The Virgin's Proposition
Page 19
“A year would be better. Or two.”
Demetrios wasn’t going to wait a year. Certainly not two. Six months would be a strain, Anny knew. For both of them. But they’d discussed it and she knew he was willing to deal with her royal obligations.
“It’s who you are,” he’d said. “I love you.”
Now that he was saying it, he said it often. She never tired of hearing it. They both said it every night.
He was philosophical about the six months. “They can’t expect me to wait on the same continent that long,” he’d said. “I’ll go to Mexico and work on my film.”
But he’d called her every night. They’d talked. They’d laughed. They’d argued about how many children they’d have and what they’d name them. And every other week either she’d flown out to him or he’d come to Mont Chamion to spend a few days with her.
Even so, they were the longest six months of Anny’s life. She had a thousand decisions to make, but as she told Charlise, “It’s not really important. I’ve made the only decision that matters.”
“You have,” Charlise agreed. And so did Papa.
He had welcomed Demetrios into the family. Besides his introduction to the sword collection, Demetrios had been given a long lecture about his responsibilities to his new bride. But at the end, he’d shaken Demetrios’s hand and wrapped him in a warm embrace.
“You love her. I can see that. And I know she loves you. The kingdom is of far less importance than my daughter’s happiness. She will be your wife and you will love each other,” he told Demetrios. “That’s what matters. The rest—we will work it out.”
Now, as she waited with her father to walk down the aisle on the morning of their wedding, Anny lifted her veil and leaned up to kiss him. “I love you, Papa. Thank you so much for being my father. For trusting me.”
“You will smear your lipstick,” he chided her, even as he kissed her cheek and brushed a tear from his eye. “Of course I trust you. How could I not? You are my daughter, the light of my life.”
She would have cried then, but she couldn’t. Not yet. No one wanted to watch her walk down the aisle with tears streaming down her face.
Just then the introductory organ music paused dramatically—and plunged into the formal wedding march.
Her father touched her hand. “It is time.”
Demetrios’s sister, Tallie, his sister-in-law, Martha, and Martha’s sister, Cristina, and dear Tante Isabelle were her bridesmaids.
One by one they preceded her down the aisle.
And then it was her turn. Papa’s fingers squeezed hers, and then together, slowly, they made their way down the aisle.
The church was filled to the rafters with people come to cheer on Mont Chamion’s only princess and her handsome, clearly besotted groom.
For the past six months all the tabloids had been writing about the upcoming royal wedding. They’d written endlessly about Anny and revisited over and over the charmed life Demetrios Savas had lived. They wrote about his talent, his Hollywood career, his perfect short-lived first marriage, how he had mourned as a recluse the death of his first beloved wife. But now, they wrote, while it was tragic, it was a codicil to his nearly perfect life.
Demetrios never contradicted it. He said how delighted he was, how Anny’s love made him the happiest man on earth. He never alluded to the past except when asked, and then as always, he was honorable. He was kind.
Because that’s the sort of man he was, Anny knew. Only she knew the truth. She knew the man. She loved him more than life itself.
And as she walked down the aisle now, she could see him waiting, and in a row beside him, his brothers: Yiannis on the end, bemused and tapping his foot nervously, George, next to him, lean and watchful and seriously intent. Then Theo, tall and dark and smiling broadly.
And between Theo and Demetrios was the best man.
Anny stared, not quite able to believe her eyes, at a younger man, not as tall as the Savas brothers, dark-haired and very thin, grinning widely and standing tall, though he still leaned on two metal hand canes.
“Franck.” Her step faltered. The tears began to fall.
Her father gave her a kiss and gave her hand to Demetrios. “Love her,” he exhorted.
“I do,” Demetrios vowed. “I always will.”
And then, although it certainly wasn’t protocol, he tipped the veil aside to peer in at her. “I thought you’d be crying.” His expression was tender, his eyes were smiling as he shared her joy at Franck’s presence, at his progress. At his dream come true.
“I can’t believe he’s here.”
“He is. It was his goal as soon as I asked him,” Demetrios told her. “But we’d better get this show on the road. He doesn’t stand up for long.”
The priest cleared his throat. “If you please.”
Demetrios grinned and dropped her veil. He straightened and attempted to look serious. Anny squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest intoned.
And Anny, looking around, knew how true that was. Everyone here—all their family, all their friends gathered to celebrate their wedding with them—was dear and beloved. All of them gave joy and meaning to her life.
But no one was more dear or beloved, no one gave her more joy or meaning than Demetrios.
Theo lent them the sailboat for their honeymoon.
They had to wait six weeks to take it because Demetrios had filming to finish. But Anny was philosophical.
“I’ll get to watch you work,” she said happily. “And,” she added, “you can’t work all the time.”
No, he hadn’t worked all the time. But he was looking forward to some time alone with Anny. Just the two of them. Back on the boat. Together.
“Don’t wreck it while you’re busy doing other things,” Theo added gruffly.
“What other things?” Demetrios said with all the innocence he could muster.
Theo cuffed his shoulder and rolled his eyes, then he fixed Anny with a hard look. “He’s got my boat to sail. Keep him in line,” he said to Anny.
Anny laughed. “Not likely.” And Demetrios grinned, too. She knew him all too well.
“Go away,” he said to his brother now. “We’ll be fine. Your boat will be fine. Stop bothering us.”
Theo grinned. He made a few more adjustments. He made a few more comments. Mostly to annoy because that’s what brothers did. But finally he left.
And so at last did they, Demetrios raising the sail as Anny steered her out away from Santorini’s small harbor. They were sailing her to Cannes.
“The same, but different,” Anny had said when he’d suggested it. Because they wouldn’t be fighting their desire this time. They’d be spending their days sailing and their nights in each other’s arms.
“Better,” Demetrios vowed.
“Maybe,” he said as he carried her over the threshold of their cabin that night, after a beautiful day of light winds and easy sailing, “we can get to work on those kids whose names we argue about.”
He dropped her lightly on the bunk and dropped down to lie beside her, to undress her, to kiss her, to love her, to cherish her.
“I don’t think so.” Anny shook her head.
He stopped, stared at her.
She grinned and slid her arms around him, pulling him on top of her, wrapping him in her embrace. “We already have.”
He stared, felt his heart kick over. “Anny?” He pulled back to look at her, to see if she was joking.
She smiled and gave a little wiggle beneath him. “It’s true, Demetrios. In about seven and a half months Zorathustra will be here.”
Demetrios stared. And then he grinned and kissed her. “You mean, Melchisedeck,” he corrected.
Anny laughed. “Zorathustra.”
“Melchisedeck.”
Anny kissed him, laughing against his mouth. “Maybe I’ll have twins.”
Demetrios laughed, too, and rolled her in his arms. “Fine with me, princess.”
Everything was fine with him. Life was beautiful. Anny was beautiful. And, dear God, he loved her. “Maybe you will.”
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
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First published in Great Britain 2010
Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Barbara Schenck 2010
ISBN: 978-1-408-91901-9