‘I’m sure you’d find someone without too much trouble.’
‘But they wouldn’t be you, would they?’ he said tolerantly.
‘Does that matter?’
‘Yes, it does. So you’re just going to have to humour me. The sun is strong and you’re not used to it. Here, lean on my arm. We’ll take it slowly…walk in the shade. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten properly.’
‘I’ve had lots of chocolate,’ she pointed out mutinously.
‘An unrelieved diet of chocolate might get a little boring, even for you. A light salad, some iced water—’
She hoped he was right. Maybe the heat was getting to her…the heat, and feelings she was sure he didn’t reciprocate. Alessandro was simply making the best out of a difficult situation, she thought, flashing a look up at him…while she was falling in love, she realised with a stab of concern.
Alessandro returned Emily’s troubled glance with a smile and a reassuring squeeze. He had been right to take her out of the heat. He should have anticipated how many people would attend the event, but he had just wanted an excuse to be with her. The chocolate festival had been the perfect opportunity.
Falling in love had been the last thing on his agenda, he realised as they made their way slowly back to the palace. But here, under the centuries-old shade of the cypress trees, the warmth of the sun was like a balm that enveloped them both in its healing rays. If he could have done, he would have willed all the mistrust, all the uncertainty that had tainted their relationship to float away on the light breeze that sighed through the branches over their heads…
Emily was perfect, and the mood of his people was wholly supportive, he realised with pleasure as he courteously returned several greetings. She would make a wonderful first lady: a true equal to stand beside him and care for these people he loved so much. She could hardly wait to make a start on improving the lot of those around her…sharing her own happiness with others. He snatched a look at the woman who in one short week would be his bride. She was deep in thought, but not so preoccupied that she couldn’t take account of every smile that came her way and return it with sincerity. He felt a rush of deep affection for her…something that transcended physical attraction and looped a band of love around his soul.
He had never once felt like this, Alessandro realised, relishing the simple trust she placed in him, linking her arm through his. The privilege of being allowed to care for her made him happier than he could ever have imagined. It fulfilled him…completed him. Falling in love with Emily was the most natural, the most inevitable step he had ever taken. But if he rushed things he knew he ran the risk of damaging their relationship, perhaps irrevocably. He would have to take things easy…take it slowly, give them both time to get to know each other.
It wasn’t enough that the chemistry between them was almost frightening in its intensity and that every male instinct he possessed insisted he take her straight to his bed. He knew with utter certainty that if he wanted more, he had to wait—
‘D’you know, Alessandro?’
She captured his attention so easily, he realised happily. ‘Tell me,’ he prompted softly.
‘I love Ferara…I love your people…They’re all so friendly, so genuine and so welcoming…’ She hesitated.
‘And?’ he said gently, sensing there was something more she wanted to say.
‘I really think this might work…between us,’ she elaborated awkwardly, though there was no need, Alessandro thought with an inward smile as he drew her a little closer. He had already come to that same conclusion himself, some time ago.
CHAPTER SIX
FOR the next couple of days Emily hardly saw Alessandro, except in passing. But she knew he was swept up in protocol, and fine-tuning their wedding arrangements. Her own family was busy with last-minute preparations, too, so any spare time she had she spent talking to her new friend.
With only one night to go before the wedding, she finally found the courage to ask him more about where he lived. Now that she intended the welfare of the palace staff to be one of her main areas of interest while she was in Ferara, this looked like as good a time as any to make a start. ‘Does it suit you?’
‘Suit me?’ he asked with a wry grimace.
‘I’m sorry,’ Emily said, realising he probably didn’t have much choice. ‘I suppose your accommodation comes with the job.’
His nod of agreement suggested she had hit the mark. Emily decided to press on. ‘Are you comfortable there?’
‘Not bad,’ he agreed, after much thought. ‘Though the kitchens are a long way from my apartment. By the time I get my food it’s usually cold.’
‘Don’t you have your own kitchen?’
‘My own kitchen?’
‘A kitchenette?’ she amended quickly. This new turn in her career was proving to be harder than she had expected. ‘Somewhere to prepare yourself a bite to eat…a drink?’
‘No. Nothing like that,’ he told her, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he thought about it. ‘Sounds like a good idea, though.’
‘I’m sure I could arrange something for you.’
‘Could you?’
‘Would you let me try?’
‘Only if you agree to give me cookery lessons as well,’ he said, dismissing the idea with a wry grin and a flick of his hand.
‘I’m not thinking of anything very elaborate,’ Emily said encouragingly, ‘just a small fridge, and perhaps a kettle and toaster to start with. If you had those, at least you’d be able to make yourself a quick snack whenever you felt peckish.’
‘Good idea!’ her new friend said enthusiastically. ‘I’ll leave it with you, then.’
‘Excellent,’ Emily said enthusiastically. ‘I’ll let you know what progress I’ve made when I see you tomorrow—’
‘Tomorrow?’
Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘My wedding day—’ Her stomach churned with apprehension. How could time have passed so fast?
‘So, where is your husband-to-be?’
‘Prince Alessandro?’
‘Yes, yes,’ her elderly friend retorted impatiently. ‘My son. Where is he? Why has he left you on your own?’
‘Your—’ Emily’s mouth fell open as the full extent of her blunder overwhelmed her. ‘You didn’t say!’
‘And would you have been so open with me if I had?’ Alessandro’s father demanded as he levelled a shrewd look on her face.
‘Well…I…I don’t know,’ Emily admitted frankly. ‘You must think me a terrible fool—’
‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘I think you anything but a fool. My son, however—’
‘Oh, no, please,’ Emily said, shaking her head. ‘You don’t understand—’
‘What don’t I understand?’ the old Prince demanded, straightening up so that even in his gardening clothes Emily could be under no misapprehension as to his status.
‘I…Well…This is not the usual sort of wedding.’
‘You love him?’ he asked her directly.
‘Well, I…’ Emily paused, unsure of what to say.
‘I said,’ he repeated sternly, ‘do you love my son?’
‘Causing trouble again, Father?’
The deep, familiar voice went straight to Emily’s heart.’ Alessandro!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. Who said a prince could descend on you unannounced, wearing snug blue jeans and a close-fitting white top, looking as if he had just climbed out of bed? And his hair was still damp from the shower, she noticed on closer inspection.
‘I see you’ve met my father,’ he said, shooting her a wry grin.
He betrayed nothing of their developing friendship, but, remembering his concern for her after the chocolate festival, Emily felt a shiver of awareness shimmer over every part of her as he moved past her within touching distance. He had been more than tolerant. He had been…As she struggled to find the right word she watched him throw his arms around the older man and kiss him warmly on both cheeks several times before hugging
him again. To be the object of such fathomless affection—to be capable of bestowing it—
She looked at Alessandro as if seeing him for the first time, and knew without question that she loved him.
‘Papa! Mi sei mancato!’
His father’s voice was equally fierce as he clutched his son to him. ‘Anche tu, Alessandro. I’ve missed you, too, vagabondo!’
Another hug and they were done, leaving Emily still gaping.
‘You have neglected your bride so badly she has forgotten that tomorrow is her wedding day,’ the old man accused, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. ‘You are a bad boy, Alessandro—neglecting us both like this.’
‘I never neglect you, Papa,’ Alessandro argued, flashing a glance at Emily as he tightened his arm around his father’s shoulder. ‘It’s just that business sometimes—’
His father pressed his lips together in a show of disapproval. ‘Business, business, business,’ he proclaimed with a dismissive gesture. ‘And your bride, Alessandro? What about your bride?’
Emily was forced to laugh as Alessandro executed a deep bow, flashing her a smile as he straightened up. ‘I can only offer you my most humble apologies, Signorina Weston. Whatever punishment you decide to exact, I shall accept without question.’
Don’t tempt me, Emily thought, feeling the effects of his statement reverberate around her senses.
‘Once again,’ Alessandro continued easily, tossing her an amused and comprehending look, ‘I regret that unavoidable matters arose, demanding my immediate attention—’
‘Your bride demands your immediate attention,’ his father broke in sternly. ‘Your wedding is tomorrow, in case you had also forgotten that, Alessandro.’
‘I had not forgotten, Father,’ Alessandro responded softly, glancing at Emily.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Emily insisted, shaking her head to hide her confusion.’ Alessandro is very busy, Your Royal Highness. And I have plenty to occupy me,’ she managed vaguely. ‘I’ll leave you two together—’
‘You will do no such thing,’ the old Prince informed her imperiously. ‘You will stay here with me and talk a while longer. After tomorrow Alessandro may begin the process of taking precedence over me. But today, as far as I am aware, I am still the undisputed ruler of Ferara, and I wish to talk with my future daughter-in-law. Alone,’ he added pointedly. ‘Make yourself busy somewhere else, Alessandro. Emily and I have much to discuss.’
‘Father,’ Alessandro said, executing a small formal bow. ‘Your wish is my command.’
The wedding had more similarities to a big-budget film than any ceremony Emily had ever attended before. And, in true cinematic fashion, preparations for her starring role began just before dawn, when her private secretary called to inform her that the beauticians and hairdressers had started to arrive.
Breakfast was delivered on a tray with legs, presumably so that she could enjoy her last breakfast as a single woman safely tucked up in bed. But Emily was already out and about when the young maid knocked timidly on the door. Together they decanted the fruit juice and croissants onto a table overlooking the rose garden.
‘You can take the rest away. I shan’t eat it,’ Emily insisted ruefully, scanning the cooked delicacies and plates of cold meats and cheeses, knowing she couldn’t face them. ‘Oh. Leave me an orange,’ she said as an afterthought. She knew they had come from the palace orchard and were absolutely delicious.
‘Yes, signorina,’ the maid said with a courteous bob.
Just as Emily had thought, her simple breakfast proved to be the only oasis of calm in a day that was testing in the extreme. Pulled from pillar to post, she found herself constantly surrounded by strangers all charged with seeking perfection. The unfamiliar attention was daunting, and what made it worse was being treated suddenly as if she was on a higher stratum from everyone else. It made normal conversation impossible.
As her hair was dressed up, ready to hold the weight of the tiara, and the finest film of coral rouge was applied to her cheeks, Emily began to feel increasingly like an inanimate object. No one seemed able to meet her eyes. No one spoke unless she instigated the conversation. And no one seemed prepared to volunteer an opinion on anything, preferring to wait for her to state her own views as if they were the only ones worth listening to. The lack of verbal interplay was driving her crazy. And her nerves were building to crisis level as what had been a theoretical exercise became all too real.
Just when she thought she couldn’t stand one more minute of it, her face broke into a smile.
‘Dad! Mum! Miranda!’ Breaking free of the posse of primpers, Emily fled across the room towards her family.
‘But, signorina…your veil,’ the designer called after her.
‘Give me a moment, please,’ Emily said, keeping her head firmly buried against her father’s shoulder.
‘Five minutes,’ her father bartered, keeping her close as he encircled Miranda’s shoulders with his other arm. ‘Then you can have her back, I promise.’
There was such quiet determination in his voice that even the highly-strung designer was forced to concede defeat.
Her father sounded just like Alessandro, Emily thought fondly, raising her head to watch the couturier make an imperious signal and lead his group out of the room.
‘There’s still time to change your mind, Emily,’ Miranda whispered, looking around anxiously at their mother, who nodded agreement.
‘It’s not too late,’ her father agreed gruffly. ‘I can have you out of here in a jiffy—’
‘No, Dad,’ Emily insisted firmly. ‘There’s too much at stake here—for everyone concerned. I’m going ahead with it.’
‘Oh, the violin arrived! It is absolutely—’ Miranda’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘How could I mention that?’ she asked herself distractedly. ‘When you’re having to put up with all this?’ She made a wild gesture to encompass the various stations dotted around the room set up by hairdressers, beauticians and designers.
‘It’s not so bad,’ Emily teased. ‘No, honestly,’ she said sincerely, catching hold of Miranda’s hand. ‘Nothing would induce me to stay here if I didn’t want to. It’s not so bad living here at the palace with Alessandro.’ She raised her eyebrows a fraction as she looked at her sister.
‘You mean—’ Miranda flashed a glance at their mother and father, who quickly pretended interest in the view outside the window.
‘No, I don’t mean what you’re thinking,’ Emily said softly. ‘But he’s great fun to be with when you get to know him. And he’s so kind.’
‘Is that all?’ Miranda said, sounding disappointed.
‘It was never meant to be anything more,’ Emily pointed out, working at her smile. ‘And you look beautiful,’ she said, desperately trying to turn the direction of the conversation. ‘And Dad, Mum, you look fantastic,’ she added for good measure.
‘You’re absolutely sure about this?’ her father said, looking at her again with concern.
‘Yes,’ Emily said, raising her eyes to his to prove that her composure really was restored. ‘You can call everyone back in again now. I’m ready.’
The ancient cathedral in Ferara was on so vast a scale it might have been built for some lost race of giants. As Emily arrived beneath the towering stone archway that marked the entrance a murmur rose from the congregation like a collective sigh.
‘This situation is about as real as a film,’ her father murmured, echoing Emily’s thoughts. ‘The only difference is, I doubt any of us will be able to forget this once the show’s over.’
‘Courage, Dad,’ Emily replied as she squeezed his arm. ‘We’ll get through this together.’
‘I’m supposed to be supporting you, remember?’ he growled out of the side of his mouth as the opening chord burst from the organ and an angelic choir soared into the first anthem.
Emily was about to move forward when one of the several attendants who had joined the procession from the palace attracted her attention.
‘Signor
ina, scusami l’ interrruzione,’ he murmured, bowing low. ‘This is an ancient custom in our country. The bride’s flowers are traditionally a wedding gift from the groom’s family.’
‘How lovely,’ Emily said, exchanging her bouquet with a smile.
‘His Serene Highness is most keen that traditions should be upheld,’ the attendant added, backing away from her in a deep bow.
As Emily’s curled her fingers around the slender stems of the roses she knew they were more than a gift. The fragrant arrangement signified the approval of Alessandro’s father, and that mattered to her more than any one of the fabulous wedding presents that had arrived at the palace.
She could not remember ever feeling so keenly aware…so alive. And as she steadied herself for the walk up the aisle she found she could identify each strand of scent—incense, the roses resting in her arms, and the heady mix of countless exclusive perfumes. And above all the dazzling sights and sounds and scents, even though she never looked directly at him once, she was aware of Alessandro, waiting in silence for her at the end of the vast sweep of aisle.
Moving forward, Emily felt the burden of her long train ease as the squad of young train-bearers, chosen from schools in Ferara at her own request, took up the weight. And after a few brief moments of adjustment, when she feared she might lose the priceless tiara as the veil was tugged this way and that, they managed to keep pace with her perfectly.
She walked tall and proud at her father’s side between the massed ranks of European royalty, wearing the slim column of a gown she had insisted upon. Only the splendour of the diamond tiara denoted her rank—that, and the floating pearl-strewn veil that eddied around her like a creamy-white mist. The only real colour was in her cheeks and in the coral-tinted roses her old friend had provided—Christopher Marlowe roses from the palace gardens, with every thorn removed, simply arranged and tied with silk ribbons in the colours of her new country: crimson, blue and gold.
She was aware of her mother in deep blue velvet, and Miranda, ravishing in palest lemon, as well as some other bridesmaids whom she had met only briefly. And then, as the organ sounded a fanfare of celebration, Emily focussed on the long walk ahead of her—the walk to join Alessandro, who stood waiting for her at the foot of the steps to the high altar.
Prince's Arranged Bride Page 8
