be analysed, dissected and leaked to the gossip magazines worldwide.
Part of this was his fault, he knew, but Gabriella would need to learn to mask emotions and feelings if she was to survive the royal world.
‘Cesar, what was that about?’ His father’s tone was cold, and with rueful grimaces his brothers melted from his side. ‘The Princess looked less than happy to see you.’
‘I believe she simply got confused, Father.’
‘Please remember what was agreed.’
Ordered more like, Cesar reflected as he kept a filial smile on his face and accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
‘You are to woo the Princess, not antagonise her. This marriage is important and we are trusting you to do the best for your country. As your mother and I did.’
And are you happy? The words withered on his lips—there was no universe where he could ask his parents that. They quite simply would not comprehend the question. To them it was an irrelevance—they had done what was right; it would have been unthinkable to do otherwise. Happiness didn’t come into it. Oh, God—was this what he was doomed to? No. His marriage would be loveless but he would not let it be so cold and passionless and unfeeling. Couldn’t live like that or ask anyone else to. Easy words. Once the knot was tied there could be no escape.
But there was no choice and his father was right. If he wanted to make this marriage possible and, more importantly, make it work, he did need to woo Gabriella; and he had to admit the courtship had not got off to the best start.
Time to regain lost ground and tread carefully on it; all eyes would be on them, watching every move. Gabriella was standing in a small group with Queen Maria and a couple of dignitaries, who she listened to with courteous interest.
He approached and, aided discreetly by Queen Maria, soon they were left alone, or as alone as it was possible to be at such a function. Her brown eyes glinted with anger but to her credit she managed a thin-lipped smile. ‘Your Royal Highness. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.’ The words held more than a hint of bitterness. ‘And my discomfiture.’
‘Of course I am not enjoying your discomfiture, rather I would like to apologise for my part in this situation. I did send a letter of explanation but it appears you didn’t receive it.’
‘A letter?’ Her voice was low, though her lips remained upturned. ‘How thoughtful.’ The sarcasm trembled her tone and as subtly as possible he manoeuvred them towards a garlanded pillar, hoping to shield her from view. ‘It didn’t occur to you to use something more...up to date? Like a phone. Or perhaps even turn up in person.’
‘I was aiming at discretion.’
‘Well, you missed your target.’
‘Clearly. But here and now you have to do better than this. You need to look as if this conversation is enjoyable. People will have noticed that our greeting was strained.’
‘I’m not an award-winning actress.’
‘Then you need to learn. Fast. Part of being royal is an ability to wear a mask.’
‘Well, clearly I am not royal enough. Why? Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ She lifted a hand to her cheek. ‘I am so angry and so mortified I could...’
‘Could what?’ His tone was low but harder now. ‘Ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for? You told me this ball was important. For you and for your country. As it is for mine. If you don’t want to blow this you need to pull it together. This is political now—if the public or the press believe we are fighting this will have ramifications on our two countries. Do you understand?’
Dear God, this was not going to plan but he needed her to get it and she did; he saw the understanding touch her eyes, watched her expression smooth to a semblance of serenity. She inhaled a deep breath and nodded. ‘Fine. You’re right. I understand.’
‘Good. And, ma’am?’
‘Yes.’
‘I truly do apologise.’
She shook her head, but the smile on her face made the gesture appear casual. ‘You let me make a fool of myself.’ Now guilt touched him as he remembered again how worried she had already been about the evening.
‘No! Gabriella. You didn’t.’ Without even meaning to he put a finger under her chin, tilted her face up so she looked directly into his eyes. And he saw the pain but also saw how hard she tried to conceal it. Remembered that until recently Gabriella Ross hadn’t even set foot in Casavalle; she had not been brought up to mask emotions and play a role. And he had no right to expect her to.
He, Cesar Asturias, ambassador extraordinaire, had screwed up and now he needed to fix it. ‘I swear it.’ He would not have her undone for his own fault. So, ‘Smile. Look at me as if you like me.’
‘I’ll try.’ She sighed and the sheer weariness in that breath touched him, as he understood just how hard this was for her.
‘You liked me yesterday. I am that same man.’
‘No. You aren’t. You are a prince, not an employee; you lied to me. Misled me, duped me, whatever term you wish to use.’
‘I kept my identity from you and I truly apologise for that. It was a mistake. But everything else I said was true, was real. Think back to my words. None of them were lies. Not one.’ He waited as she bit her lip, studied his expression.
‘Not one?’ she asked softly.
‘No.’ That he knew. ‘I promise.’
Perhaps she heard the sincerity in his voice. In truth, for the past few minutes he had forgotten that they weren’t alone, had wanted her to believe him with a fierceness that was out of proportion. Disquiet touched him and he dismissed it. It was vital he win her over, or the chances of her considering his suit were minimal. That explained the ridiculous swathe of relief when she gave a small nod and smiled a small but this time genuine smile.
‘For the sake of this evening and for the man I met last night I will give you the benefit of the doubt. But I wish that letter of explanation had reached me.’
‘Perhaps I could explain in person. Tomorrow. We could go for a ride.’
‘I have engagements all day.’
‘At the end of the day, then. We could have a picnic supper; leave the details to me. Meet me at the stables.’
As she hesitated, he suspected he knew the cause, knew he was right as he saw her lips twist half in rue, half in exasperation. ‘I understand you need to check before you accept—that is part of royalty. Sometimes simple decisions have ramifications.’ He also knew there would not be a problem. If she asked Queen Maria, consent would be granted—after all, Queen Maria had agreed this marriage would be a good one, though had stipulated she would not force Gabriella into it.
‘If it is the genuine wish of both, and they both believe they can have a happy life together, then and only then will I believe that this will work.’
Gabriella nodded. ‘I’ll confirm with you later. And now I must mingle. I mustn’t neglect my guests.’
‘You are right. But remember the first dance is mine.’
Worry-laced panic now skimmed her expression and without thought he took one of her hands in his, gave a quick clasp of reassurance. ‘I promise it will be a dance to remember,’ he said. ‘And, Gabriella?’
‘Yes.’
‘I told you I didn’t lie and I did not. When I told you that Prince Cesar would be dazzled I was telling the truth. You look beautiful and I am truly dazzled.’
Now she looked adorably confused, her nose crinkled and her blush deepened. ‘As if...’ she muttered.
‘I swear it. If there were