by Nina Milne
‘I need to know what our marriage would mean on a day-to-day level for Amil. What it will be like for him to grow up in a palace, as a Lycander prince. Right now it feels surreal.’
‘The state apartments are a bit more opulent than your average home, I suppose, but otherwise his childhood will be what we make it.’
‘Will he go to a nursery?’
‘I don’t see why not—there will be a certain level of security arrangements, but I can’t see a problem with that.’
‘And he’ll have friends round to play?’
How she’d craved friendship as a child—but there had been no one. Her mixed race heritage, the fact that she was illegitimate, the fact that her mother was a model, had all combined to make school a miserable place of isolation for her. She knew exactly what a solitary childhood could be like, and she didn’t want that for her son.
‘Yup. Again, subject to security vetting.’
‘Is that how it worked for you?’
She sensed the tension in his body.
‘It isn’t relevant how it was for me,’ he said.
He had to be kidding. ‘Of course it is. You are a prince who grew up in a palace. You want Amil to do the same. So, did you make friends, have kids round to play? Were you treated differently?’
Discomfort showed as he shifted on his seat, picked his beer up and put it down again without even taking a sip. ‘My life...my younger brothers’ lives...weren’t as straightforward as I hope Amil’s will be. There weren’t that many opportunities for us to make normal friends. It was better for Axel, because my father sent him to boarding school, and—’
Whoa! ‘That is not happening to Amil. I will not send him away.’
‘I won’t rule that out.’
‘Yes, you will. I don’t care if every Crown Prince since the Conquest was sent to boarding school. Amil isn’t going.’
‘That is not why I would do it.’ Frustration seeped into his tone. ‘In fact, I didn’t say I would do it. It is simply a possibility I will consider in the future.’
‘No.’
His voice tightened. ‘Different children thrive in different conditions. Axel was educated at boarding school and it didn’t do him any harm. I spent a term there and I loved it.’
‘In which case, why did you leave?’
‘Because my father changed his mind.’
‘He must have had a reason.’
‘I’m sure he did.’
Despite the even tone of his voice she could sense evasion.
‘Do you know what it was?’
‘My father’s attitude to my education was a little hit and miss. Axel went to boarding school, but the rest of us... We had tutors some of the time, attended a term of local school here and there, or we ran wild. For my father, education wasn’t a priority—in the palace or in the principality as a whole. I will change that, but it will take time—that’s why I won’t rule out boarding school if it is right for Amil.’
‘That is my decision.’
‘Amil is our son. We will make decisions about his future. Not you or me. Us—together.’
‘And what happens if we don’t agree?’
‘Then we find a compromise.’
‘There is no compromise between boarding school and not boarding school. It’s black or white. What happens then?’
‘I don’t know. But we’ll work it out.’
‘Those are just words. Neither of us has any idea of how to work things out.’
Which was exactly why this was a terrible idea. Co-parenting sucked.
‘Fine. Then let’s work it out now,’ he said.
‘How?’
‘You tell me exactly why you are so adamant that boarding school is not an option. The truth. My brother loved his boarding school, and the few months I spent there were some of the happiest times of my life. I will not rule it out without reason.’
‘I...’ Explanations sucked as well, but she could see that she didn’t sound rational. ‘I’m scared for him. School was an unmitigated disaster for me—because I didn’t fit from day one. I was the only mixed race child in my school, and my mother’s status didn’t help. Plus, quite often she would pull me out of school to go on shoots with her—she had no one to leave me with, you see. I guess I was an obvious target.’
‘Were you bullied?’
Although his voice was gentle she could hear an underlying anger, saw the clench of his jaw.
‘No. It was much worse. I was ignored. Some girl decided that the best way to treat someone as low down the pecking order as me would be to pretend I was invisible.’
She could still hear it now. The high-pitched voice, so stuck-up and snobbish, the other girls gathering round to listen. ‘It is demeaning to even acknowledge a dirty girl like her. So we will ignore her. Are we all agreed?’
‘My whole experience of school was miserable. The only saving grace was the fact that it wasn’t boarding school—that I could go home to my mother. Amil will be different too. He will be royalty—there will be people who are envious of him. I don’t want him to be far away and miserable.’
Though in truth there was even more to it than that. There was her bone-deep knowledge that time was infinitely precious—she had had so few years with her mother, but at least they had had the maximum possible time together.
‘I don’t want him to be far away. Full stop. He is my child—I want to see him grow, and I want to be there for him.’
Frederick’s hazel eyes studied her expression with an intensity that made her feel he could read her soul.
Then he nodded. ‘OK. You get the casting vote on the boarding school question.’
‘Why?’ Wariness narrowed her eyes at his capitulation.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes. I need to know that you mean it. That these aren’t just words to sweeten the marriage offer.’
‘Because you still don’t trust me?’
She wanted to—she really did—but how could she when there was so much at stake?
‘Let’s say it would help if I knew what had changed your mind.’
‘You’ve made me realise why I enjoyed boarding school so much. Why Axel thrived there. It was the opposite to your situation. For us it was an escape from our home life—boarding school was a haven of certainty after the chaos of life at the palace. Somewhere I knew what was what, where I had an opportunity to actually get an education. Our home life was erratic, at best. It won’t be like that for Amil.’
Sunita’s heart ached at the thought of all those young princes, buffeted by the fallout from their father’s chaotic lifestyle. ‘No, it won’t.’
‘And by the time he goes to school I will have turned education around in Lycander. Teachers will be better paid, the curriculum will be overhauled in a good way, and there will be more money injected into schools everywhere.’
As if embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, he leant back with a rueful smile that flipped her heart again. A sure case of topsy-turvy heart syndrome. And it was messing with her head, making the idea of marriage more palatable. Ridiculous. Marriage equalled tying herself down, committing herself to a shared life, to a fairy tale ending. The idea hurt her teeth, sent her whole being into revolt.
Only that wasn’t true, was it? Horror surfaced at the identification of a tiny glimmer of sparkle inside her that desperately wanted a fairy tale ending... Frederick, Sunita and Amil, living happily ever after in a palace. Princess Sunita.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ His voice interrupted her reverie.
‘They aren’t worth it.’
They weren’t worth even a fraction of a penny—she had lost the plot and it was time to get it back. This marriage deal wasn’t off the table, but there wouldn’t be any glimmer of fairy sparkle sprinkled
on it.
She looked up as Deepali approached from across the courtyard. ‘Your meal is ready. The chef has prepared a selection of traditional Goan food—I trust you will enjoy it.’
Sunita managed a smile even as her brain scrambled around in panic, chasing down that stupid, sparkly bit of her that advocated the ringing out of wedding bells. How had this happened? In a little over twenty-four hours he had somehow persuaded her that marriage was not only a possibility but a sparkly one.
Enough. She had to halt this before this fairy tale place wove some sort of magic spell around her—before that stupid sparkly bit inside her grew.
* * *
Frederick studied Sunita’s expression as she looked round the dining room. Her eyes skittered over the colourful prints on the white walls, along the simple wooden table, and he could almost hear her brain whirring.
Deepali entered and put their plates in front of them. ‘Prawn rissoles,’ she said, and Sunita inhaled appreciatively.
‘They smell marvellous—and I’m sure they’ll taste just as good.’
The middle-aged woman smiled. ‘I’ll pass on your kind comments to the chef.’
Once she’d gone, Frederick watched as Sunita studied the rissole with more attention than any food warranted, however appetising.
‘This looks great.’ She popped a forkful into her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘Fabulous! The reason why melt-in-the-mouth is a cliché. Cumin, with perhaps a hint of coriander, and...’
But even as she spoke he knew that her thoughts were elsewhere. There was an almost manic quality to her culinary listing, and he interrupted without compunction.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you avoided my earlier question about what you were thinking.’
Her brown eyes watched him with almost a hint of defiance. ‘I was thinking how surreal this situation is—the idea that two people who don’t know each other at all could contemplate marriage. It’s...mad.’
‘That’s why we’re here—to get to know each other.’
‘We can’t pack that into two days—most people take years.’
‘And there is still a fifty per cent divorce rate.’
‘In which case we are definitely doomed.’
‘Not at all. All those people who take years...they try to fall in love, decide they’ve fallen in love, expect love to last. Every action is dictated by love. They heap pressure on the whole institution of marriage and on themselves. Our approach is based on common sense and on us both getting a deal we think is fair. Two days is more than enough time.’
He leant over and poured wine into her glass.
‘In days gone by it would have been the norm. Throughout Lycander history, rulers made alliances—not love matches.’
‘Does posterity say whether they worked?’
‘Some were more successful than others, but every marriage lasted.’
Until Alphonse had arrived and turned statistics and traditions on their heads.
‘For better or worse?’ Sunita sounded sceptical.
‘I see no reason why we couldn’t be one of the better ones—we’d go in without any ridiculous, unrealistic expectations, with an understanding of what each other is looking for.’
‘I don’t even know what your favourite colour is.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I feel it’s the sort of thing one should know before they marry someone.’
‘OK. Blue.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Now will you marry me?’
This pulled a reluctant smile from her, but it came with an attendant shake of her head. ‘What sort of blue? Royal blue, because it’s on the Lycander flag?’
‘Nope. Aquamarine blue.’
‘Because...?’
‘Does there have to be a reason?’
Sunita tipped her head to one side. ‘There usually is.’
‘So what’s your favourite colour?’
‘Red.’
‘Because...?’
‘Because it was my mother’s favourite colour—I like to think it was her way of sticking two fingers up at the world that had branded her a scarlet woman. She always wore something red—her sari would maybe have a red weave, or she’d wear a red flower, or paint her toenails red. And as for her lipstick collection...’
‘You must miss her.’
‘I do. A lot.’ She looked down at her plate and scooped up the last of her rissole. ‘Anyway, why aquamarine blue?’
Reluctance laced his vocal cords—along with a sense of injustice that a question that had seemed so simple on the surface had suddenly become more complex. Get a grip. If this was a hoop Sunita had constructed as a prelude to marriage then he’d jump through it—he’d do the damn hula if necessary.
‘It’s the colour of the Lycander Sea. When life in the palace became too much I’d escape to the beach, watch the sea. It put things into perspective. Sometimes it was so still, so calm, so serene it gave me peace. Occasionally it would be turbulent, and then I guess I’d identify with it. As a child I was pretty sure Neptune lived off the coast of Lycander...’
OK, Frederick, that’s enough. More than he’d intended in fact. But there was something about the way Sunita listened—really listened—that seemed to have affected him.
She watched him now, lips slightly parted, tawny eyes serious, but as if sensing his discomfort she leant back before she spoke.
‘OK, next question. Star sign?’
‘Leo.’
‘Me too.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘I really don’t know. We’d need to ask Nanni—she is an avid believer in horoscopes. Though I’m not sure why. I think her parents had her and my grandfather’s horoscopes read to see if they’d be a good match, and the astrologer was confident they were compatible.’
‘Were they?’
‘I don’t think they can have been. From what my mother told me my grandfather was a tyrant and a control freak, whereas Nanni is a kind, gentle woman. But Nanni herself never speaks of her marriage—and never criticises my grandfather. And she still believes in horoscopes.’
‘What about you? Do you believe in horoscopes?’
‘I think there may be something in it, but not enough that you can base your life decisions on them—that’s the easy way out, isn’t it? You can just shrug your shoulders and blame fate if it all goes wrong. It doesn’t work like that—life is about choice.’
‘Yes...’ Bleakness settled on him—his choices had cost Axel his life. ‘But life is also about the consequences of those choices. Consequences you have to live with.’
‘Yes, you do. But in this case Amil’s future is in our hands—he will have to live with the destiny we choose for him. And that is hard. But it’s not only about Amil. It’s about us as well. You and me. That’s why this marriage can’t work.’
Her chin jutted out at an angle of determination.
Frederick frowned—but before he could respond the door opened and Deepali re-entered the room, followed by a young man pushing a trolley.
‘Fish recheado,’ the young man announced. ‘Made with pomfret.’
Deepali’s face shone with pride. ‘This is my son, Ashok—he is the chef here,’ she explained.
‘I thought you might want to know about the dish,’ Ashok said.
‘I’d love to.’
Sunita smiled her trademark smile and Frederick saw Ashok’s appreciation.
‘The pomfret is stuffed with a special paste. I used chillies, cloves, cumin and lemon. It is a Goan dish, but recheado means stuffed in Portuguese.’ Ashok smiled. ‘And there is also Goan bread, freshly baked. Enjoy.’
Frederick waited until the mother and son had left the room and then he looked at Sunita.
‘Why not?’ he repeated.
CHAPTER NINE
‘WHY WON’T THIS marriage work?’
Frederick’s voice was even, his question posed as if the topic under discussion was as simple as a grocery list rather than the rest of their lives.
Sunita took a deep breath and marshalled the thoughts she’d herded into a cogent argument throughout the starter. ‘Would you have even considered marriage to me if it wasn’t for Amil?’
There was no hesitation as he tipped his hand in the air, palm up. ‘No.’
To her surprise, irrational hurt touched her that he didn’t have to give it even a second’s thought. ‘Exactly.’
‘But you can’t take Amil out of the equation. If it weren’t for Amil you wouldn’t consider marriage to me either.’
‘I get that. But it’s different for you. I don’t need to marry anyone. You do, and you need it to be the right person—for Lycander’s sake. A woman like Lady Kaitlin Derwent. I am the antithesis of Kaitlin.’
For an insane moment the knowledge hurt. But she was no longer a child, desperately trying to measure up to her half-sisters and always failing. High academic grades, musical ability, natural intelligence... You name it, Sunita lacked it. But in this case she needed to emphasise her failings with pride.
‘I haven’t got an aristocratic bone in my body, and I don’t have the gravitas that you need to offer the Lycander people.’
‘You are the mother of my son.’
‘Your illegitimate son. Plus, I was a model. Your father married or was associated with a succession of models, actresses and showbiz people, and all his relationships ended in scandal. Your people will tar me with the same brush.’
‘Then so be it. I agree that you do not have the background I was looking for in my bride, but I believe you will win the people over. In time.’
‘I don’t think I will.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘For a start, I want to resume my modelling career—and I can’t see that going down a storm with the people.’
Or with him. He masked his reaction, but not fast enough—he hadn’t taken that into the equation.
‘You don’t like the idea either?’
‘I neither like nor dislike it. I agree it might be problematic for the people to accept, but it’s a problem we can work around.’
