Andreas’s two sisters were there. The brat pack, Sophia labelled them. Kitty and Lissa. ‘They love nothing better than shocking the press,’ Sophia had said, but these two beautiful women were watching Holly approach and Holly thought judging her seemed pretty high on their priority list right now.
‘They’re waiting for you,’ Georgiou said.
‘I want…Andreas.’ She sounded like a pathetic child but she couldn’t help it.
‘He’ll be waiting for you in the chapel.’
Right.
She gulped and held Deefer tighter. And walked forward to meet her future.
And after that the cameras took over. There were flashlights, flashlights and flashlights, so many that when she thought back to that day all she could remember was a blur of white light. There was a brief hiatus when she was ushered into the presence of lawyers-serious men and women who counselled her with care, who tried to make sure she understood the terms of the contract she was entering into. She tried. She really tried.
‘No further call on the crown. After divorce and settlement no further obligation on the part of the Prince Andreas to support you, financially or in any other way.’
That stood out like a sore thumb. Yes, she understood this. The wedding was something she’d agreed to do and then she’d get on with her life.
She felt in a daze. It was as if that one small drink Georgiou had offered her had anaesthetized her.
She simply had to sign. She simply had to trust.
And after the signing someone took Deefer away. She knew it had to happen. ‘He’ll be well looked after, miss. We’ll keep him safe in the kitchens until the fuss is over but he can’t stay with you during the wedding.’ The girl said it like a joke as she lifted Deefer from Holly’s arms and Holly thought, No one’s staying with me at the wedding. No one.
It was time to dress. Lace. Chiffon. Gold filigree. Hoops and flounces.
No bustles. No bows. Not that she was noticing. She felt like a puppet, pulled around at will, dressed at will. There were women everywhere, fussing about her clothes, even down to the exquisite underwear they produced with the dress. Manicurists. Make-up artists. Hair consultants. All plural. One finger each, she wanted to say to the manicurists, but she was beyond joking.
She felt like a slave in a harem. Being primped and painted for the royal master.
And then it was time. The doors swung open and liveried footmen stood ready to escort her to the chapel.
‘Holly?’
She looked past the footmen. There was Tia Karedes, Queen of Aristo. Dressed exquisitely in silver brocade, looking a million dollars.
‘You look lovely, my dear,’ Tia said softly. ‘But I wondered…would you like Sebastian to give you away?’
‘Sebastian?’
‘By rights he should stand by Andreas,’ Tia said diffidently. ‘But seeing that Sebastian has ordered this marriage I’ve said to him that the very least he can do is give you an arm to lean on. If I’m right and you need one.’
Did she need one? She was standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by servants, a vision of what a royal bride looked like. She felt so far out of her skin she might well be in outer space.
Tia was offering her the Crown Prince’s arm to support her as she went to this mock marriage.
Any arm at all, she thought blindly. So much for going into this all guns blazing. Her courage was somewhere below her elegantly shod toes.
‘Yes, please,’ she whispered. ‘And thank you for offering. I suspect I need any arm I can get.’
He hadn’t seen her for three days and he’d forgotten…or maybe he’d never known…that she could look like this.
Of course he’d never known she could look like this. A royal bride.
She was an ethereal vision, a confection of antique lace and satin. Her dress was superbly crafted to show the full swell of her breasts. Antique lace clung to each lovely curve. No bustles, he thought with approval as he watched her enter the chapel. No bows. He’d stipulated that, and the royal seamstresses had taken him at his word, but beyond that they’d indulged in every last fantasy to create a truly royal bride.
She was every inch a bride, every inch of her arranged as it should be, so she stood like Cinderella making her entrance to the ball. She was beautiful enough to take a man’s breath away. She was beautiful enough to entrance a prince…
His brother was surely entranced. The king-in-waiting stood by her side, waiting for the music to cue their slow steps along the aisle. Sebastian was in full regimentals, black and gold and crimson. This ceremony was designed to show the country that the royal family was not ashamed of this connection. This was a righting of past wrongs but it was being done with all the pomp and splendour they could muster.
Sebastian had been looking down at the girl on his arm as the chapel doors swung open, but now his gaze turned to his brother standing at the end of the aisle. What have we here? his gaze said. What am I doing, bringing beauty to you?
It was as much as Andreas could do not to walk forward and punch his lights out. That his brother touch her…
Yet this was his brother’s attempt to do the right thing. What was wrong with him that he object?
It was just…He didn’t want Holly to have anything to do with Sebastian. He didn’t want Holly to have anything to do with the royal family.
She was wearing one of the family tiaras. His mother must have lent it to her. He flashed a glance at Tia and saw his mother’s warm glance of approval.
They’d approved when he’d married Christina. If he’d brought Holly home when he should have brought her home…
This was out of kilter. Time out of frame.
Holly looked scared to death.
The background music faded. The royal trumpeter sounded forth, a single high call. The traditional bridal march for a royal.
The congregation stood. The royal household. Political dignitaries. All those who’d been deemed essential to be here.
Sebastian’s hand pressed Holly’s and she started the long walk towards him. Her face was parchment white, devoid of expression. It was almost as if Sebastian was pressuring her forward.
There was a murmur from those around them. His captive bride, being led to the slaughter.
‘Stop,’ he said and the congregation gasped as one.
Was he mad? Doing this at such a time?
But he wasn’t mad. He knew exactly what had to be done, regardless of who was watching. Before he could let any more doubt creep in he left the waiting priest and strode swiftly down the long aisle to meet his bride.
She looked up at him, dazed. Seemingly numb.
‘Leave her, Sebastian,’ he said, and when Sebastian opened his mouth to argue he fixed him with a look that might, in a bygone age, have seen his head on a block. To give such a look to his future king…But Sebastian was his brother and was, this day, of little import compared to the girl on his arm.
And Sebastian had the sense to see it. He gave his brother a quizzical smile and
