And despite her own increasing loneliness, she tried to do what she had promised herself from the very beginning—to be a good wife to Xaviero, even though their time together was so restricted. Her foolish heart leapt with pleasure whenever they had a joint meeting scheduled, when they would sit at opposite ends of a long, polished table while their aides tossed out subjects for discussion. Or, briefly, they might exchange smiles if their respective retinues happened to pass each other along the wide, marble corridors of the palace.
They were rarely alone, except in bed when they would fall into each other’s arms as if their lives depended on it. And in the pleasure that followed, Cathy couldn’t bring herself to spoil the moment with a litany of complaints about how little they saw of each other. Maybe it was the same for every royal wife—one of the downsides behind the supposed fairy tale of privilege. In a way, with her limited access to him, she still felt a bit like a mistress—despite the bright band of gold on her finger and the royal crest which adorned her notepaper.
At meal times, there were always members of staff hovering silently in the background, pretending not to listen but watching carefully for any sign that the royal couple might require something—leaving Cathy to eat rather self-consciously, worried that her table manners might not be up to scratch. Perhaps that might explain why the waistbands on some of her dresses had become a little loose of late.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ said Xaviero one evening as she was dressing for a formal dinner arranged for a visiting Italian dignitary.
‘Have I?’ she questioned. And if her voice sounded a little dazed, it was because she was still reeling from the fact that Xaviero was here—in her dressing room. He had wandered in to ask her to fix his cufflinks—a ridiculously simple and yet oddly intimate request which had left her feeling slightly flustered, until she had gathered her thoughts together enough to realise why.
Because they didn’t do intimacy—not unless it was in the purely sexual sense. Xaviero had a valet to do his cufflinks. A tailor to measure his clothes. Aides he could confide in, and question about current affairs. Chefs to prepare his meals. He didn’t need a wife in the way that other men did. His wife was an accessory—a compliant woman who was fast learning to be a competent princess.
‘You know you have,’ he said as he slowly circled her, like a predator eyeing up his victim. ‘That dress fitted you perfectly the last time you wore it.’
‘Only a few pounds,’ said Cathy. ‘And I’m…I’m surprised you noticed.’
Xaviero’s eyes narrowed, allowing his gaze to drift over the creamy décolletage which was displayed to perfection by the soft sheen of the scarlet gown she wore. His voice thickened and he felt the familiar kick of lust. ‘I notice everything about your magnificent body, mia bella—and you certainly don’t need to lose any weight.’
‘I wasn’t trying to.’
She looked strained, he thought. The slight weight loss had made her cheekbones appear sharp and slanted, so that her face looked all eyes. Was she doing too much? Driving herself too hard in her attempts to fit in—attempts which hadn’t gone unnoticed. Hadn’t the court already expressed approval of her induction into the di Cesere family—despite initial misgivings about the wisdom of his hasty marriage to such a woman?
‘Would you like a weekend away?’ he questioned suddenly.
Cathy finished clipping in a diamond earring and met his eyes in the mirror, her heart beginning to thud with hope. A weekend away? Maybe like the honeymoon they’d never had? She turned round in the chair, a smile on her face as she beamed up at him. ‘Oh, Xaviero—I’d love it! Do you really mean it?’
‘Why not?’ His lips curved into a speculative smile. She had been remarkably modest in her outgoings—in spite of him giving her carte blanche to spend his fortune as the mood took her. In fact, as far as he knew she had asked for nothing. If she had been trying to impress him with her restraint, then she had succeeded admirably—and maybe now was the time to reward her. ‘You and Flavia could fly to Milan,’ he suggested softly. ‘Buy yourself something from the latest collections.’
It felt like a slap to the face but Cathy’s smile didn’t waver. How quickly she had become skilled at the royal art of never giving away your feelings by your facial expression. ‘Flavia?’ she echoed.
‘Sì. The two of you get on well, don’t you?’
‘’Well, yes, we do—but that isn’t the point. I thought you meant us…the two of us.’