The Reluctant Wife: Chapter 44

‘I can do this.’ I begin to rub my sweaty palms down my dress when Zoey cries out.

‘Don’t.’

‘Oh’—I glance down at my wedding dress and grimace—’thanks. I couldn’t live with myself if I stained this beautiful gown.’

We’re in the room adjoining the main hallway of the Royal palace. The rest of the girls have gone ahead, and we’re waiting for our pick-up to the cathedral.

‘It looks vintage.’ She smiles at me, looking gorgeous in her peach bridesmaid’s dress.

My dress is deceptively simple, with a V-shaped neckline and a lace bodice which nips in at my waist before continuing in a straight A-line skirt to my ankles.

‘It is.’ I touch the intricate lace appliqué of the fitted bodice. ‘It really is beautiful.’ My arms are covered by the long sleeves, inspired by my mother’s own wedding dress. It’s modest, as befits a cathedral wedding.

I agreed to it because every generation of the Royal Family of Verenza, has gotten married here. While I’m not religious, I know my mother would have wanted this.

The lace design includes lily and sunflower motifs, representing the national flowers of my country. The low-draped front neckline adds a touch of modernity. The classic, structured A-line silhouette, with a full skirt that elegantly flares from the waist, gives a regal, timeless shape, and is made of layers of soft tulle and underskirts.

The train is modest, by Royal standards, and I’m thankful for that because it already feels too heavy on my shoulders. In addition, a silk tulle veil is fastened to the tiara which belonged to my mother. It’s a mix of ethereal and traditional, and I feel like my mother is here with me, in person, today.

‘The dress belonged to my mother. Karma West Sovrano’s seamstress tailored it to my measurements.” I’m also wearing my mother’s earrings. I’ve never felt closer to her.

The last three days went by in a rush of procession and ceremony rehearsals. Ryot was involved in security rehearsals. It means, I didn’t see him outside of the wedding rehearsal. Even that was with the rest of the wedding planning and security teams in attendance, so there was barely any time to talk.

Except for the way his eyes flared when I walked down the aisle toward him, and the way he looked into my eyes when we rehearsed our vows—not to mention, how thoroughly he kissed me during the rehearsal—told me he missed me every bit as much as I did him. It’s what has kept me going.

My PR manager conducted public and media rehearsals, coordinating logistics and coverage points with the press that arrived from around the world.

She’s kept me posted on the arrangements, and if I fold in the online coverage to be generated and the number of satellite TV stations covering the event, it just might mean that my agreeing to marry Ryot is worth it. You would’ve married him anyway, remember? I push the thought aside. We both agreed we’d get what we want from this association. And then we’ll move on. But what you want is to NOT move on.

My phone buzzes. I glance at where I placed it on the table next to me. Ideally, I shouldn’t have sat down for fear of creasing my dress, but I need to save my energy for the day ahead. Besides, my feet in the stilettos were already killing me, and I needed to take my weight off them, so I decided to sit. I pull up my phone and read the message.

Our mother encouraged us to speak in Italian to her. Viktor and I kept up that tradition after she passed, and often use Italian words in our conversations. It’s another thing we have in common. Unlike Brandon, who never picked up enough Italian to be conversant in the language. He also messaged me separately to wish me well and apologize for not being at the wedding.

I was disappointed, but not surprised. Given the bad blood between him and my father, as well as the fact that he and Viktor don’t always see eye to eye, I knew it would create a strained atmosphere if he’d decided to come.

My phone dings again, and I check the message.

For some reason, that brings tears to my eyes. Jeez, I’m more emotional than usual today. I suppose, it’s allowed. I’ve always had to be strong, but when I’m with him, I feel I can lean on him. It’s almost as if he knew I needed a pick-me-up and messaged me.

‘He messaged you, didn’t he?’ Zoey asks softly.

I nod. ‘Is it that obvious?’

She smiles. ‘You get a certain look in your eyes whenever he’s around or his name is mentioned.’

‘Do I?’ I chuckle. ‘I didn’t realize I was that transparent.’

‘It’s okay to let your feelings show. Especially today.’

I look at her gratefully, once again, feeling the emotions well up.

‘Oh no, don’t cry. You don’t want to spoil your make up, do you?’

I shake my head and sniffle. ‘Thanks, Z, you’re a really good friend.’

‘You bet.’ She grins widely.

There’s a knock on the door and one of the waitstaff pops her head around. ‘The car is here, Your Highness.’

‘Ready?’ Zoey studies me closely.

I nod, then take a deep breath. My heart is racing in my ribcage. My pulse is galloping at what feels like a million miles a second. I can do this. I can. I’ve prepared for this event my entire life. And at least, I’m going to marry the man I’ve fallen for, even if he doesn’t completely reciprocate my feelings. And the chemistry between us is so strong, there’s no need to pretend the attraction. Things could be way worse in a marriage of convenience.

I clutch at my wedding bouquet, which is a simple collection of Jasmine—a tribute to the flowers in my mother’s bouquet—Peonies, which are the national flower of Verenza—and roses. Because they begin with the same initial as Ryot’s name.

The flowers are white, matching my ivory wedding dress.

The Rolls-Royce Phantom comes to a stop in front of the cathedral. The liveried driver opens Zoey’s door. She walks around and waits for me to get in first.

One of the security guards holds my door open.

The pealing of the cathedral’s bells washes over me, along with the cheering of the crowds. People lined the streets on the short drive from the palace, driving home the gravity of this event.

I struggle to slide out, and someone—I assume the guard—holds out a hand. I place my free hand in his gloved one and step out. He leads me a few steps forward, so my train fans out behind me.

Zoey smooths it out. When I pull at my hand, the man holding mine refuses to let go.

That’s when I look up and gasp. ‘Viktor!’ I want to throw my arms about him, but the cheering of the crowd reminds me we are very much in the public eye.

It wasn’t mentioned in the protocol that he’d be the one helping me out of the car, but I’m not complaining. Having Viktor here is a huge support, even if it is breaking etiquette.

He grins down at me. ‘You look beautiful, sis.’

“You look dashing yourself.” I smile.

He’s dressed in a fitted morning suit with a tailcoat and a blue tie. At six-feet-four-inches and with his wide shoulders, swept-back hair and brooding good looks, he looks amazing.

His gaze seems to shine with what looks suspiciously like tears. Then, he uses his thumb to wipe the underside of his eye, and I know, he’s as moved by this moment as I am. ‘Oh, Vik, you’re going to make me blubber.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ He places his hand on mine, so the warmth of his hand engulfs mine, and squeezes. ‘You look so much like her.’

I know, he means my mother. ‘I feel her presence so strongly today.’ Tears well up, and I, once more, manage to swallow them down. This is a happy occasion, so why does my heart feel sad?

‘She’d be so proud of you.’ He smiles.

The cheers from the crowds around us rise.

‘Your audience awaits.’

‘They might be here to see you as much as me,’ I tease. He releases my hand, and I wave. The noise from the crowd rises. Flashbulbs pop from the press enclosure. Then, Viktor takes my hand and leads me up the steps of the cathedral to the entrance. Zoey follows, holding my train.

My father greets me at the top. He’s wearing his formal dress uniform of a Royal Navy Admiral. He served in Verenza’s navy before he took on the role of crown prince, and then king.

His face lights up; there’s a soft smile playing around his mouth. And his eyes fill with tears. ‘My dear, Aura.’ He takes my hand in his and lowers his head to kiss my forehead.

He takes in my dress, and a flicker of recognition dawns in his eyes. He looks both stricken and happy. A bit like how I feel inside. ‘You look absolutely breathtaking.’ He looks into my eyes, and his own are filled with pain. ‘I miss your mother so much today, but I realize now, she lives on through you.’

‘Oh, Papa.’ My chest tightens. My throat hurts. I have a tough time controlling my tears.

‘There, there—’ He pats my hand. ‘Crying is not a good look for the press, dear.’ He winks at me through his own tears.

‘I’ll see you on the other side, sis.’ Viktor touches my hand, then walks away.

The wedding planner arranges the veil over my head, while Zoey places my train down carefully, so it stretches out behind me.

The prelate of the cathedral comes over to speak with me, and I become aware of the fact that the cathedral is full.

The nervousness that squeezed my insides in the car ratchets up. I’m aware of the prelate asking a question, and my father answering. The two of them laugh. Then, the prelate bows and melts away.

The orchestra begins to play ‘Wedding March’ by Felix Mendelssohn from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the choir joins in.

The same song was played when my mother walked down this very aisle twenty-eight years ago.

My father wipes away a tear. He’s remembering the ceremony when he wed my mother as well.

Spine straight. You’re a princess.

I take a step, knowing I’m following in hers. The hair on my arms rises, and I feel like she’s blessed me with her presence today.

The murmuring of the guests increases in volume until every head has turned my way. Through my watery eyes, the faces blur into each other.

Ahead of me, two flower girls, daughters of distant cousins start down the aisle, scattering flower petals as they go.

The ring bearer, Fred’s grandson, follows; behind him is Zoey, my maid of honor.

Then it’s my turn. My father walks me down the aisle. My stomach twists in on itself, but I manage to keep a tight grip on my emotions. Swallowing down my nervousness, I smile and nod at the guests as I’ve been taught. Every single etiquette lesson I’ve taken since I came of age comes to my rescue, and I don’t falter.

Halfway to the altar, a tingle runs up my spine. My heartbeat speeds up further. Of its own accord, my gaze rises and meets his silver-green one. He’s standing with his back to the altar, watching me approach. The music fades, and the rest of the room seems to disappear, all of my attention captured by him.

He’s wearing his ceremonial dress uniform, with a white jacket featuring his medals, ribbons and insignia. His pants are black. He has a white dress shirt, a black bow tie, and a white cap with a black peak and the Royal Marines’ badge on the front. There’s a sword at his side. He looks dashing and swashbuckling, like a knight ready to ride off into battle. Like he’ll slay my dragons and ensure I’m always happy. Once more, my gaze is caught by his and held, and I feel like a moth drawn to a flame. A butterfly pulled toward a spider’s web with no means of escape. A flower opening to the sun. I feel every nerve in my body tingle as every cell comes alive. My blood begins to pump faster. My feet seem to move of their own accord. Then, I reach him.

He keeps his gaze on me as he nods in my father’s direction. I’m aware of my father asking something and of Ryot replying. But the words don’t register. Then, my father places my hand in Ryot’s much bigger, wider palm. His fingers grip mine, and his touch sends a spurt of electricity through my body. All of my senses snap to attention. My gaze grows super-sharp.

He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers. The touch of his lips sends an additional jolt of heat through my veins. My thighs quiver. And my panties dampen. Damn.

I’m standing in front of five hundred VIPS from around the world, and approximately a billion people who’re tuning in live for this wedding, and I am so turned on. My nipples are hard; my toes curl in my designer stilettos.

I know I’m blushing, and I can’t stop it. As if he reads my mind, one side of his mouth curls. There’s a wicked edge to his smile. A promise inherent in the brilliance of his eyes that turns my belly into a tsunami of sensations.

We stare at each other, and the very air between us heats. With a last smoldering glance—that, surely, the news cameras must capture—he urges me to turn and face the archbishop.