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‘A kiss,’ he said more firmly, and took her into his arms. She came willingly, and as he settled his mouth on hers he felt a deep sense of satisfaction as well as a rush of desire. This part of their marriage, at least, didn’t have to be so complicated.
Rachel’s mouth opened like a flower under his and she reached up to cup his cheek with one hand, in an unsettlingly tender gesture. The crowd roared and stamped and whistled their approval. Reluctantly Mateo broke the kiss. His breathing was ragged and so was Rachel’s.
‘That’s a deposit towards later,’ he said, and she let out a little breathless laugh.
‘Good to know.’
They started the traditional wedding walk across the square to the palace, where they would have a formal wedding breakfast, followed by the carriage ride and then later by a ball. People continued to cheer, reaching their hands across the barriers. It was usual royal protocol to ignore such gestures, but Rachel broke ranks and starting shaking people’s hands, and Mateo started to restrain her before he saw how people were responding to her—with both devotion and joy.
Mateo had always intended to model his kingship on his father’s, to be dignified, a bit austere and remote, but also sincere and hardworking. His father would never have shaken a commoner’s hand, never mind posing for a selfie as Rachel was now doing. And yet when Mateo saw the reaction of his people, their unfettered delight, he realised that this might be what was needed.
His father had kept the public at a distance, thinking he was above them, and Leo had ignored them in pursuit of his own private pleasure. Maybe it was time for Mateo to be different. For the King and Queen to engage with their people, to love them as their own.
The thought was novel, a bit alarming, and yet also strangely exciting.
‘They love you,’ Mateo murmured as they finally cleared the crowds and entered the palace. ‘They really love you.’
‘It’s so strange,’ she murmured, shaking her head, looking dazed. ‘I’ve never...’ She stopped, but something in her tone made Mateo turn to her.
‘You never what?’
She paused, biting her lip as she gazed at him uncertainly. ‘I’ve never been loved before,’ she confessed with a shaky laugh. ‘By anyone. But I think I could get used to it.’
It was such a dramatic statement that Mateo shook his head instinctively. ‘Of course you’ve been loved.’
‘No, not really.’
‘Your mother. Your parents—’
‘No. Not like that, anyway.’
He frowned, searching her face, looking for self-pity but finding only her usual good-humoured pragmatism. ‘What are you talking about, Rachel?’
‘My parents didn’t love me,’ she said simply. ‘Or at least, they didn’t like me. Which is worse, do you think?’ She posed it like an academic question.
‘Of course your parents loved you.’ Even though he’d rebelled as a youth, even though he’d resented being seen as unnecessary in the line to the throne, and walked away from everything as a result, he’d never doubted his parents’ love. Never. Yet Rachel spoke about her loveless parents as if she was simply stating facts.
‘I suppose they loved me after a fashion,’ she said after a moment. ‘I mean, they provided for me, certainly. But they didn’t act as if they loved me, or wanted me in their lives, so I didn’t feel loved.’ She shrugged. ‘But why on earth are we talking about this now? We need to go into the wedding breakfast.’
‘They must have loved you.’ Mateo didn’t know why he was labouring the point, only that he really hated the idea that Rachel had grown up unloved. Disliked, even. Rachel. ‘Maybe they were just reticent...’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Okay. Sure. That’s what they were. Can we go now?’
It was obvious she wanted to drop it, and now was hardly the time or place for some sort of emotional discussion—the kind of discussion he’d never really wanted to have—and yet Mateo was realising what a fool he’d been, to think he could separate parts of his life—his heart—like oil and water, never mixing. Marriage wasn’t like that. It was a chemical reaction, just as he’d felt in himself; two separate entities combining and becoming something new. Hydrogen and oxygen turning into life-giving water. Or perhaps caesium and water, causing a life-threatening explosion. Which was it?
Only time would tell. And whichever it was, Mateo knew he couldn’t take the affection and the trust and the physical desire and compartmentalise them all, neatly labelled, put away in a drawer and never causing him any bother. As much as he wanted to, needed to, he couldn’t.
And that was when Mateo knew he was in big trouble.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RACHEL’S HEART FLUTTERED like a wild thing in her chest as Mateo closed the door of the bedroom. They were in the honeymoon suite, tucked away in a tower in a far wing of the palace, with a view of the sea shimmering under the moonlight from its high windows.
The circular room was something out of another fairy tale—Rapunzel, perhaps—with a twisting staircase that led up to this lovely room, a cosy fire crackling in the grate, and a canopied king-sized bed draped in silks and satins of various shades of ivory and taupe taking pride of place.
Rachel released a shuddery breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. It had been a long day, an endless day, from the ceremony and coronation this morning to the formal wedding breakfast with speeches and toasts, posing for photo after photo, and then the carriage ride around the old city, and finally a ball to finish. She’d changed into another gown, the one she wore now, a strapless ball gown in taupe satin and a diamanté-encrusted band around her waist.
At least she and Mateo hadn’t had to dance in front of everyone, although after three glasses of champagne she’d managed a simple swaying with him to a modern pop song. Mateo had smiled down at her as they had danced, but she hadn’t been able to gauge his mood, just as she hadn’t been able to all day. Just as she couldn’t now.
