Their Christmas Royal Wedding. Nina MilneЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Had she really said that? Had she lost the plot along with the royal rule book? Gabi resisted the urge to go and hide behind a Christmas tree, to give herself a chance to regroup and figure out what had just happened. But she couldn’t; the royal ship needed to continue its regal sail. So she had to overcome the fluster and somehow rein in her thoughts, hide the tumult going on in her brain and her body.

      Her mystery man was Prince Cesar Asturias and by rights she should be furious at his deception. Especially when he’d had the temerity to tell her she needed to pull herself together. Problem was he’d been right. She had been livid, hurt, angry, confused...and she’d been showing it. Royal rule number one: show no emotion.

      And then somehow Cesar had got past her fury, because the apology in his brown eyes had been sincere and so too had been the glint of admiration. Dazzled, that was what he’d said. And that was all it had taken; she’d metaphorically melted into a puddle and flirted...practically promised to kiss him. Cue mental eye roll. Was she that much of a pushover?

      Enough; she would banish Prince Cesar from her mind and focus on what she should be doing. Creating the right impression, making all these people believe she had it in her to rule.

      And just like that the crushing weight of responsibility, the fear she’d mess this up, returned. The strangeness of wearing a ball gown, the unaccustomed shoes, the splendour of the room itself threatened to overwhelm her. But somehow she summoned the royal smile, the one practised in front of the mirror until her cheeks ached, as Queen Maria approached her, with yet another person by her side to introduce.

      An hour later and, ‘You OK?’ She turned to see Luca at her side and she smiled, relieved to see her eldest brother, a man who understood all this.

      ‘I’m fine, maybe a bit overwhelmed.’

      ‘You’re doing great.’

      ‘At looking the part.’

      He shook her head. ‘This isn’t about looking the part, or playing a part. You are a princess, Gabi, and you will be Casavalle’s Queen.’

      ‘That’s what Cesar said.’ Gabi regretted the words as she saw Luca study her expression.

      ‘Sounds like you got to know each other fast.’

      ‘Yes.’ Gabi pushed away the urge to confide; the relationship between the Valentis and the Asturiases was complicated enough. She didn’t need Luca to get involved or fire up on his sister’s behalf.

      ‘Well, he’s right, Gabi. You can do this. You’ve got this.’

      ‘Thank you. To you and Imogen. For having my back.’

      ‘That’s what family is for, Gabi. And now you have a family. To support you.’ Luca smiled at her. ‘So let’s show some Valenti-Ross solidarity and build on what you have started with Prince Cesar. I have spoken with his older brothers and his younger sister already. Now let’s go get some more publicity.’

      Gabi nodded, understood the importance of this public meeting of the families. Luca had told her that a few months earlier he and Cesar had gone to see Meribel, and they had all made their peace. But that had been a private meeting; this was a public showing of togetherness, an assertion that neither family bore a grudge, that both families were friends.

      He looked round. ‘But let’s bring Imogen into the mix too.’ He smiled as his fiancée headed towards him, clearly alerted by some mysterious couple radar, and for a mad moment envy tinged with wistfulness touched Gabi. She was happy for her best friend, for her brother, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she could ever find what they had. Could she ever find love, trust that someone would love her for herself?

      ‘Let’s do this,’ Luca said. With smiles and murmurs to other guests they made their way through the glittering, designer-clad throngs together and now Gabi felt lighter, revelled in the feel of being part of a family unit. Reminded herself that she did have support and backup and she was thankful for it.

      They approached Cesar, who was speaking with Queen Maria, and Gabi gulped. Standing beneath one of the magnificent chandeliers, dressed in a tux that moulded his body, showed off those powerful shoulders and that lean, mean, fighting-machine body, he took her breath away. Again.

      As if he sensed it, his dark brown eyes flicked to meet hers and she saw an answering flare there and her insides knotted in sudden desire. And she’d asked him to ask permission to kiss her. Madness—Cesar was not a man to flirt with; she might as well flirt with fire, dance and weave through the flames.

      ‘Cesar. Good to see you.’ Luca’s deep tone was pitched to carry without shouting and Gabi was aware that around them conversations slowed as the two men shook hands. ‘Much has changed since we last met,’ he continued, with a disarming smile. ‘I wish to assure you and your family that I for one have no complaint at all as to how things have played out. I am a very happy man. I have gained a sister and a fiancée I love. Gabriella you have met, but now allow me to introduce Imogen, my fiancée.’

      ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Imogen.’ Now Cesar grasped Imogen’s hand, seemingly oblivious to the buzz around them. ‘May I offer my sincere congratulations and wish you both happiness from myself and my family.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Imogen’s voice was clear. ‘I appreciate that very much. And please tell Meribel we wish her as much happiness as we have found.’

      ‘I will do that.’ Cesar’s smile was courteous; he was clearly appreciative of Imogen’s diplomatic answer. ‘And may I say you will make a wonderful diplomat if ever the urge takes you.’

      At that moment the band struck up and Cesar’s smile changed, as if he’d upped the brightness meter, and he turned to Gabi. ‘My dance, I believe.’

      She would swear she could feel the colour leech from her face; she, Gabriella Ross, was about to lead a royal ball, a ball in her honour. Crazy didn’t cover it.

      ‘You’ll wow them, Gabi,’ Imogen said. ‘And we’ll be right behind you.’

      ‘You’d better be.’ Gabi turned to Cesar, oddly reassured—he would know what he was doing so with any luck she wouldn’t make a complete fool of herself.

      ‘There is no need to be nervous,’ Cesar said softly as he took her hand and they approached the dance floor, where the orchestra had started the introduction, the melody touching and humming the air with motes of beauty.

      ‘There is every need to be nervous. I told you last night, this is not my forte.’

      ‘And I told you last night that you can do this. Plus what I didn’t tell you last night is that I have all the moves!’ As she glanced up at him, he did a disco move reminiscent of the seventies, the move so unexpected that she halted and looked up at him in surprise.

      His face creased into a grin and he chuckled and she grinned right back. Suddenly the whole idea of the dance seemed less of an ordeal and as the orchestra began to play, she inhaled deeply. ‘OK. I can do this.’

      ‘We can do this,’ he said and then they were off.

      Gabi focused on his left shoulder, murmured the instructions under her breath, tried to focus on the movements, but it was hard when Cesar was this close. So close his aftershave tantalised her, so close she now knew the muscles were real, hard under her fingers; she could see one errant black curl on the nape of his neck and she bit back