?’
‘Yes. Books.’
‘Right... But I’m not sure that’s a great help to ruling.’
‘Actually I disagree. You don’t just care about books. You told me that you believe everyone should read. That sounds more like a policy in the making than a hobby.’
There was a short pause and her eyes lit up in sudden understanding, sparked into enthusiasm as she stared at him. ‘I could promote literacy in Casavalle. I ran classes myself in Crystal Lake, taught people of all ages. Did you know, according to some reports, it is possible that two in five Canadians have low literacy? Sometimes it’s because they have undiagnosed dyslexia or they have low attendance due to their home life. And it holds them back all their life—makes it harder to get a job, makes so much of everyday tasks more difficult and deprives them of the sheer pleasure of reading. I am sure that there are people here who have the same difficulties.’
He nodded, touched by the sheer passion and vibe to her voice, the belief in the cause. Lord knew, he understood that.
‘You could also speak with my father about the idea of rolling out a similar programme in Aguilarez.’
‘Speak with your father?’ Her face dropped. ‘I... I...’
‘He is not a tyrant,’ Cesar said. ‘He is driven by duty and I believe he will see that this is a worthy cause that will benefit his people. It is just not something that has occurred to him.’
He watched as she tackled another piece of pizza, could almost see her brain whir and process ideas. ‘I’ll need to talk to my Education minister.’
Cesar hid the small smile as he heard her describe the minister as ‘hers’ but, as was her wont, she caught it and smiled right back at him.
‘Don’t I sound all grand and regal?’ she said. ‘But, truly, I’m excited about this. I’ll need to review the education statistics, look into any charitable foundations that already exist. Call in the people who run them.’
He nodded, sensed her energy and verve. ‘Speak with some teachers, find out how much provision is made for children with reading difficulties.’
‘And why stop there? I need to think about all children, all people with learning difficulties, mental-health issues.’ She waved her pizza. ‘Would you mind brainstorming with me?’
‘I’d love to,’ he said, almost surprised to know he completely meant it.
As they spoke and swapped ideas over the rest of the pizza, followed by chocolate ice-cream, the atmosphere seemed to crackle and buzz in time with the sizzle of the logs on the fire, the pop of the flames in the air. And gradually, as the words began to run dry, awareness grew as he observed the animation on her face, the gesture of her hands, the brightness of her eyes, her sheer vitality.
Until the words seemed to slow down and finally trickled to a stop and he realised just how close Gabriella was—so very, very close... And as if she realised the same she stilled, and her brown eyes widened as their gazes caught.
He knew he had to say something and the words came naturally. ‘The more I get to know you, the more I believe you are the exact ruler Casavalle needs. You bring a change of attitude, because you have experienced life as a non-royal and you bring a different perspective. You will be a great queen.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Her voice held shyness, doubt, but a growing confidence as well.
‘Yes.’ He kept his voice steady, willing her to believe the words. ‘I really do.’
Now there was a silence, but this silence echoed and reverberated with unsaid words, unnecessary words as mutual yearning hovered and meshed the very air and drew them towards each other until now the gap between them was infinitesimal. Then Gabriella closed that gap, and brushed her lips against his. Cesar released the breath he hadn’t even known he held, and he lifted his hands, threaded them through the silken mass of her hair. The tang of dark chocolate, the scent of her vanilla shampoo, assailed his senses and he was lost.
She deepened the kiss, pressed against him with a small moan; her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, slid over his chest and he groaned her name and then they somehow tumbled off the sofa onto the fleecy softness of the rug, warmed by the flames whilst outside moonlight dappled the stone turrets and the ornate fountains.
A sudden pop of a log penetrated the intense fugue of desire and Gabriella pulled abruptly away, scrambled up to a sitting position and looked down at him, dismay breaking through the dazed look of desire as they stared at each other.
She looked so damned beautiful and guilt fought its way to the surface—he should not have let this happen. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to get so carried away.’ And he hadn’t. That had not been part of his marriage campaign; in truth the campaign hadn’t so much as crossed his mind.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Neither did I. I’m sorry too.’
All he wanted now was to take the stricken look from her face. ‘Then we are both sorry, but look at me, Gabi. Please.’
She did so, her gaze half shy, half vulnerable, and he continued, ‘I find it hard to regret, because I wanted to kiss you, you wanted to kiss me. What happened here—it wasn’t wrong and we were at least saved by the fire from going any further. It is done—let us simply remember it as a beautiful memory, rather than something we regret. Deal?’
A pause and then she nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s a deal,’ she said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GABI OPENED HER EYES, blinked at the unfamiliar canopy above her, turned her head to see the vast bedroom, filled with heavy dark furniture, the loom of a mahogany wardrobe in the corner, the sharp edges of the ornate desk by the barred window. Another blink and memories tumbled into her still-sleep-drowsed brain. Had it all been a dream?