Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HE BIG DAY galloped towards her with as much drama and dread as an invading army.
Coronation and wedding rehearsals took place at the stunning San Mirabet basilica attached to the royal palace with such relentless frequency and attention to detail that Eden suspected she could recite the process in her sleep.
She knew she was reaching breaking point when her engagement made headline news around the world, with renowned journalists jostling for the right to conduct her first ever public interview, and the palace insisted she needed to comply.
‘I’m not ready to sit down with anyone who wants to pry into a past I don’t remember. It’s not fair on me, or you and your family,’ she stated firmly at dinner one night, after yet another full day of firm pushing from well-meaning palace staff. The very idea of it churned her stomach, despite one of the journalists being a woman Eden greatly admired for her integrity and plain speaking.
‘Then don’t do it,’ said Azar.
She blinked in wary surprise. He’d been doing this a lot lately. Accommodating her. Disarming her. Any second now, the other shoe would drop. It always did. Didn’t it?
‘Just like that? But I thought I had to conform ?’
Her wry stress on the word earned her a sardonic smile, then Azar shrugged.
‘You’ll soon learn that dealing with the palace council is a constant tug of war. It might feel like the odds are against you, but remember you hold the ultimate power. Sometimes that involves making one big sacrifice, or a series of smaller ones they don’t see coming until you’ve won.’
She pondered that for several minutes. Then, plucking her phone from her pocket, she dialled her private secretary’s number.
‘Tell the council I won’t be giving public interviews until after the wedding. And then it’ll be an exclusive to Rachel Mallory. Yes, it’s her or no one else. Thank you.’
She hung up to find Azar watching her with a fierce gleam in his eyes. ‘What?’
‘Taking control suits you. Brava, cara. ’
Something pelvis-heating glimmered in his eyes. Something she furiously fought as thick silence settled on them. Luckily, a valet stepped forward to pour her a much-needed glass of red wine, and the moment was broken.
Still, she took that fighting spirit into the remainder of the proceedings, firmly refusing extraneous requests that pulled her time away from Max.
Unfortunately, it won her a few disapproving murmurs—the loudest of which came from Azar’s mother. And Eden hid a grimace when, a week before the coronation, they were interrupted at dinner.
‘Your Highness…?’
Azar made a low, disapproving sound in his throat, but set down the spoon he was using to feed Max his mac and cheese and glared at the hovering Gaspar. ‘What is it?’
‘Your mother wishes a meeting. Since you had a free half an hour in your schedule after dinner, I thought I’d arrange it?’
Eden stiffened, and immediately brought Azar’s attention to her. ‘I’m guessing she wants to tell you you’re making a big mistake.’
‘Most definitely,’ he concurred sardonically, making something shrivel inside her—until he added, ‘Which makes it a good thing that who I marry isn’t up to her, sí ?’
The jolt of relief came from nowhere and floored her, weakening her further. ‘So…you still want to go ahead?’ she murmured, aware that her stomach was clenching in anticipation of his answer.
God, surely she hadn’t been terrified there for a minute that he’d change his mind?
‘That depends,’ he said. His fingers trailed down her temple and cheek to her jaw, then lower to the pulse racing at her throat. ‘Does the thought of marriage to me still make you ill?’ he asked tightly.
That quiet rumbling storm had returned, along with the eerie sense that his causal query held visceral importance.
It never did , she wanted to blurt.
But she managed to cling to her cool.
Remember why you’re doing this , a voice counselled. Max. Always Max.
‘No.’
‘ Bueno. Then we are in accord.’
His movements were deliberately precise when he passed his hand over the back of hers, pausing on the breathtakingly gorgeous diamond ring he’d presented her with the morning they’d announced their engagement to the world, two weeks ago.
The belle round micropavé diamond mounted on a pale gold setting wasn’t as flashy as the royal diamonds she’d seen during her tour of the royal palace’s throne and crown rooms, thank goodness. And learning it had belonged to his grandmother, seeing the sombre, nostalgic look in his eyes, had prompted her to give in to a rare bout of inquisitiveness. She’d asked Silvia, who had divulged that he’d been close to his grandmother and had been distraught when she’d died suddenly eight years ago.
Eden hadn’t asked why the jewellery hadn’t been passed on to Azar’s mother. The tiny bubble of joyous warmth at the fact that Azar could have kept the treasured heirloom but instead had bestowed it upon her—despite the circumstances of their coming together—was something she locked away in a secret vault for herself.
‘See you later,’ he said now.
And so the royal circus continued.
Sabeen returned, her retinue doubled and her smile even more stunning as they met for the first of many dress fittings.
It was only when the statuesque beauty engulfed her in a warm hug, then pulled back to peer earnestly into her face, that Eden realised how much she’d missed a friendly face and ear. Mrs Tolson had been that for her.
‘I hear it’s been crazier than a mad hatters’ convention over here,’ said Sabeen. ‘Even Teo is stressed, and he’s three thousand miles away.’
Her mention of her boss held a distinct edge, making Eden start.
‘Is everything okay between with you?’ she asked.
Sabeen’s lips pursed. ‘You mean besides having the Playboy Prince as my boss? Having women drop their metaphorical and actual knickers whenever he walks into the room, and him not seeing anything wrong with that?’
At Eden’s open-mouthed surprise, she grimaced. ‘Sorry, that sounds unprofessional. It’s fine. I’m fine. How are you?’
Such a simple question. And yet Eden fought back prickles of tears and shrugged. ‘I’m pushing through.’
Sabeen clicked her tongue, then ran her hands up and down Eden’s arms. ‘I’d say you’re more than holding your own, darling. Little birds tell me half the palace is impressed with your feistiness, while the other half are unsure what to make of you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘They are?’
Sabeen smiled. ‘You’re keeping them on their toes, that’s for sure. Including the soon-to-be-King.’
Eden shook her head. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Oh, trust me. It’s not every day a future king calls his brother to demand that his bride’s gowns are as perfect as they can be.’
Eden’s eyes goggled. ‘He did?’
‘Yup. Between Teo’s mother demanding changes to her gown on an hourly basis, and Azar demanding updates every morning, it’s a trip to see the unflappable Teo Domene…flapping about!’ she finished, with a sharp relish that said she was enjoying the Playboy Prince’s aggravation.
It made Eden wonder just what the deal was with those two.
‘Azar even suggested the colours,’ Sabeen went on. ‘Your favourite is purple, I believe?’
At Eden’s stunned nod, Sabeen beckoned one of her assistants and the woman pushed forward a clothing rail holding a gown covered by miles of protective netting.
‘Since you’ll be wearing the purple Order of Cartana sash with the diamond and amethyst tiara set, I thought your gown would be perfect with hints of purple too,’ Sabeen said, then produced an exquisite champagne-coloured gown with a princess cut neckline brimming with shimmering purple-hued crystals.
For unknown reasons, staring at it lodged another lump in Eden’s throat.
Azar had commissioned this exquisite gown?
‘Now, I may not be a hopeless romantic, but I think it’s clear your intended cares a great deal for you,’ Sabeen murmured, her eyes on the gown.
‘Does he?’ The question came out breathlessly, even as she shook her head, holding back the swell of dangerous emotion. ‘Of course, I would confirm or deny that if I could remember any of it,’ she added, before she thought better of it.
Even Sabeen’s bewildered frown was gorgeous, and had she not been thoroughly enamoured by her warmth and friendliness, Eden might have hated her a little.
‘You can’t remember…?’ she echoed.
Aware of their audience, Eden pursed her lips.
‘Excuse us for a few minutes, please,’ Sabeen said firmly to her team, then turned back to her the moment they were alone. Concern filmed her beautiful honey-brown eyes.
‘I don’t know if you know the details of how Azar and I met, but… I don’t,’ Eden told her. ‘I’ve lost my memory of the time I spent in Arizona…’
Sabeen’s concern deepened. ‘You poor thing. You remember nothing at all?’
She shook her head. ‘And my doctor has strictly forbidden Azar from telling me anything that might distress me. So I’m sorry if I don’t jump at the idea that my future husband has feelings for me. I don’t have any evidence of it.’
Again, she stopped her words far too late. But, to her surprise, Sabeen nodded briskly without an ounce of judgement.
‘Then play your cards as close to your chest as you wish and reveal them only when you’re ready. It won’t hurt one of the Domene men to take a turn twisting in the wind.’
The flush that followed Sabeen’s grave advice said she hadn’t meant to be so open with her emotions either. For a few frozen seconds they shared a deep, bewildered feeling of kinship.
Then Eden sniffed. ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘Of course,’ Sabeen replied smoothly. ‘Lace is back, and I’ve got a to-die-for gown for your wedding day…’
* * *
‘Dios mio, if you pull on your cuff one more time you’ll ruin it! I made that suit, so I know for a fact there’s no magic wish tucked away anywhere, and definitely not up your sleeve. So stop pulling at it.’
Azar frowned at the ridiculous statement. Then looked down and saw he was doing exactly what Teo was grinningly ribbing him about.
He should’ve heeded his far too many valets and assistants, who had hinted that it was too early for him to get ready. This bout of…of nerves wasn’t familiar to him, nor was it anywhere near enjoyable.
Nor were the recurring bolts of alarm he’d suffered since Eden had blurted that she wanted to postpone the wedding three weeks ago. He’d dispensed with that nonsense—because surely every woman desired a crown on her head?—but admittedly in those few minutes, and far too frequently since, the searing disquiet that she’d change her mind, choose an alternative to marrying him, had taunted him more often than he liked. As had the steady drips of the possibility that his suspicions about her behaviour in Arizona might be unfounded, rooted in one of Nick’s games. Perhaps even cleverly orchestrated by his supposed friend?
If that was the case—if he’d acted on false evidence—could she…would she reject him? He shook his head. She wouldn’t. Even if just for Max’s sake.
He held on to that belief, grounding himself in the moment, ignoring the hollow in his belly at the thought that he merited blame, too.
The moment was here.
His wedding day.
No matter how much he’d prepared for it, he still reeled at the fact that he had a son and was about to acquire a wife. A wife who didn’t remember anything of their time together. Call him devious, but he’d tested her in minor ways over the weeks, and eventually concluded that no woman could fake such a thing for so long. That knowledge had added a twist to already churning sensations far removed from the titanium control he preferred.
Hell…if anyone dared label it, they might say he was suffering from the jitters .
Because what if she remembered and decided she’d been wrong to give such ready consent to be his queen? Besides his mother, she held the singular position of being the only woman to do so. And, sí , that remained a thorn far too close to his chest for comfort.
His jaw tightened. If she decided she’d made a mistake—
‘I don’t envy you, but it’s not exactly the gallows, hermano . Lighten up, hmm?’
His jerked at Valenti’s prompting. Of the three of them, he was the quietest and the most severe—which was something, considering Azar knew he terrified most people with his intensity on a daily basis.
‘Or, if there’s a particular problem on your mind, I’m all ears.’
The offer came with piercing scrutiny that would have raised his hackles if he hadn’t known what his brother had been through.
What Valenti had suffered—taking a literal bullet for another, then dealing with the harrowing fallout of that split-second decision—would’ve felled most men. But the Domene blood running through his veins had lived up to its fearsome reputation. Still, sometimes he worried…
‘No, I’m good, gracias .’
‘He’s good, yet he’s ruining his damn suit! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re freaking the hell out. Worried your bride won’t turn up?’
Teo started to laugh, then thought better of it when neither brother joined in.
The truth was, Azar was marrying a woman with a spine of steel beneath the beauty and gentleness she portrayed. That meant that even though she’d given her word, there was no guarantee. And…he couldn’t exactly force her. Gone were the days when a Domene man could declare a woman his, give her little choice in the matter, and have her bear his name and his children.
And, yes…the tiniest sliver of him wished for those days. But since he couldn’t get them back, and didn’t really agree with those Middle Ages practices, he tugged on his cuff one last time—earning himself another glare from Teo—then strode for the door.
So what if he was getting there fifteen minutes early? It would keep the guards and the royal timekeepers on their toes. Not to mention earn him some points with the media as an eager groom.
Win-win.
‘Wait. Is he—? He’s leaving?’ Teo exclaimed. ‘Dammit, it’s not time yet! I don’t care if he’s almost a king—that is not cool.’
Valenti joined him. Together, they ignored the complaining Teo as they headed out to the fleet of silver Bentleys.
It was a good thing he’d been groomed from birth to nod and wave when necessary, because all he could concentrate on was whether or not Eden would turn up.
Why the question had suddenly taken up so much room in his mind.
And what he’d do if she didn’t.
* * *