CHAPTER TWELVE
AMELIAWALKEDBEHINDVANESSA, holding the elaborate train of her dress, her features serene and impenetrable, her eyes focused on nothing and no one, even as Benedetto stared at her and willed her to look his way.
She didn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Her gaze was angled steadily ahead, her eyes on the front of the church.
She looked beautiful, but Benedetto could see beyond her mask, to the grey beneath her eyes, the tightening around her lips, and he knew he was the cause of that.
Had she not been able to sleep, in the same way he couldn’t sleep?
Had she replayed their conversation with the same sense of frustration, because it was the exact opposite of how she wanted things to end between them?
Benedetto had known he would leave, but he had hoped they could part on good terms. That they could both look back on their time warmly.
Warmly?
How insipid, he thought with growing frustration. Suddenly, he wanted the entire congregation gone. He wanted to scoop Amelia up and take her somewhere private, with just the two of them. He wanted to be alone with her again, to finish the conversation, but to do it better this time.
Better how? What would he say? That she was special? Different? And give her false hope that their relationship might have a future after all? The more special and different she was, the more Benedetto wanted to run from her.
Her eyes flicked to Anton, and Benedetto narrowed his gaze, needing her to look at him so he could pierce her with his eyes, to smile at him and reassure him that she was already feeling better, but she didn’t. Her eyes stayed on Anton’s face, a smile crossed her lips—but not a smile like Benedetto had seen her give. This was practised and poised. A smile for the cameras, he thought, because the wedding was being televised. And of course Amelia, having grown up in the spotlight, was all too aware of not putting a foot wrong. She was totally in control of herself, in complete command of her emotions, outwardly at least.
She was an impeccable, beautiful princess.
His chest felt as though a load of cement were pressing down on it; his gut churned. He blinked it away, ignoring those feelings, ignoring the questions in the back of his mind. He had no doubt that leaving was the right thing, but he’d never wanted to defy his instincts more.
It had been the performance of a lifetime.
Amelia’s cheeks hurt from smiling, when inside her heart was torn to shreds. She had stood beside her new sister-in-law throughout the proceedings, as Anton and Vanessa had declared their love for one another, as they had pledged to live and love for the rest of their lives, to honour and respect, and she’d known that only a few feet away from her was the only man she’d ever want to say those same words to, to make those same promises to, and yet he didn’t want her. The knowledge had been like a hammer in her head and heart throughout the entire wedding. Somehow, she’d kept her cool, listening as the words were spoken, smile pinned in place, and when, from time to time, her eyes had sheened with tears, she’d known it didn’t matter, because people would presume they were tears of happiness, instead of what they really were: an expression of absolute dejection.
Outside the chapel, everyone was full of joy, and Vanessa and Anton were the stars of the show, the couple everyone was looking at and adoring, so it was easy for Amelia to slip away a moment, to step through a narrow opening at the side of the ancient church and find her way through a path to a small courtyard with a fountain at the centre and a seat at the edge.
Checking the seat was clean, she sat down, and stared across the courtyard at the stone wall, eyes misting over.
She was tired. Exhausted. The act of a lifetime had cost her. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep. Her eyes traced the old grout lines between the stones, seeking calm in its disordered sense, in the way the stones differed in sizes and shapes yet still somehow made up uniform lines. It was a warm day. She stretched her legs out in front of her, so the sun caught them in a triangle formed by the shape of the walls surrounding her, and she closed her eyes, trying to be still, to calm her racing mind and aching heart.
He was leaving.
There was nothing to be done about it, no more she could say, no further argument she could make. It was his life, his choice, and when she’d offered herself to him, all of herself, he’d politely, steadfastly declined. He didn’t love her.
Except, she couldn’t quite believe that. He’d said it, he’d been so confident, but, in her heart, Amelia suspected a love like she felt couldn’t exist without reciprocation. It had been born from what they shared, from the way they’d made love, the secrets they’d revealed, the deep, abiding trust they’d built, the care they had for one another. For a brief time, all too brief, she’d walked in lock step with another person. For the first time in her life, she’d had a true partner.
What did her hopes and beliefs matter though? He’d been adamant. He didn’t love her.
With a heaviness in her gut, she prepared to open her eyes and become Princess Amelia once more, to rejoin the wedding and the festivities. She sighed, then blinked, because she was no longer alone. Benedetto stood across the courtyard, in his stunning suit, looking too gorgeous to bear, and the last vestiges of Amelia’s heart splintered and cracked. She was preparing to resume her act, she just wasn’t quite ready yet.
Quickly she stood, turned away from him, did her best to assume the mask she knew she had to wear.
‘Your brother asked me to find you,’ he said quietly. ‘The cars are leaving.’
She didn’t turn to face him. ‘I’ll be right there.’ Damn it, her voice wobbled.
A moment later, he was at her side. ‘Amelia,’ he murmured, reaching out, putting his hand on hers. She flinched away.
‘I’m fine.’ Her chin jutted defiantly, but her eyes were moist.
‘Listen, about last night—’ She heard the tormented apology in his voice, and her chest seemed to split in half. This was all about guilt, obligation, the feeling he’d done the wrong thing.
She’d imagined everything.
‘There’s nothing more to say.’ She stared at him, and even then, she hoped. ‘Is there?’
He thrust his hands into his pockets.
‘You didn’t lie about your feelings? What you said last night, you meant it, didn’t you?’
He was quiet for a beat and then he made a gruff sound. ‘Yes.’
She closed her eyes on a fresh wave of pain. ‘If you care about me at all, please leave me alone. I have to get through today, tonight, I have to be what they all expect—I don’t have the capacity to feel this and to be that.’
His eyes raked her face and then he nodded. ‘Your car is ready.’
Grateful for the return to business, she spoke curtly. ‘Thank you. I’ll be right out.’
He left without a backwards glance.
In the morning, Amelia awoke with a sadness in her chest that was deeper and darker than any she’d known. Benedetto would leave today, and she would never be the same.
She wouldn’t see him again.
He would manage that carefully, ensuring that if he visited Anton, Amelia wasn’t present. She just knew he would avoid her, to avoid hurting her again, to avoid the risk of anything more happening between them.
Accepting the reality of that, knowing he was out of her life for good, was incredibly counterintuitive.
He was the love of her life, but she had to accept his decision. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear to be at the palace for all of the post-wedding activities, the necessary farewells. She couldn’t bear to see Benedetto again. If they were to go their separate ways, then she wanted it to be now. Like the ripping-off of a plaster, she would never see him again. It was what he wanted.
It was still early, and she suspected everyone else would be asleep after the festivities of the night before, so Amelia took advantage of the slumberous palace and dressed quickly, washing her face, pulling her hair back into a ponytail and slipping out of a side gate, moving towards the garage.
The chauffeur startled to be disturbed but rallied quickly. ‘Your Highness.’ He dipped his head. ‘Good morning. Where would you like to go?’
‘Nowhere in particular. Just...away from here for the morning.’
If he thought it was strange, he didn’t reveal as much. ‘The kingfishers have taken over Anemon Lake. It’s supposed to be an incredible sight. Would you care to see them?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured with relief, slipping into the back of the car as he held open the door for her. Amelia took great pains not to look over her shoulder at the palace as the car slipped elegantly through the gates.
Benedetto hadn’t been relishing the goodbye, but he had at least expected to be able to make it. He’d wanted to see her, one last time. Things between them had ended badly, and he hated that, but he still wanted to do this part, at least, properly.
Only, upon arriving at Amelia’s apartment, it was to find it deserted. A question to one of the housekeepers revealed that she was ‘out’.
He waited as long as he could, but after several hours cooling his heels, it dawned on him that she considered they’d already said their farewells. That there was nothing left to say—just as she’d said, after the wedding.
She’d come to him and literally offered her heart; he’d immediately declined. Her face and eyes had shown her hurt. Her surprise. But why should she have been surprised?
His gut twisted as he strode into the sunshine-filled courtyard. With Anton on his honeymoon, and Benedetto having already issued brief farewells to the King, Queen and Rowan, there was nothing for it but to leave.
Except, as Benedetto approached his car, the door held open by a chauffeur, he hesitated, pausing, inexplicably, to look back at the palace, his eyes chasing the windows, as if he might catch a glimpse of her, even now. His hand clenched into a fist at his side.
He knew what he had to do, and yet leaving felt strangely wrong, particularly leaving without seeing her again. He stood in the triangle formed by the open car door, at war with himself.
His head said leave, but there were other parts demanding he stay.
His head won out. He’d learned that it was much safer to trust his head, and so he sat heavily in the car and looked forward, towards his own future, and a life without Amelia Moretti anywhere near it.
The emptiness was pervasive. He hadn’t expected that. After all, he’d known her for only a short time, and yet arriving in New York, after a week in Athens, Benedetto couldn’t ignore the heaviness in his chest any longer, the feeling that something vital was missing from his days, from his life. He disregarded the feeling. Or rather, he compartmentalised it, as he’d learned to do as a boy, boxing away the hurt, the confusion, the disappointment and fear and stacking that tightly sealed box into the recesses of his mind, allowing him to function unimpeded.
As he’d learned to do when Sasha had become sick, when she’d died, and he’d had to co-exist with the heavy, pervasive grief of having lost her.
Except Amelia had done something to that grief. When they’d spoken of Sasha, he’d smiled, because he’d remembered all the happy, good, warm things about his daughter. And sharing that with Amelia had felt so right, as if he was bringing Sasha where she belonged—into the light. He hadn’t spoken of her in so long, because no one else had tempted him to, in the slightest. But with Amelia, it had all been so easy.
He buried himself in work, taking solace in the very familiar form of denial. He spent twenty hours a day at his office, becoming master of this domain again, reading and negotiating contracts, hiring staff, micromanaging every aspect of his business. And even then, she crept into his mind when he wasn’t firmly concentrating on control, allowing her to slip past the guards, and fill his thoughts, his body, so he would breathe in and swear he could taste her.
‘Damn it,’ he cursed, in the early hours of one morning, staring out at the glittering skyline, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. But it was sleep he feared, because in sleep, the vice-like grip on his self-control was weakened. His dreams were always filled with her.
‘It’s not because you’re different, you know,’ Anton, a month after his fairy-tale wedding and having returned from his honeymoon days earlier, sat beside Amelia in the pretty sun-dappled courtyard.
She turned to face him, her face pale, features tight, eyes, unbeknownst to her, lacking all their usual light and spark.
Anton was, for a moment, worried, though he didn’t show it.
‘What wasn’t?’ she murmured.
‘The reason for us clashing. It’s not because you’re different. In case you think that somehow I knew, all this time, that he’s not your biological father.’
Her smile was mournful; she turned away from him. It was enough to alarm Anton even further. ‘I didn’t think that.’
‘You’ve always been so much better than me, Amelia.’
She frowned without looking at him. Worry for his sister stirred through Anton. Why hadn’t anyone told him she was like this? She was a shadow of her former self, in terms of joy and vitality. She clearly wasn’t coping with being home.
‘That’s not true. Has Vanessa put you up to this?’
An attempt at a joke was good, but still Anton’s concern grew. ‘You are so much more patient, kind, wise, willing to listen to other people before making up your mind. In that sense, you are the most like Dad of all of us,’ he added. ‘Biology isn’t everything, you know.’
‘I know.’ Tears sparkled on her lashes.
Anton stood, needing more answers than he was going to get from his sister. But before leaving, he reached down, put a hand on her knee. ‘Is it Valencia?’ he prompted. ‘Are you so desperate to go back?’
She lifted her face to his, eyes hollow, so unlike the Amelia he’d grown up with. ‘No.’
A simple one-word answer that told him nothing.
‘Is it being here?’ Anton pushed. ‘Do you hate it?’
She shook her head. ‘I just need time, that’s all.’
He nodded, but a sense of uneasiness was spreading through him, and there was only one person he could think of to speak to, only one person he trusted with all his innermost thoughts, besides his new wife.
He reached for his phone as he strode from the courtyard, Ben’s number on speed dial.