Catalina met her cousin’s reflection in the mirror, unwittingly scrunching the ivory satin skirt of her dress between her fingers.
She had done everything in her power not to think of her mother that day. Marion would have been kinder if she’d plunged a knife into her back.
Tilting her chin up, Catalina said coldly, ‘Thank you for reminding me of what I’m missing out on. Your support today has been invaluable.’
While her cousin stood there frowning, clearly unsure whether Catalina had just paid her a compliment or put her down, Catalina took Aliana’s hand and got to her feet.
If her mother were alive it would have been her hand she’d be holding for support. Her mother had been the one person Catalina had never had to put the mask on for.
She blinked rapidly to rid herself of the unexpected tears welling in her eyes and placed a hand to her stomach.
If her mother were alive everything would still be the same as it was now. Her mother had always put the House of Fernandez first. Duty above desire. Duty above love. Catalina would still be expected to hold her head up high and do her duty.
But if her mother were still alive she would be able to hold her hand while she did it.
* * *
Even for this supposedly small and private wedding, around one hundred guests were crammed in the Monte Cleure Palace Chapel. Nathaniel was quite certain that if Catalina were marrying a fellow aristocrat, the ceremony would take place in her country’s famed cathedral with fellow royalty and world leaders as guests. It would be a full weekend of celebrations, not the short service followed by the palace banquet they would shortly be having.
For anyone else, today’s events would seem a wedding to be proud of. For Catalina, it would be seen as another punishment.
He had to hand it to the King—he was playing an excellent hand. A wedding such as this showed the world his support for his daughter but also his subtle disapproval of his new son-in-law. When the marriage was dissolved a year from now, the King would be perceived as a wise, loving father who had put his daughter’s happiness above his own doubts.
What would the King do, Nathaniel wondered idly, if he refused to divorce her? What would Dominic do? Imagining their apoplectic rage amused him for a few seconds before he dismissed the notion.
Whatever his personal feelings towards the House of Fernandez, this was Catalina’s life and she was a willing participant in her family’s future plans for her. He’d screwed her life up enough without destroying it completely, and he’d already destroyed enough lives for any person to have on their conscience.
His job, as he saw it, was to get Catalina through the pregnancy, keeping both her and the baby safe. Nothing more. And if the vivid memory of being inside her didn’t fade away, he would just have to live with it.
It had pleased him to see the crowds of people lining the palace’s perimeter. At least her people loved her. And so they should. Catalina was an excellent ambassador for her country, celebrated the world over for her ethereal loveliness and gracious manner of dealing with people.
While he recognised most of the guests in attendance, he personally knew only a handful, which suited him perfectly. Who wanted to make false vows in front of people who really mattered? Not him.
Not that there was anyone left in his life who did matter.
He tried to imagine the child forming in Catalina’s womb. His child. A fragile life that would need his love and protection. The vows he was about to make would enable that.
In the back of the chapel, a photographer fiddled with his camera’s tripod. La Belle magazine was publishing a special wedding edition documenting the day. Nathaniel had made it clear that he would not be involved with it in any regard other than the official photographs.
‘Not long now,’ Sebastien Duchamp murmured beside him.
Sebastien, a security expert, had married Catalina’s younger sister Isabella earlier the previous year and was acting as Nathaniel’s best man. The King had insisted that he have one. As Nathaniel had already won a number of significant victories over the King and his heir, on this one point he had been prepared to concede ground. Sebastien had seemed as good a choice as any, and Nathaniel didn’t need to lie to him. Being a member of the House of Fernandez—albeit in a peripheral sense—he knew exactly why the marriage was taking place.
As he turned to look at Dominic, Nathaniel caught the malevolence on the Prince’s face and was again reminded of Catalina’s warning. For all his outward dismissal of the threat, he had thought it prudent to increase his security and had employed Sebastien the day after the torturous opera visit to do a thorough check of his Monte Cleure home and business premises for any potential weaknesses. Sebastien had declared it all in good order.
On a personal level, there was little Nathaniel detested more than the sight of fully grown men parading themselves with a gaggle of bodyguards in tow. It was nothing more than a status symbol. They might as well have signs on their heads reading ‘Man of wealth. Come and get me.’ However, with Catalina moving in with him and her father truculently refusing to allow her previous bodyguards to move with her, Nathaniel had employed four of Sebastien’s men for the duration of their marriage and extra security for his apartment building.
Nathaniel might not be deemed good enough for the King’s daughter but his money was deemed good enough to keep her.
He checked his watch.
Two minutes to go. With any luck, this would all be over within the hour.
Although it was fashionable for a bride to be late, he’d made a bet with himself that Catalina would arrive at the chapel exactly on time.
A tall man with the shiniest bald head he’d ever seen hurried into the church, taking a seat in the back row. Nathaniel had to bite the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement. Did the man polish his pate? Hot on his heels was a woman wearing a bright pink dress and a matching hat wide enough to hit the lady in the seat in front of her.
Then, right on cue, Catalina arrived.
The guests rose to their feet as one, craning their necks for the first glimpse of the bride.
As she stepped over the threshold, her right hand enfolded in her father’s arm, Nathaniel found a lump forming in his throat that no amount of swallowing could dislodge. All his amusement, cynicism and detachment vanished.
The rain outside had turned into a full-blown storm in the time he’d been in the chapel and gusts blew at the train of her ivory dress, which had a rounded neckline that skimmed her creamy breasts and tapered to her waist. It was as if she had a wind machine behind her.
A veil covered her face but as she walked slowly up the aisle it struck him that she resembled a walking statue. Nothing in her body language suggested any kind of emotion. The only person with less animation was the King. If her father’s jaw clenched any tighter Nathaniel was sure his face would crack.
When she reached his side, the King took a step back, not even deigning to look at Nathaniel.
With a tightness inside he hadn’t felt in decades, he lifted her veil.
She wasn’t quick enough to hide the truth he saw in her eyes.
Catalina was furious.
Then she blinked and the fury vanished, leaving only the porcelain mask of her beautiful face.
When it was her turn to recite their vows, her voice was nothing but a flat monotone.
* * *
Catalina picked at her food without appetite. They were on the dessert course of mille-feuille and she couldn’t even remember what had been served for any of the other courses.