Their Christmas Royal Wedding

Gabi looked at him open-mouthed. ‘A strategy? How about complete outright denial?’

‘That is one option,’ he agreed.

‘I sense that you have other preferred ones.’

‘That depends.’ He came further into the room, sat opposite her and despite her horror at the headlines she couldn’t help her body’s awareness of his proximity, that strange ripple in her tummy his presence caused. ‘On what you have decided after our discussion last night.’

It was a question she had tussled with for most of a sleepless night, thoughts whirling in a restless vortex around her brain, interspersed with vivid images of their kiss. Because whilst Cesar was the epitome of the handsome prince and he had her hormones in a twirl...she had to remember that this was not a book, not a classic romance or a fairy tale. This was real life. Her life, his life, and scarily the decisions they made now would impact on the politics and well-being of their two countries as well as themselves. Eventually as she’d dropped into a doze as the dawn light had crept through the windows, she had come to a decision. ‘I had decided that there would be no harm in discussing the matter further, rather than dismissing it out of hand.’

‘Good. Then there is another viable strategy to deal with these articles. Apart from denial.’

‘Such as?’

‘We go along with it.’

Gabi blinked, tried to modulate her voice, tried to keep herself from grabbing him by his broad shoulders and shaking him. ‘And why would we do that?’

‘Because these articles are feel good; they are positive—there is a tacit acceptance that you are royal, there is no mention of scandal, usurpers, pregnancies, jilted at the altar. All that is positive.’

Gabi stared at him and her eyes narrowed. ‘Anyone would think you’d planned it yourself. Did you “leak” any of this; are you the “source” quoted?’

‘I didn’t plan it, but I didn’t stop it either.’

Fabulous. ‘So you have tacitly encouraged these fluffy, sickly, completely incorrect stories?’ Unable to help it, she started to pace—perhaps she should be being suitably royal and poker-faced, but tough.

‘Yes. I could have shut it down. I chose not to. Because I prefer to have a certain level of control of the stories, otherwise the press can pretty much make it up.’

‘So instead you have made it up?’

‘Yes. And I think we should continue to do so.’

‘But it is insane. Surely they can’t believe what they are writing. They must know that we barely know each other.’

‘They are writing to sell their publications and people like romance. They want to believe the fairy tales. Think how they work out. The prince fits a glass slipper onto a mystery girl’s foot and they live happily ever after. The prince fights through brambles, kisses a sleeping princess he has never even met because she has been asleep for a hundred years and they live happily ever after. People like stories like that. They almost see us royals as fictional characters, so why not provide a feel-good story?’

‘Because we aren’t fictional. We’re real. And newsflash...we may not get married. In fact the chances of us getting married are marginally marginal. And even if we do there won’t be any fluffy romance, any glass slippers. No fairy-tale ending.’

‘But we can give an illusion of romance whilst we decide what we want to do. This kind of press is good publicity. Good for both our countries. It will distract attention away from all the scandals. We are planning to spend some time together getting to know each other; we can manage the publicity. Use it to our advantage.’

‘So you think we should encourage the press to speculate that there is “romance in the air” whilst we spend time together figuring out if we want to make a cold-blooded alliance.’

‘Not cold-blooded, no,’ he said softly.

And there was that ripple of attraction. Again. To her relief a timid knock at the door was followed by the entrance of another of the palace staff, pushing a laden trolley in. ‘Leo asked me to bring refreshments, ma’am.’

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‘Thank you, Donna,’ Gabi said, waited as the young woman busied herself arranging the tea things on the table, caught the quick speculative glance she threw at Cesar before she left.

Cesar waited for the door to click shut and then, ‘For example, we could have used that opportunity to give the impression of romance, let the spark show a little—then Donna would take that story back to the kitchen staff and that’s how rumours grow.’

‘Let the spark show.’ Gabi closed her eyes in disbelief. ‘Right now I’m not sure whether to be pleased or horrified that a spark exists at all, so the idea of deliberately flaunting it in public doesn’t fill me with joy.’

‘Flaunting is too strong a word,’ he said blithely. ‘The occasional look, the brush of our hands, a hand on the arm...no more than that, nothing that detracts from royal dignity. But to create an illusion, you have to live the illusion.’

Gabriella stared at him. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘It will be easy. The attraction exists—there will be no need to act. Do not look so worried. It will be like the waltz—we will pull it off.’