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It made sense. So why did he want to rail against the idea and refuse her suggestion? Why did he want to tell her he would never let his wife and child reside in a different palace to him?
The temptation to do just that terrified him, and so he nodded
brusquely before he could give vent to the words that were racing through him. ‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘As you wish. After the wedding reception, you can be quietly moved to Mare Visum. Will this make you happy?’
For a moment her brave mask crumbled and she looked equal parts terrified and devastated. ‘I’ll make it work.’ And then her expression hardened, like flint. ‘You were right, Matthias. It turns out I’m capable of being a realist after all.’ And she turned her back on him, walking slowly and calmly off the tennis court. He watched her go and told himself this would be for the best. He watched her go and told himself this odd feeling of uneasiness would disappear, just as every other feeling always had before.
* * *
Frankie was always beautiful, but dressed as a bride, her hair styled, a tiara on her head, surrounded by flowers and well-wishers, she was as stunning as he’d ever seen her.
No, that wasn’t quite true. He closed his eyes for a moment and remembered the first moment he’d seen her, with no make-up, nothing special about her hair or clothes, but a smile that could power a space shuttle, and his gut pulled.
He remembered the way she’d looked when they’d made love that first time, when her face had glowed pink with rapture, her green eyes fevered with pleasure, and he had to bite back an audible groan.
He remembered the way she’d looked when he’d made love to her the day before, on the tennis court. So angry, so beautiful, so desperate with longing: the same longing that had carved him in two a long time ago.
But, while Frankie was beautiful now, there was a sadness in her features that cut through him.
He’d caused it. He’d caused it when he’d rejected her, just as she’d dreaded. He’d looked her in the eyes and told her he’d never really want her. He wanted their son, his heir, and she was a part of that deal.
All night it had swirled through his mind and he’d finally understood what had driven her outburst, what was at the root of all her reserve with him—she didn’t want him to hurt her. She didn’t want to care for him, to want him, to need him in any way, because she didn’t trust him not to hurt her.
And because she wanted to be loved, and knew he’d never give her that.
Her green eyes were stormy, her lips tight, her skin pale. Standing as close as they were, at the front of the cathedrali, he could detect faint silver patches beneath her eyes, showing that she’d tossed and turned all night. Though she was smiling, it was unnatural and forced and there was a faint tremor in her hands as she held them clasped in front of her.
Perhaps he was the only one in the cathedral who would detect these insignificant changes but, knowing what was in her heart, hearing how she felt, knowing that this marriage was the diametric opposite of everything she’d ever wanted and that she was going through with it regardless, something pulled in the region of his heart.
He looked around the beautiful ancient building—the place he’d come to bury his parents and brother, when he’d stood in this exact spot and spoken to reassure a panicked nation, and he channelled that same ability to quell his feelings, to silence his personal needs.
Today, as on that day, he was guided by what his people needed of him, but he was also led by what Frankie deserved, by how he could go some part of the way towards fixing this for her.
Frankie would become his Queen, and then he would let her go, allow her to live as private a life as she wished. In that one small way, he could give her what she needed.
* * *
‘I, Frances Preston...’ she spoke loudly, as clear as a bell, just as she’d been taught ‘...take you, Matthias Albert Andreas Vasilliás, to be my husband.’ She was glad to be saying her vows because they were generally seen to be emotional and the fact that tears danced on her eyelashes would be regarded as natural and normal. ‘I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I promise to love you and honour you, for as long as we both shall live.’
Relieved to have said her piece, she met his eyes and flinched almost instantly. A noise sounded: Leo. She looked towards him unconsciously and her skin goosebumped at the sight of their son, the boy who would be King one day, watching on with such joy. Please let this be okay, she prayed, sweeping her eyes shut.
‘I, Matthias Vasilliás, take you, Frances Preston, to be my wife and Queen. I promise to be true to you at all times, when you are well, and when you are not.’ Frankie held her breath, knowing what was to follow, bracing herself for how it would feel to have him say the words she desperately wanted to hear and know them to be false. ‘I promise to love you and cherish you, for all the days of my life.’
She couldn’t help it.
She lifted her eyes to his face and saw there that he was simply performing a part, and that he was as loath to say those words as she was to hear them. Her heart didn’t break. It had broken already—how could it break further?
But it disintegrated within her, being swallowed into her bloodstream, leaving only cold acceptance in its wake.
This marriage was a fraud in every way. The fact their chemistry was off the charts was just as Matthias had always said. Sex was just sex.
And finally the last vestiges of her childish hopes and naïve dreams burst about her.
Somehow, seeing the reality, made it easier for her to get through the rest of the ceremony. And, thankfully, the wedding reception was so full of dignitaries that there was always someone to talk to. Someone to dance with. Frankie took every opportunity she could to put some distance between herself and Matthias, doing whatever she could simply to pass the time, all the while knowing that she would soon be able to leave this damned palace, and her new husband, far behind.
She avoided him as best she could and she kept her heart closed off, but finally, at the end of the night, came the moment to dance with her husband. Every single guest and many of the palace servants stood at the edges of the enormous ballroom, and Frankie could fight it no longer.
For the next few minutes she had to pretend to be happy, and then they would leave and this would all be behind her.
