Melissa had nodded and blurted out a still shellshocked goodnight as the chauffeur opened the door of the limousine. And the next day she was as nervous as a kitten as she waited for Princess Catherine by the perfume section in one of London’s glitziest department stores, as arranged.
She didn’t know what she had been expecting—maybe a rash of security guards crawling all over the place, a bit like the grand ball in Zaffirinthos. As it was, a petite and beautiful whirlwind of a woman appeared without any fuss or fanfare and embraced her as if they were old friends. Dressed in a simple cotton dress, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, she didn’t look at all like a princess. Only the clutch of diamond bands which sparkled on her wedding finger gave any indication of her wealth or position.
‘Oh, it’s always easy to go around London incognito,’ she confided to Melissa as they headed straight for the designer floor of the store. ‘Though not so easy on Zaffirinthos, of course—which is one of the reasons we like living here in England. Although I have to admit that Xaviero got awfully homesick when we were there for the ball. Here.’ She scooped an armful of evening dresses off one of the rails. ‘You’ll need loads of these.’
It seemed to Melissa that she needed loads of everything—skirts, blouses, day-dresses, cocktail dresses, shoes, boots and handbags—and every single garment was made in the most costly fabric and to the highest possible standard. She didn’t think she’d ever worn real silk before and now it seemed it was going to be the exclusive fabric for the underwear and nightwear which she tried on with the guidance of an assistant while Catherine had a bubbling telephone conversation with her husband. Blushing, she remembered Casimiro’s cruel jibes when he’d seen her in her baggy T-shirt and wondered if he might approve of these.
They didn’t even have to carry any of the numerous bags home—because Catherine ordered for them to be dispatched directly to Melissa’s apartment.
‘You can sort them out from there,’ she said breezily as they travelled by limousine to the fancy Granchester Hotel, where they were shown a window table overlooking the park and where afternoon tea was laid out. ‘And get rid of all your old stuff while you’re at it.’
As she was offered a choice between Lapsong or Earl Grey tea Melissa suddenly felt like a fraud. This woman was going to be her sister-in-law—was she going to have to pretend to be something she wasn’t? And would Catherine be quite so friendly if she knew the truth about her?
‘I don’t…I don’t have very much room at home,’ she admitted. ‘It’s just…just a tiny place.’
Catherine looked at her. ‘I know it is,’ she said softly. ‘And I also know about your doubts and your fears because I’ve had them, too. You see, I was a chambermaid when I met and fell in love with my husband.’
Melissa dropped her gaze to the dainty little sandwich which lay on her plate—terrified that Catherine would see the truth in her eyes. Because there hadn’t been any falling in love with her and Casimiro. Nor anything like it. In fact, how had he so charmingly described it? Oh, yes—as ‘a few hours of snatched sex’. What kind of a basis was that for a marriage—any marriage—let alone one where they would be the focus of so many eyes?
Catherine leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be fine. It’s just wonderful to think I’m going to have a sister-in-law who’s English, too—and that you will make Casimiro as happy as Xav and I have been.’ She lowered her voice. ‘To be honest, we were really worried—for a while back there it looked like Casimiro wouldn’t find the right woman at all, and Xaviero got this funny feeling that he might be about to renounce the throne.’
‘Really?’ questioned Melissa tentatively. ‘Did they talk about it?’
‘Oh, no. As brothers they’ve never really communicated that much.’ Catherine looked at her with hopeful aquamarine eyes. ‘But maybe that will all change now. There’s nothing like marriage to soften the heart of a hard man.’
Melissa didn’t like to disillusion Catherine by telling her that there was unlikely to be any softening effect from her own cold-blooded union with the King. And could he really have been planning to abdicate in favour of his brother without even bothering to tell him? Surely even he couldn’t be that arrogant? But then she thought about the clever and cold-blooded way he had manipulated her into marrying him and she thought that maybe he could.
The following day she took Ben to the same shop and kitted him out with a wardrobe fit for a prince. She enjoyed this expedition much more—because this was every mother’s dream and her curly-headed son soon had all the shop assistants eating out of his hand.
The hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye to her aunt Mary, who received the news that her niece was about to become a queen with remarkable composure, congratulating Melissa and telling her that she’d lived too long to be surprised by anything. But she was going to miss Ben, of course.
‘I do wish you’d come out to Zaffirinthos,’ Melissa said with soft yearning in her voice, knowing she could never tell her beloved aunt the truth behind Casimiro’s cruel marital ultimatum. ‘Come out and look after Ben and let me look after you.’
‘And sure aren’t I coming out to help when you marry that handsome King of yours?’
‘I meant after that. Permanently. You could have a wonderful life there, Auntie—I know you could.’
But Aunt Mary had been adamant. She had seen too many marriages get off to a bad start because of the interference from older relatives, she said. And besides—what would she do all day in a great big palace?
People are intimidated by the life I am entering, Melissa realised as she waited in her little apartment for Casimiro to collect her. He was taking her from her old life to the new and unknown one which awaited her on Zaffirinthos. And where the King was that night recording a television broadcast to his nation. For he had decided that the only way to present their wedding to the world was openly and honestly. To tell his people that he took his responsibilities seriously—and to introduce them to his son and bride-to-be.
There was a tap at the door and she pulled it open to find Casimiro standing there. He was wearing a dark suit which looked terribly formal and had instructed her to dress in something ‘suitable for a royal engagement’. She had taken Catherine’s advice on what this should be, but now she wasn’t too sure.
The cut of the green brocade dress and matching jacket was more severe than her usual style and the accompanying jade shoes a little high. So high, in fact, that they made her tower. She was a tall woman anyway, and most men would have been dwarfed by the additional height—though not Casimiro. But these put her almost at eye-level to him. Tall enough to look into the cool golden gleam of his eyes—and to realise just how emotionless those eyes were.
She saw him look down at Ben, who was sitting on a blanket bashing a wooden spoon against an old saucepan in an apartment he would never see again. All bound for his new life in smart little navy shorts and an embroidered poplin shirt—his curls looking like a shiny black mop.
‘Doesn’t he look gorgeous?’ she said, her voice choked with quiet pride and the sudden savage wrench she felt at having to say goodbye to England.
Casimiro glanced down at the infant, who was oblivious to the machinations of the adults around him. Whose life would never be the same again. He was making some primitive-sounding singing noises as he banged the spoon against the metal. His perfect skin had a faint olive tinge to it and you could see the chubby symmetry of each tiny limb. How was it possible that this child had sprung from his loins? Casimiro wondered disbelievingly as he felt a strange clenching sensation around his heart.
Melissa watched them. For a moment, Casimiro seemed about to step forward—something in his body language suggesting that he might be about to pick Ben up—and Melissa willed him to make contact. Touch your son, she urged him silently—touch your