The Future King's Bride

by Sharon Kendrick

And if there was no pleasure? What then?

  Millie quickly smoothed her hair and straightened her back. She was not going to project an outcome.

  Her way might have been prepared by Alesso—for all the guards bowed as if they had been expecting her—but that did not mean there were not curious eyes in the room. Older, predatory married women, who were always in evidence around the King, were fixing her with unwelcome eyes. Millie knew that many of them were just itching to step into her shoes. To provide the King with the physical comfort a man of his appetite needed—with no questions asked and no demands made.

  Did he still want his foolish young wife? Millie wondered, her eyes searching the high-domed white room whose walls were lined with the vibrant paintings of Lopez.

  And then she saw him.

  He was wearing a dark suit and looked both cool and formal. As usual, all heads were bent obsequiously towards him as people listened, and Millie knew that if he made a joke—however weak—people would fall about laughing. Because when you were King people told you what they thought you wanted to hear.

  She knew then that her attempt at reconciliation must go no further than was necessary—for if she capitulated too much he would never respect her again.

  He might be King, and she Queen, but the tussles within their marriage were not Royal ones—and unless they could find some real human ground on which to thrash them out then it would not be a marriage worth continuing with anyway.

  Gianferro was listening to the Spanish Ambassador praising Mardivino’s attitude to the arts when he became aware of a slight buzz in the room. His eyes narrowed as he saw heads turning in the direction of the door.

  But he was already in the room! Who in the world could possibly be entering and capturing more attention than he could?

  And then he saw her.

  Her eyes were like a summer’s sky and her hair as pale and gleaming as moonlight. She wore a yellow dress which made her look cool and composed, but he could see that her mouth was set and tense, though it wavered in a tentative attempt at a smile as she began to walk towards him.

  Now the faces were turned towards him, watching for his reaction, the way they always did. They would be wondering what the Queen was doing here, for she was not expected—and members of the Royal family did not simply turn up out of the blue.

  What the hell was she thinking of? he wondered angrily.

  She moved towards him and the purely physical reaction which she always provoked in him kicked in—with a force and power which momentarily took his breath away. But then he remembered the ugly scene which had caused her departure, and he felt the faint flickering of a muscle at his cheek.

  She came right up to him, her cheeks flushed and her eyelids dropping down to conceal the sapphire glitter of her eyes.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she said, very softly.

  And, breaking protocol for the first time in his life, Gianferro bent his mouth to her ear.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he breathed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MILLIE felt faint and dizzy—her heart was beating so loudly that it threatened to deafen her as she looked into the cold and unwelcoming eyes of Gianferro—but somehow she managed to keep a small and noncommittal smile pinned to her mouth. People were watching them—she dared not let her fragile emotions show.

  ‘Are you not pleased to see me, Gianferro?’

  With an equally non-committal smile, he placed his palm beneath her elbow.

  ‘Surprised,’ he murmured. And that was an understatement. The last thing he had expected was to see his beautiful blonde wife slinking across the reception room towards him, and for once he was unprepared. Fleetingly he allowed himself to wonder how a normal man might have dealt with such a situation, but the eyes of the room were fixed on them.

  Damn her! Had she deliberately contrived to catch him off-guard? To slip beneath his defences as cunningly as she always managed to do in bed? When she made him feel like Samson after his hair had been shorn? Had he not spent the past week telling himself over and over that she must not be allowed to do so again?

  ‘I will speak with you in private, my dear,’ he continued. ‘But first I must make my farewells.’

  His voice was soft, but the words were undoubtedly a command, and something in the dark glitter of his eyes made Millie suddenly apprehensive.

  ‘I didn’t intend to drag you away,’ she whispered.

  ‘Really? Then just what did you intend, Millie? That you would flounce in here unannounced and everyone would just pretend not to notice?’

  It was a reprimand, and one she knew she deserved. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  But at that moment, as if summoned by some unspoken order, Alesso appeared. Gianferro spoke to him rapidly and fiercely in Italian, and then he bent his head to her ear once more.

  ‘Go now with Alesso,’ he said, switching effortlessly to English. ‘And wait for me. It will only complicate matters if formal introductions are made,’ he added coolly. ‘At least this way the Spanish Ambassador can be reliably informed that there is a family crisis.’

  And was there? Millie wondered, as she followed Alesso from the room, pride making her smile at the people who bowed and curtsied as she passed. Of course there was…and by the time she and Gianferro were through maybe the Palace lawyers would have been instructed to draw up the papers announcing a formal separation.

  In the corridor, she saw Alesso’s look of resignation.

  ‘I’ve got you into trouble, haven’t I?’ she guessed.

  ‘He is not pleased.’

  Millie bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Alesso.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. It is for the best. I do not like to see the King miserable. He cannot rule with so much on his mind.’

  ‘How has he been?’ Millie asked breathlessly, wondering if Alesso would give her any inkling of the truth, or just be Gianferro’s official mouthpiece.

  ‘Distracted,’ he admitted with a shrug.

  And Millie wondered what he had been distracted with. Had he missed her? Or had he simply been working out the best and cleanest way to end the marriage? ‘Is there somewhere very private we could go?’

  He nodded. ‘It is already arranged. The Cacciatore family own a house on the coastal road. He is taking you there. It is empty and—’

  But at that moment Gianferro himself swept out, accompanied by a retinue of diplomats and servants. His black eyes gave little away as he looked at Millie other than faint displeasure, but he could not stem the sudden rush of blood to his groin. He found himself thinking how much more uncomplicated life was without a woman in it, and his mouth hardened.

  ‘Come,’ he said crisply.

  As she slid into the back of the large unmarked car beside him she told herself that this was never going to be a romantic reunion. But his proximity sent her already raw senses into overdrive. She was achingly aware of him as a man—of the long, lean thrust of his legs and the muscular body so tightly coiled beside her. Could he not have touched her? At least reached out to squeeze the frozen fingers which looked so lifeless where they lay against the lemon silk dress.

  Gianferro was aware of a mixture of powerlessness and frustration—of wanting to press her body hard against his and knowing that the presence of the driver ruled it out. But it was more than that. He still did not know why she was here—her very eagerness to confront him might spell her determination to seek a new life for herself.

  Could he blame her if she did?

  The silence between them grew as the powerful car ate up the miles, and Millie didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when a pair of electric gates opened and their car was spotlighted by the security lighting which zapped on.

  She wasn’t really aware of the terse conversation going on between Gianferro and his head of security, only that it seemed to take endless negotiations before the two of them were finally alone in a rather formal-looking salon. It had the air of a room which had not been lived i
n for some time—although the furniture was very beautiful indeed.

  Gianferro closed the door quietly and an immense silence seemed to swallow them up. He looked at her properly then, as if for the first time, but his face did not relax.

  ‘So, Millie,’ he said quietly, ‘is there some kind of explanation for this extraordinary behaviour?’

  She stared at him, bewildered and hurt. ‘I wanted to see you.’

  ‘And now you have.’

  ‘You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you, Gianferro?’

  He gave her the bland, formal smile she had seen him use at so many official functions. ‘Make what easy?’

  She wanted to drum her fists against his chest, to tell him that he couldn’t hide behind that icy persona—except that she knew he could. Had she thought that simply because she had seen it melt from time to time it was gone for ever? Of course it wasn’t.

  She looked at him. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘And I wondered…’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat and the salty taste of tears which tainted her mouth. ‘Maybe I have no right to ask this—but do you think you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me?’

  Her words touched him as he had not expected or wanted to be touched, and so did her stricken face, but he steeled his heart against her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said tonelessly.

  Millie felt as if he had struck her, but she remained strong. Maybe what had happened between them was too big to be cured with just a single word of apology. Maybe he didn’t want it to be cured.

  She bit her lip. ‘Do you want to save our marriage?’

  A cold and sardonic smile curved his lips. It had been his trademark smile as a bachelor, and he was discovering how easy it was to slip back into it. But this nagging ache in his heart had never been there in those days, which seemed so long ago now. ‘Is it worth saving, do you think, Millie?’

  She told herself that he was deliberately trying to hurt her, and that she must withstand his taunts. That this, in a way, was her punishment. And she wanted to suffer, for she had made him suffer, and then she wanted to be washed clean of all her pain and regret and to start all over again. But this might be one idealistic hope too far, it could only work if he wanted it, too.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, in a low, firm voice. ‘Yes, I do. More than anything.’

  And then she knew that she had to do something else, too. That it was foolish for her to wait for words of love from Gianferro. Even if he did feel love—which she doubted—he would be unable to show it, for nobody had shown him how to. This wasn’t some quiz from a women’s magazine. It didn’t matter who said what and in what order. Just because some ancient code said that the man was supposed to declare his feelings first she didn’t have to heed it! If it was just pride standing in the way of her telling him how she really felt—then what good was pride?

  What good was anything if she didn’t have her man? And didn’t she owe it to Gianferro to tell him how much he meant to her?

  ‘I think it’s worth saving because when I made my vows I meant them. I think it’s worth saving because I have a duty both to you and to Mardivino, to provide emotional security and succour to their King.’

  She swallowed down the last of her fears as she looked up into his face with very clear and bright blue eyes. ‘But, most important of all, I think it’s worth saving because I love you, Gianferro, even though you think I may not have shown it. I have loved you for a long, long time now, but I have never dared tell you. And now I am terrified that my stupid actions will prevent me from ever showing you just how much.’

  He stilled. What she was offering was like a beacon glowing on a dark night. It was comfort from the storm and warmth in the depths of winter. It was like having walked in the desert for days and being tempted with the sight of an oasis shimmering on the horizon. But Gianferro had walked for too long alone to allow himself to give in to temptation. She was offering him an easier, softer option, and he didn’t need one—he didn’t need her.

  He should tell her to go to hell. He should tell her that he could live without her. And he could. He had before and he would again.

  His heart was pounding with the pumped-up feelings of a man about to enter battle. But as he looked at her he realised that he did not want to do battle with her. He continued to stare at her, remembering the slight figure and the fearlessness which had first so entranced him. Then she had been a tomboy, but today she looked regal and beautiful. In her eyes he could read that self-same fearlessness, but now there was doubt, too.

  ‘You would recover if it ended,’ he said harshly.

  She shook her head. ‘Not properly. Only on the surface.’

  ‘And you would find another man.’

  ‘But never like you,’ she said simply. ‘And you know that. You told me that once yourself, on the very day you proposed marriage to me.’

  Gianferro’s eyes narrowed as he remembered. So he had! Even on that day he had used an arrogant persuasion which could almost be defined as subtle force. He had been determined to have her and he had gone all out to get her. She hadn’t stood a chance.

  He had brought her here and then told her—told her—that she should have his child immediately, when she had still been so very young and inexperienced herself.

  Was that the kind of tyrant he had become? So used to imposing his will that he didn’t stop to think about whether it was appropriate to do so with his new wife?

  Pain crossed his face as for the first time he acknowledged where his arrogance and pride could lead him if he let it. To a life alone. An empty life. A life without her. His life was one into which she had crept like a flame, bringing both warmth and light into it. Her absence had left a dull, aching gap behind—even though the independent side of him had resented that.

  He had once seen her as a path to be taken in a hazy landscape, but now he could see very clearly the two paths which lay before him. He saw what being with his wife would mean, and more terrifyingly, he saw what being without her promised. A life which would be stark and empty and alone.

  ‘Oh, Millie,’ he said brokenly. ‘Millie.’

  The face she turned up to him was wreathed in anxiety and fear. ‘Gianferro?’ she breathed, in a voice she prayed would not dissolve into tears. Something in his expression gave her a tenuous hope, but she was too scared to hang onto it in case it was false. ‘Just tell me—and if you really want it to be over then I will accept that. I will never like it, nor will I ever stop loving you, but I will do as you wish.’

  Something in her words let the floodgates open, and feeling came flooding in to wash over the barren landscape of his heart. After a lifetime of being kept at bay it was sharp and bright and painful and warm, all at the same time, and Gianferro gave a small gasp of bewilderment—he who had never known a moment’s doubt in his life.

  He pulled her into his arms and looked down at her, not quite knowing where to begin. He had never had to say sorry to anyone in his life, and now he began to recognise that it had not done him any favours. He realised that he was more than just a symbol of power, a figurehead. Inside, his heart beat the same as that of any other man. And having feelings didn’t make you weak, he realised—not if it could make you feel as alive as he felt right at that moment. Cut yourself adrift from them and you were not a complete person—and how could he rule unless he was?

  ‘It is me who should be begging your forgiveness,’ he said quietly. ‘For living in the Dark Ages and refusing to make this a modern marriage. For thinking that I could impose my will on you as if you were simply one of my subjects, forgetting—or choosing to ignore—the fact that you are my wife. My partner. My Millie.’

  ‘Oh, Gianferro!’

  ‘I was a tyrant!’ he whispered.

  ‘Not all the time.’

  He smiled. ‘But some of the time?’

  ‘Well, yes. But then, I have my own faults and failings that I must live with and deal with.’ Shadows danced acro
ss her face, and then she looked up at him, her eyes clear and blue and questioning. ‘What will we do?’

  ‘We will begin again. What else can we do, cara Millie? As of today we will move forward, not back.’

  Her heart felt as if it was going to burst with joy, and all the dark and terrible fantasies about what could have happened began to dissolve. Never again, she decided, was she going to take the coward’s way out—of hiding her doubts and her fears and letting them grow. From this day forward there would be the transparency of true love. From her, at least. And she was not going to ask anything of Gianferro. Not push him or manipulate him into saying anything that he didn’t mean. But she had to know something.

  ‘Does that mean we can still be married, then?’ she questioned shakily.

  And Gianferro burst out laughing as he lifted her chin and allowed the love which blazed from her eyes to light him with its warmth. Why had she never looked at him that way before? Because she was scared to. He kissed the tip of her nose with lips which were tender. ‘Oh, yes, my love,’ he replied softly. ‘Yes, we can still be married.’

  She tightened her arms around his back. ‘Kiss me.’

  He grazed his lips against hers. ‘Like this?’

  ‘More.’

  ‘Like this, perhaps?’

  Millie gasped. ‘Oh, yes. Yes. Just like that.’

  He carried her upstairs and made love to her on the silken counterpane of some unknown bed, and it was better than anything she had ever known because now she was free to really show him how much she cared. She began to cry out in helpless wonder, and he gasped too, then bent his head to kiss her, until her cries were spent and her body had stopped shuddering in time with his.

  Millie ran her fingertips down the side of his lean face, aware that her next words were going to remind him of what she had done—or failed to do—but she was never going to shrink from the difficult things in life again.

  ‘I’m going to chuck my Pills away—’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No, that is precisely what you are not going to do, cara.’