“No.” Catherine looked at him, lost for a moment in her thoughts, lost in the sincerity of his gaze, lost in the proof he’d just given her. She covered his palms with hers and their fingers entwined as one. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“What is it with those mines, anyway?”
As she started to shake her head, he added, “It’s not just coal, is it? America and Russia won’t exactly collapse without the limited supply that Ophella can produce.”
“It’s not just coal,” Catherine agreed. She couldn’t say more.
“Then tell me,” he insisted. “Tell me what is more important than taking the correct safety precautions.”
“I can’t, Nicolas.”
“You don’t trust me.” His jaw hardened, but even as he looked at her, a softness came into his gaze, the grip of his fingers tightened. “Of course you don’t. And after what the Talacons put you through, I won’t judge you on that.”
“This has nothing to do with trust.” Catherine took a deep breath as she thought of a way to put it to him. Even though he seemed willing to forgo her trust, surely no relationship could be healthy without it? “There are certain areas of Ophella, however, that are off limits to discussion, trust or no trust.”
“It doesn’t matter, Catherine.”
He meant it. But he wasn’t convinced it wasn’t lack of trust that kept her silent. She saw it in his tense smile. He didn’t appreciate her attempt to spare his feelings with false explanations. Except, they weren’t false at all.
“A doctor doesn’t share his patient’s confidential files with his closest and dearest, Nicolas, and it has nothing to do with trust.” She saw some understanding breach his stubborn mind. “A priest wouldn’t discuss anything he heard in the confessional box, would he?”
Amusement fed into the dark gaze set on her. “So, it’s all part of the job description?”
Catherine breathed easier. He truly did understand. “Those mines are one of Ophella’s darker confessions.”
Nicolas finally felt the missing piece of the puzzle slot inside his head. What had worried him the most was that the Catherine he knew wouldn’t put anything above the welfare of her people. Any people. She was compassionate and sensible, dedicated and honourable. “Then I’ll discover all there is to know about those mines and trust in you to make the correct choices.”
“You make it sound so straightforward, as if we can keep our official disagreements separate from our personal life. The arguments will eventually permeate any safety barriers we attempt to erect, Nicolas. Is that honestly a life you’d be content with?”
“That last thing I expect from our life together is contentment.” Nicolas grinned. “Any relationship between us will be stormy, Catherine. But because we’re both as stubborn as two mules on a hot day, not because you’re royalty and I’m not.”
Catherine smiled at the truth in his words. Her heart had started yielding long before now, but finally she was willing to accept defeat.
Royalty or not, their marriage was destined to be stormy and in this moment she could almost relish it. Nicolas would never lie down and permit her to trample his spirit. He would fight her to the end. Right, and not sovereign will, would win every time.
Nicolas caught her hands in his again and met her eyes with a sincere gaze that embraced her. “The only guarantee I can give you is this: I’ll never run from you and if you run, I’ll catch you. Every time.”
“I love you, Nicolas,” she whispered, bringing their bound hands to press against her lips. “I always have.”
Warmth spread through him as she squeezed his hands. “And I love you, dolce cuore. Now I’m asking you to put a little faith in that love.”
As their eyes held, he found his answer and it was the glue that would finally paste the scraps of his heart together. “Hold that thought until I return.”
10
“Have you seen this?”
Catherine’s eyes went to the newspaper flapped at her, then back to where her mother sat by the window in the soft rays of the morning sun. “Not yet. How are you feeling?”
“Excellent!”
Catherine laughed as she walked to the window. “You look it. Now, what’s the latest crisis?”
“No crisis.” Helene folded the newspaper and held the front page up.
Nicolas’s picture took up the top half of the page. Her heart flipped on a smile. He’d left an hour ago and she missed him already. Above the picture, the bold headline captured her attention.
I’m fighting for the people of Ophella.
“Amazing where they pull their headlines from,” her mother commented with a dry chuckle.
“In this case,” Catherine said slowly, “they got it from the source. Don’t ask me how.”
Helene’s brows shot up. “Nicolas actually said that?”
“Yes, he did.” Catherine’s gaze moved off the page to her mother. She was smiling again, her heart blossoming with pride and happiness. He’d won the hearts of a nation. How had she ever thought to resist him? “He asked me to marry him.”
The paper slid from Helene’s fingers to her lap. “Again?”
Catherine pulled a chair up and sat to meet her mother’s gaze level. “I plan to say yes. Actually, I already have, just not in as many words.”
The pause lasted as a frown worried her mother’s brow, then relaxed into a smile. “That’s wonderful, darling.”
Her mother reached for her and Catherine leant into the hug.
“You’re not scared?” Helene asked as she withdrew from the hug.
“I’m terrified,” Catherine said with a shaky laugh. “I want this so badly.” She grimaced on a shrug as she looked into her mother’s eyes, searching for a glimpse of wisdom. “I can’t help wondering if I’m being too selfish or naive. Last night, anything and everything seemed possible and yet, this morning, I’m filled with doubts again.”
“That sounds normal, darling.”
Catherine blinked back a sudden tear. “I feel as if I’m betraying Nicolas. He has so much faith in us and, as much as I’m trying, if I truly loved him enough, should I not have that same blind faith, no matter what?”
After a long minute of watching her daughter thoughtfully, Helene said, “Yet you’re still determined to marry him?” When Catherine nodded, she added softly, “Then it would seem you have more faith than you think. Every new bride frets about the future, wonders if she’s making the right choice, Catherine, and you have more cause than most. If it helps, I don’t think you could make a better choice than Nicolas, and not just for a husband.”
“You’re right.” Catherine wiped at her eyes and set her shoulders back. She loved Nicolas so much. She’d given him up once and couldn’t go through that again. She’d make this work, put away the ghosts of her father and grandfather and great-grandfather, and ensure that she and Nicolas carved their own future. “Ophella has already embraced Nicolas and he will make a wonderful father. As stubborn as he is, Nicolas will never allow anything to come between him and his family.”
“Be that as it may,” Helene said carefully, “Nicolas might have more to offer.”
Catherine’s brow went up. But she was smiling. This talk with her mother had helped. How could she doubt Nicolas? Their marriage would be complicated, but he’d never stop loving her and he’d never leave her or their children. “More to offer?”
Helene sighed, turning her head to look out the window as she contemplated her thoughts.
“Mother.” Catherine touched her arm, drawing her attention back into the room. “What is it?”
Her mother looked at her, the smile gone, her eyes a distant blue. “Nicolas Vecca would make a fine king,” she said at last.
“No.” Catherine jumped to her feet, instantly charged with a hundred different emotions. How could her mother even suggest this? And what if it could become a reality? No, she couldn’t put her hopes on a false dream. “No, I won’t do that to him. Not after what happened with grandfather.�
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“My mother should never have called for the sovereign right of vote.”
Catherine shook her head resolutely. The sovereign vote allowed the royal house to call for a change in traditional laws. More specifically in this case, elevating the queen’s husband to king. They would be equals. But her grandfather had failed to obtain the ninety-five percent majority required and his pride had never recovered from it. “What about father? You never tried to make him king.”
Helene closed her eyes for a moment.
To hide the pain, Catherine knew, and a frisson of fear cooled her veins. Faith. Trust. I have to believe Nicolas and I will survive anything with the power of our love. I do believe it.
“Darling, your father would never have been accepted. Nicolas Vecca, however, seems to have been elected as worthy in his own right, if one can believe everything the newspapers spews.”
True. So very true.
“I don’t know.” And why not? Her mother was right. If any man stood a chance to gain the people’s vote, it was Nicolas.
“Maybe…” The dream of her husband ruling at her side, the dream of never having her worst fear realised one day, the dream that she’d not have the power to crush Nicolas in any way, however indestructible he’d proved to be, grew and grew.
“Maybe,” Catherine finished her tumbled thoughts, “when the time comes.”
Helene leaned forward, reaching out to her daughter with an intense gaze filled with a mother’s pride and concern. “That may be sooner than you’d like, darling.”
Nicolas handed his coat to Serge as he stepped through the front door, his gaze scanning the landing. His breath caught at the elegant woman standing there, holding onto the barrier with both hands for a timeless moment. A strange déjà vu premonition sent a shiver down his spine and he was afraid to move his eyes from Catherine, lest the vision disappear, lest he find the last couple of months nothing more than a twisted dream about to turn into a nightmare.
But she was moving, descending the left branch of the stair, so gracefully, reminding him of the swans on the Serpentine back in London. In the minutes it took for his vision to adjust to the indoor dimness, his heart seemed to stop beating, an eerie quietness folded around him and the air felt almost too heavy to breathe in.
Then she was running, flying across the hallway, those sapphire blue eyes shimmering, that stubborn chin lifted high and softened with a welcome smile.
Catherine. It was real. He’d found her and he’d never lose her again. He opened his arms as she threw herself at him, heedless of Serge’s sternly raised brow, ignoring the two maids giggling in the shadows.
“Catherine, cucciola,” he murmured into her hair, holding her tightly to his chest. “For an insane moment there, I thought…”
Catherine lifted her head to look in his eyes, pressing her hand to his chest. “Thought what?”
He shook his head, smiling. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. His London research team had been quite amused at his sunny temperament, to say the least. “Nothing, dolce cuore. I missed you.”
“Your heart is beating so fast.” Her eyes twinkled a vibrant blue on her smile. She spoke in a low voice, for his ears only. “As if you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“No.” He chuckled, setting her apart from him. “Just the woman I love.”
“Just?”
He grabbed her hand and led her across the hallway, into the Billiard room and away from prying eyes as he tapped the door closed behind them. “I would elaborate on that simple word, but apparently my heart speaks for me.” He turned his gaze on her as they walked. “It has this way of dominating the conversation whenever I’m near you.”
“Oh, Nicolas.” Her eyes met his, radiating warmth and love. “I’ve missed you so. I love you.”
He tugged her close to the fire raging in the enormous hearth and went down on one knee. He’d meant to wait until later, but he couldn’t live another minute without knowing if she’d be his forever, hearing the words from her mouth. Suddenly nervous, he fumbled in the tight front pocket of his denims, his fingers digging around the elusive ring. All the while, he looked into her eyes and saw his answer. The tension left his shoulders, the nervousness abated and his fingers closed around the ring.
“Catherine, will you marry me?” he said gruffly, lifting her hand in his.
“Yes, Nicolas.” She dropped down to her knees before him, tears brightening her eyes, love and joy spilling from her heart. “Yes, I will.”
“I love you, Catherine. I am yours. You are mine. Nothing will part us…” This time.
Catherine swallowed with difficulty at the words he left unspoken. Everything inside her cried out to him, begging his forgiveness for breaking his trust before, vowing to spend the rest of her life making it up to him, but her throat choked up as full realisation took her by force. He was giving himself to her, putting his heart into her hands, holding back nothing, second time around after a disastrous first round with absolutely no hesitation.
“Nothing!” she swore vehemently, then noticed the ring he was slipping onto her finger. The sapphire solitaire she’d removed so painfully once before. “Where—how?”
“I couldn’t bear to part with it,” he said, pulling her into his chest as he rose, kissing her deeply, holding her close, loving her with his touch. Too soon, he released her lips to look in her eyes. “Catherine, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“That sounds ominous,” she said lightly, but his serious tone clutched at her gut. She crossed to the bar to pour drinks, whiskey for Nicolas, orange juice for herself. Her fingers trembled, but nothing, absolutely nothing would come between them. No matter what he had to say.
“I’ll start with the good news then.” Nicolas followed her to the bar. “The CIA arrested Harvey Talacon this morning.”
Catherine spun about, sloshing the juice from her glass. Eyes wide, she spurted, “Arrested him? For what?”
Gently taking the glass from her shaky hands as he guided her to the closest stool, Nicolas replied, “They’re investigating certain shady dealings he has with what we might call unfriendly countries. They’ve also connected him to three missing persons accounts over the last seven years. He was arrested for fraud, something to do with a failed takeover last year, but that’s just the bait to keep him close until they can convict him for a whole lot worse.” He paused to exchange the glass of juice for his whiskey and took a large sip. “I’ve asked them to look into the murder of your brothers, Catherine.”
“I hope they bring him down,” Catherine said tightly, then frowned. “You asked them?”
He grimaced. “That would be the bad news. I used some of my contacts at the American Research Institute to ask questions about the mines.” He threw back the rest of the whiskey before pulling a stool close to hers. His dark gaze brimmed with uncertainty and guilt as he perched on the stool and met her eyes again. “I know about the radical energy source, Catherine. I know why it’s so important.”
“Oh.”
Such as small word. Such a significant word. Nicolas took a deep breath. “I realise you might consider it spying, going behind your back. Damn, okay, that’s exactly what I did. Maybe I should have told you this before—”
“Before you proposed?” Catherine cut in softly.
He could only look at her. He hadn’t planned the order of this evening’s events—the events had overtaken him. When he saw her mouth tilt at one side, he felt his heart tilting with it. “I won’t apologise, because I’d do it again given the choice. I had to know, Catherine, but only to help you and Ophella.”
Catherine put a finger to his lips, hushing him. “I’m not angry. You have the right to use whatever avenues are open to you. I’d rather you use that power to challenge me than give up.”
In that moment, Catherine knew something else. She’d never defeat Nicolas, never trample on his pride, because that was only possible if a person allowed it and Nicolas never would. He’d never stand down
and he’d never fight her. He’d fight with her, even if it seemed as if they were on opposite sides, and he wouldn’t stop until right had won, regardless of which of them was the victor.
“Do you understand the consequences of shutting down production now?” she asked, sliding her finger from his lips to the curve of his jaw. “America would never allow it. They’d bring their army in and take control of the mines.”
“And Russia wouldn’t be far behind,” Nicolas concluded. “If we find widespread contamination, however, I’ll take on both countries.”
“If…” Catherine bit her lower lip, praying it would never come to that, knowing she’d be right behind Nicolas if it did.
“Meanwhile,” Nicolas said, grinning easily now, “I decided we might as well put these powerful contracts to some good use. I have contacts at the Pentagon—”
“Of course you do,” Catherine said cheekily.
His grin went lopsided. “And they weren’t pleased to hear that a certain Harvey Talacon had an unseemly interest in their mines.”
“So that’s why they went after him.”
Nicolas nodded. “It’s called using all your resources to their full potential.”
Catherine chuckled at his boasting, then quietened. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to, cucciola.” He covered her hand with his, pressing it to his jaw. “Your family is mine now. No one hurts my family and gets away with it.”
“I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve you.” A tide of emotion swelled at her breast and she had to take a moment before continuing. “Ophella already thinks you a hero and they don’t know the half of it.
“I’m no hero,” he said quickly, shaking his head, then added jokingly, “I’m merely a man in love with a princess.”
How to Love a Princess Page 16
