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‘But I’m not ready, even for a primer. I don’t care if I embarrass myself but I don’t want to embarrass you.’
‘We have four days to make a start. Your tutors—experts in decorum and etiquette—start tomorrow so that will get the basics covered. We can come up with tactics to curb your roadrunner mouth and then we’ll stay out of sight until the pre-wedding party and work in more detail with you.’
Her eyes gleamed and she giggled. ‘That sounds like a lot of work. Sure you still want to marry me?’
Glad of the lightening of the mood, he went along with it. ‘It’s too late now—the press release announcing it went out yesterday. I think, though, we might have to take some preventative measures to make sure you’re never on the receiving end of reporters’ personal questions.’
‘Very wise,’ she agreed approvingly. ‘And probably wise to warn your mum not to ask me if her bum looks big.’
Welcome laughter welled in him. Marcelo tugged her hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles lightly. ‘I will warn her.’ And his father and siblings. He didn’t think Alessia could know the details of Clara’s mother’s death.
‘Thank you. Can I have my hand back now please? It feels very nice you holding it but I need to take a shower. Are you okay to watch Bob for me?’
Resisting the temptation to kiss her hand again, he released it. It disturbed him how much he wanted to keep hold of it. ‘Sure.’
He was helpless to stop himself from watching her pad back inside. Helpless to stop his eyes fixing on the delectable bottom so vividly delineated beneath the silk.
When she stepped over the threshold, she paused and looked back at him.
Her shoulders rose sharply then dropped. A smile formed. And then she turned again and disappeared.
Marcelo cradled his head then covered his face and tried hard not to imagine Clara naked in the shower.
How was it possible for one woman, in the space of one conversation, to evoke so many feelings in him? Feelings that cut to the bone. Feelings that made him want to jump out of an aeroplane with her strapped to his back sharing the rush of adrenaline and then hold her tight and shield her from the dangers of the world, slay a dragon to protect her and then lay her on a bed and devour her.
The next year was going to be long.
It was going to be torture.
Clara was apprehensive about meeting the priest who’d be marrying them but, after three days of intense princess training, her brain was frazzled. There was so much to learn, from the little things like posture and not fidgeting to the bigger things like how to address dignitaries. On paper, she supposed it all looked slightly pointless and unnecessary, because seriously, who cared about decorum and etiquette in this day and age? But that was the point—it mattered to Marcelo and his family, and so it mattered to her. She was only a day away from being introduced to the world as an imminent member of the Berruti royal family and the last thing she wanted was to embarrass Marcelo by getting things wrong. She’d already had one vivid dream where she entered an embassy dressed to the nines but with her dress tucked into her knickers, so to give her brain a break from it all was welcome.
The chapel was tucked away behind the castle. To reach it, they passed the ancient amphitheatre, Marcelo pointing out numerous grottos and reflecting pools and, far in the distance, the ancient maze that still delighted visitors of all ages.
Up close, the chapel loomed taller than she’d expected, and she entered it with a thudding heart.
In three weeks and one day, she and Marcelo would make their marriage vows in here.
It was a thought that made her shiver but, oddly, not unpleasantly. So many odd feelings had enveloped her since her arrival here. They were all linked to Marcelo.
Somehow, in the course of a week, Clara had become attuned to another human’s presence. Become used to sharing her meals with a hunky two-legged creature rather than furry four-legged ones. Used to Marcelo’s watchful presence in her princess lessons. Used to his supressed smiles when she said something her decorum teacher considered—that dreaded word—inappropriate. She’d even got used to him having had enough of her company by nightfall and retiring to bed as soon as their evening meal was finished.
She quite understood why he needed space from her. Clara had known since she was a little girl that she could be too much for most people.
She knew he didn’t go straight to sleep as when she took herself to bed hours later each evening she’d see a glow of light under his door. Once, with her heart beating fast, she’d put her ear to his door and heard his television. And that was the one thing she was struggling to understand—why her heart beat so erratically around him. Before Marcelo had come into her life she’d never given her heart a second thought; it was just another organ in her body quietly getting on with its job of keeping her alive.
It was beating erratically now as she gazed up at the high, domed roof and the vast yet intricate stained-glass windows with Marcelo standing so close. Loud, echoing thuds against her ribs.
Wrapping her arms around her chest, she took a seat on a pew and broke the silence. ‘I thought chapels were supposed to be small?’
‘My ancestor who had it built was intensely religious,’ he replied, sitting beside her. ‘He would have been a monk if he hadn’t been heir to the throne.’
‘What would you have done if you hadn’t been born a prince? Would you still have joined the army?’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t know. I joined because I itched for adventure before taking up royal duties full-time and the military is considered a worthy job for a royal to take. Royal life is incredibly dull—be thankful you only have to put up with it for a year. Amadeo always wanted to be a racing driver but that was out of the question.’
‘Too dangerous?’
‘Yes.’
