centuries.’ Which surely meant the whole need for a marriage was ludicrous.
‘Yet right now the situation is precarious. There are still many who feel it is foolish for one small island to have two countries, two royal families. Others think royalty should be replaced by democracy. Right now even royalists are unhappy. Many in Casavalle feel that Meribel has insulted the House of Valenti, many in my country feel Luca should have backed out, that he would have married Meribel under false pretences.’
‘And there are also those who believe that I am a usurper and that Luca is the rightful King.’ Gabriella sighed. ‘Perhaps I made a mistake. Perhaps I should just stand aside, allow Luca to fulfil the destiny he was brought up to, take the throne.’
Cesar shook his head. ‘You cannot put the genie back in the bottle, Gabriella. You are the rightful heir; you are King Vincenzo’s oldest child.’