The Royal Marriage

Despite her unflattering words Ricardo sympathised with her, and wished as he had several times over the past few weeks that the dramatic circumstances of Gonzalo’s imminent death hadn’t changed his life and hers. But they had, and it was too late to retract.

‘I understand how you feel,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘but the fact remains that we have to get married, Gabriella. I gave my word and so did you. There are also the terms of your father’s will. What happens after that is a different matter.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, frowning.

‘Well, what I meant was that we can find a solution for this marriage which will allow us to live together without—how can I put this…?’ He was already regretting his words. ‘Without being a burden on one another.’

‘Perhaps you could explain better,’ she said, her eyes narrowing. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite get the picture.’

‘No. Well, never mind. I hope to make you very happy,’ he answered quickly.

‘No, you don’t.’ She shook her head vigorously and leaned forward, her eyes ablaze. ‘I know exactly what you want. I’ve seen it over and over with my father’s friends. You want to marry me, make me have a bunch of children, and then, while I sit in your wretched palace, taking care of them, you’ll be off having fun with beautiful sexy girls. Do you think I’m stupid?’ she said, hair flying as she rose and whirled to face him. ‘Do you think that I don’t know how men like you live? That my father was a saint and didn’t have a bunch of mistresses all half his age? Well, I have news for you, Your Royal Highness. I am not going to be subjected to the kind of arrangement you—and obviously my father too—seem to think right for me. I have other plans for my life, and they don’t include becoming a brood mare.’

‘I never said that,’ Ricardo replied, astounded at the onslaught. He’d expected opposition, but hardly this.

‘But you implied it,’ she spat.

‘No, I didn’t,’ he replied through gritted teeth. ‘I happen to take the commitment of marriage very seriously. And neither do I want an unwilling bride.’

‘Then don’t marry me,’ she flashed. ‘It’s as simple as that.’

‘I am responsible for all your affairs now. I have told the trustees of your inheritance that we will marry as agreed. Believe me,’ he added, an edge to his voice, ‘I have as little desire to go through with this damn wedding as you apparently have.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, flopping back in the seat, her eyes still glinting. Crossing her arms angrily, she stared out of the window at the clouds.

‘Gabriella, do not try my patience any further. I have tried to be of as much solace to you as possible over the past weeks. But frankly you are being impossible. Why not try and make the best of the situation? We’ll manage somehow.’

‘Oh? Is that what you think?’ Her eyes blazed again as she let out a ragged breath and her lip trembled. ‘I’ve lost the only man I ever cared for. Life will never be the same without my father. But you can’t understand that, I suppose?’

‘Of course I understand,’ Ricardo replied, his tone softening as he leaned forward to take her hand. ‘I know this has been all very unexpected and traumatic for you. But why not make the best of the situation instead of the worst? This is a marriage of convenience, after all. I’m not asking for more than you’re prepared to give—merely for you to comply with what we have both committed to.’

Gabriella shrugged, swallowed, looked down at his fingers covering hers and suppressed the thrill that rushed up her arm and coursed to the pit of her stomach. How could she tell him that it would be hell to be married to him knowing that he was only doing it for the sake of his word given to a dying man? That he affected her in a way no other man ever had? She shuddered, remembering, as she had more than once over the past weeks, that episode at the waterfall. Slowly she drew her hand away. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Not for too long, I hope,’ he replied dryly. ‘The month comes to an end in five days. Unless we are married by then you will lose your entire inheritance. I have already put the wedding plans in motion. Your gown is being prepared as we speak, and tomorrow we shall have the first rehearsal. There will be a lot of protocol for you to learn in a very short time. After all, this will be a state occasion.’

‘How could you?’ she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. ‘And Papa? He loved me so much—always gave me everything I wanted or asked for. How could he do this to me? Threaten to leave me with nothing if I don’t obey?’

‘He is not leaving you with nothing, merely making sure that you are not taken advantage of,’ Ricardo repeated for the umpteenth time. ‘You are a very wealthy young woman, Gabriella.’

‘That’s a totally ridiculous, outmoded and chauvinistic way of looking at things,’ she exclaimed. ‘And you,’ she added accusingly, ‘you think just the way he did—that because I’m young and a woman I’m incapable of dealing with my own affairs.’

‘Actually, you’re right, I do,’ Ricardo replied coolly, tired of arguing. ‘Have it your own way, Gabriella. But unless you want to remain penniless you had better get used to the idea of being married in three days’ time. Anyway, I have made all the arrangements. The ceremony will take place in the Cathedral of Maldoravia on Thursday afternoon.’

‘And what if I refuse?’

‘Then you’ll have no choice but to go out into the world on your own, without any visible means of support, and I shall inherit your entire fortune,’ he said bluntly, hoping it would have the right effect.

‘Well, that’s fine. If you feel quite happy with that then go ahead. I don’t want the damn money. Take it.’ She jumped up from her seat and glared down at him. ‘I don’t care about the fortune. I’ll go to London and model and make a fortune of my own. I—’

‘Gabriella, have you the slightest notion of how many girls try to model, and what the percentage is of those who actually succeed? Not many, I assure you. Now, sit down and stop carrying on like a spoiled brat.’

‘I am not a spoiled brat,’ she spat. ‘I have rights.’

‘Well, unless you comply with my arrangements—and the terms of your father’s will—as of Saturday morning those rights fly straight out the window,’ he said, in a firm, cold voice that sent shivers down her spine. ‘I assure you, Gabriella, that if you do not behave properly I will not lift one finger to assist you.’

‘Oh! How could you?’ she threw at him, trembling, her hair thrown back and her eyes the colour of emeralds. ‘I hate you, Ricardo. I really loathe and detest you.’

‘Well, that bodes well,’ he muttered, picking up a financial magazine and leaning back in the wide leather seat while Gabriella stomped off to the other end of the plane to nurse her temper.

The following couple of days were filled with activity. From the moment she set foot in Maldoravia Gabriella was taken in hand by personal assistants, servants, and Ricardo’s charming aunt, the Contessa Elizabetta. She barely saw Ricardo, but although she felt rather lost and forlorn, she also could not help being excited at all the preparations taking place. There were fittings for her wedding gown, her trousseau, her going-away outfit—all of which she tried hard to seem uninterested in. But her innate sense of and love for fashion made that difficult.

On Wednesday afternoon she sat with the Contessa and her new personal assistant Sara—an Englishwoman of thirty, who had been hired at the last minute for her efficiency and for the fact that she had worked at Buckingham Palace and at several other royal establishments and knew the ropes. Gabriella had eyed her suspiciously at first, and said that she didn’t need an assistant. But with supreme tact and charm Sara had won her over. Now both the older women exchanged glances and the Contessa raised her brows as Gabriella stared out of the window and for the thousandth time expressed her views.

‘It’s just not fair. I don’t know how he can do it. And to say he’d simply inherit my money and be done with it. I mean, can you imagine?’

‘I think Ricardo is merely trying to help you, my love,’ the Contessa replied soothingly.

‘Well, I don’t care. Sara?’ Gabriella said, turning round to face her assistant, who sat next to the Contessa wearing an elegant beige suit. ‘Don’t you think I could be a success as a model? I mean, look at me. I’m exotic, I’m tall enough, and I have all the right measurements,’ she pleaded.

‘Yes. But, you see, the trend at the moment in London is for sylph-like blondes. I’m afraid you might considered a little too…uh…’ Sara searched for a suitable word ‘…too voluptuous. Perhaps in the future your look will return, and then you could consider it. In the meantime, if we could just go over tonight’s seating arrangements?’ she went on, producing a file and flipping through it. ‘I think you would feel more at ease.’

Gabriella rolled her eyes and flopped into the nearest armchair. ‘You really mean me to marry him, don’t you?’

‘Well, my dear, I don’t see what other solution there is,’ the Contessa said kindly, patting her coiffed silver hair with a bejewelled hand. ‘After all, I can think of worse fates than being married to Ricardo.’

‘I’m glad you can,’ Gabriella muttered under her breath.

‘He’s very handsome—and quite a catch. I can think of all sorts of women who will be wild with jealousy,’ the Contessa replied in an encouraging tone.

‘Ah! You see! I knew it. Other women. That’s precisely what I’m worried about. He says he wants a marriage of convenience,’ Gabriella said, curling her legs under her and leaning further back into the armchair. ‘That means he will have all sorts of horrid mistresses and I shall be left to wither in this—’ she waved her hand expressively ‘—in this dungeon.’

‘I would hardly call the Palazzo Maldoravia a dungeon,’ Sara countered, hiding a smile. ‘Your apartments are equipped with the finest furnishings, and the Jacuzzi works wonderfully. I had it tested myself.’

‘It might as well be a dungeon for all I care,’ Gabriella muttered.

Thursday dawned a beautiful sunny spring day. From the windows of her rooms in the Palazzo, Gabriella looked out at the perfect sky. The Mediterranean glittered clear and blue below, like a magical pond.

And now what was she to do? she wondered, opening the French doors and moving towards the balustrade of the balcony. Her black hair blew in the light morning breeze and the scent of jasmine filled her nostrils. At any other time she would have been enchanted. But right now the idyllic scene was lost on her. For the first time in her life Gabriella Guimaraes had come to the true realisation that she was not in control of the situation—and that, more than anything else, was driving her crazy.

That, and the fact that she was deeply and dangerously attracted to her future husband and damned if she would let him know it. What could be worse, she wondered, than to marry a man you found devastatingly attractive when probably right now he was making love to another woman?

‘Oooh,’ Gabriella seethed, throwing her head back as she clutched the stone parapet and stared at the sky. She would never abase herself, never forgo her pride, never give in to him, never, ever submit to the kind of humiliation she had seen too many women go through.

As her father’s only daughter, she had accompanied him in adult circles from her earliest childhood. Very soon she had seen what too many women’s plights were, had listened to confidences beyond her years and seen men she knew were married parading their beautiful mistresses in full view of society. Why, she would rather live in hell than become one of them! It was absurd. For, although he was always charming, she knew that Ricardo only treated her like that because he was too polite to do otherwise, that deep down she was nothing but a duty, an obligation to be dealt with, another piece of business to be resolved. It was too infuriating. Too humiliating for words.

She turned back towards the room, hands clenched, her well-manicured nails digging into her palms at the thought of Ricardo and his behaviour over the past weeks. He had been wonderful and kind and the best friend anyone could have wished for when her father died. And she appreciated that—was grateful. But that was how he thought of her. A little girl he was sorry for because she was alone in the world. An obligation he had to fulfil.

She had racked her brains to find a solution, had again tried to persuade him to change his mind about the wedding that was to take place later today. But in vain. Ricardo had merely admonished her to pay attention to the protocol that had been instilled into her from the moment she’d stepped foot in the Principality. She sighed, stared out at the sea again, and her shoulders slumped. For the first time in her life she felt defeated. Instead of an excited bride she resembled a young queen preparing to face the gallows.