Their Christmas Royal Wedding

Like the waltz. The memory of his arms around her, the feel of his body next to hers...the attraction existed all right.

As he poured her a cup of tea, he raised his eyebrows as his hand hovered over the milk jug and he glanced at her in question.

‘Just black, please. It’s rooibos, one of my favourites.’ Gabi gave a small laugh. ‘For heaven’s sake, you don’t even know how I take my tea, but you want to marry me.’

‘But after today I will know. We will learn about each other. And if we decide we will not suit then so be it. But in the meantime, I believe the romance strategy works. What do you think?’

Gabi tried to focus, to consider her options. She and Cesar were going to spend time together regardless; they couldn’t tell the press the truth as to why and there would be speculation whatever they did. So... ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

‘Excellent. I will coordinate the publicity with your palace secretary.’

‘Sure.’ All of it was suddenly overwhelming and as she sipped her tea the taste was so very evocative of her book store, of her former life, that she felt a sudden threat of tears, closed her eyes to try and blink them away.

‘Hey. Are you OK?’ She heard the clink of a cup being placed down, felt his approach and opened her eyes as he squatted down in front of her chair.

‘I’m sorry. I just had a wave of homesickness; a yearning to be sitting in my book store with a book and a cup of tea, chatting to customers, or students.’ Back to her safe, ordered world. She kept talking, as much to distract herself as anything else. ‘The book store was more than a job—it was like my home. My aunt and uncle bought it when I was young.’ The all too familiar guilt hit her again. They had used the savings they had planned to spend on their adventurous retirement and they had run the store competently, but without passion. But it had been different for Gabi. For her the shop had been magical. ‘I grew up in it and I always loved it. Loved the books, the smell of them, the feel of them and the sheer magic of them. I could literally escape into them. Live a different life, befriend the fictional characters.’ She broke off. ‘Sorry. I get a bit carried away.’

‘That’s fine. It’s nice to see. Even if I don’t get it.’

Gabi frowned. ‘You must get it a bit. Think of your favourite book.’

This was greeted by silence.

‘I do not read.’

‘Excuse me?’ Gabi put her cup of tea down and leant forward.

‘Well, obviously I read reports and official documents and I read the news. Religiously. But if you mean books, fiction, poetry, then, no, I do not.’

‘OK. But what about a childhood book? Once you learnt to read didn’t you sit under the bedcovers with a torch, reading? You must have read something? Books about wizards? Books about princes? You must have read, or surely your parents read you bedtime stories.’

That was something she knew Sophia had done, one of the few snippets her aunt had let fall. And if she tried really hard Gabi was sure she remembered, had a faint elusive memory of a soft, modulated voice, reading, making farm-animal sounds, singing softly at bedtime. Her mother, barely remembered except as an almost dream, hard to distinguish between what she had imagined in her grief and sadness and how much had been real.

‘No.’ His brown eyes shadowed. ‘None of the above. I did read the history of our countries, and there were some local authors that I was told to read from time to time. But fiction was seen as unessential.’

Gabi stared at him and he gave a sudden chuckle. ‘You look absolutely horrified.’

‘I am utterly horrified. How can you exist without reading? It doesn’t have to be classic literature—it can be anything at all. But reading...it’s a means of escape.’ And you could do it anywhere. Reading had saved her as a child; allowed her to escape the knowledge that she was a burden. ‘And it’s enjoyable and...to me it’s necessary.’

‘So you think I should read?’

‘I think everyone should read.’

‘That’s a little dictatorial.’

‘Nope. It would be dictatorial if I chose their reading material. Everyone likes different things, different genres, different authors. Some people really can’t take to fiction, others may only like short stories. Then there are biographies and information books and history books and I guess for some people a technical book will float their boat or...’ She paused, waved her hand expansively. ‘You get the picture. What I mean is everyone should be encouraged to read. Especially in this world of technology, it’s important. For kids and for...’ She stopped—what was she doing? Waffling on about books to a man who had made it clear that nothing was more important than duty to one’s country, a man willing to pull the strings of the press, marry in the name of duty. Did Gabi spending time reading help her people, further her country’s purpose? No, it didn’t.

‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I guess once a book-store owner, always a book-store owner.’

‘I think I can see why you were so successful at it. You’re clearly passionate about books.’ He smiled. ‘Your whole face lights up and your enthusiasm—it is infectious.’

‘I am enthusiastic. I ran a store, ran literacy classes, and a book club. But now my life has changed.’

‘That doesn’t take away from everything you achieved.’ As if he could hear the sadness in her voice he stepped towards her. ‘I would have loved to see it, your book store, your former realm. To have met you whilst you were that person, but that person is still a part of you. The past doesn’t just vanish...it makes us who we are today. Your reading, everything you got from books, everything you learnt from building up a business you love, you’ll use all that. You really will.’

‘Thank you.’ The words made her feel better, made her feel as if her past life was important, rather than being swallowed up by this whole new world. ‘I hope so.’ She glanced at him a little shyly. ‘I did think that maybe I could open this library up. Redesign it to make it more accessible to staff—not force anyone to come and read, but maybe simply offer access? I could get lots of tables, comfy chairs, drinks machines and obviously catalogue the books. Put the valuable ones up high, get a better mix of authors in...’ She shrugged, clocked the intensity of his dark brown eyes. ‘Or is that a stupid idea?’

‘I think that’s a great idea.’