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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEFACTTHAT their wedding was to be intimate did not, as it turned out, mean her outfit was correspondingly plain. In fact, the wedding dress was utterly magnificent. Made of white silk, the gown was fitted to the waist where it flared in a confection of skirts and tulle. Tiny diamonds were stitched into the hemline, giving it a weight that prevented it from flaring too much. There were also diamonds along the neckline, small at the shoulders and decolletage, then enormous at her cleavage, so India balked at even wearing the thing for fear of what it must have cost. Though the dress’s opulence was dwarfed by the tiara she was presented with—the diamond in its centre was the size of a large button, shaped like a teardrop, and it was bracketed on either side by equally flawless, shimmering jewels. The weight of it was significant so a team of servants braided her hair to catch the clips, giving it more support. She watched with an awe that almost edged out her sadness. But not quite.
Her overarching emotion as she prepared for her wedding day was grief. Grief that her mother wasn’t with her, grief that her groom didn’t love her, grief that she was marrying for practical reasons rather than the fairy tale she’d been foolish enough to hope for.
But it was enough—it had to be. She couldn’t change their situation and if she’d had any doubts about Khalil’s feelings, his silence since their conversation had shown her the truth.
Nervousness flared through her as a servant appeared at her door. ‘It is time, madam.’
India nodded, apprehension tightening every muscle in her body.
‘The ceremony is to take place in the Court Rooms,’ the servant said, and India appreciated that she didn’t refer to it as a wedding. ‘Ceremony’ felt far more appropriate. This was a simple formality—the legal binding of a man and woman for the sake of their accidental children’s future. The more she thought of it in those businesslike terms, the better. Except it wasn’t businesslike. She loved him, and, having admitted that to them both, she was plagued with doubts.
There was the sensible solution—marrying him for the sake of their children. She could easily make herself see the points in favour of this plan. It was right that they should be parents together—that was what they both wanted.
But at the same time, her fragile, aching heart was beating her, begging to be heard. Because marrying someone who didn’t love you was guaranteeing disaster, wasn’t it? What would her mother—who’d struggled with a small child on her own rather than living in an emotionally abusive and hurtful relationship—say about India’s choice? Would she understand that India was doing this for love? Or would she remind India that marriage was an important partnership that demanded work and respect, a lifetime of commitment?
A lifetime!
Her knees wobbled as she stood on the threshold of the Court Rooms, shifting to the side suddenly so she could press her back to the wall and stare up at the ceilings. Inside, her fate awaited her. But it was a fate that would require all of her courage to pursue and, suddenly, India wasn’t sure if she was brave enough.
‘Calm down, Khal. You look as though you’re about to fall over.’
He shifted a sidelong glance at Astrid, catching his parents’ disapproving glances from their seats a little way across the room.
‘She’s late.’
‘Yes, well, that is a bridal traditional, at least in America. And this is a very big palace. It is quite possible she’s wandering a corridor, looking for us, completely lost...’
‘Someone was sent to collect her thirty minutes ago.’
‘Then she is simply finishing getting ready. Calm down. She’ll be here.’ Astrid put a hand on his arm, her eyes warm and comforting—neither emotion did anything to reassure Khalil. ‘Believe me, Khal. I have seen the two of you together, and I have spoken to India at length. That woman would walk through the desert at midday for you. She’ll be here.’
Khalil was very still; even his heart slowed to a heavy, uncertain thump in his chest. ‘What?’
Astrid frowned. ‘What do you mean, “what”?’
‘Why do you say that about India?’
Astrid’s expression was quizzical. ‘Because she’s in love with you. And gathering by the way you’re burning holes in the door, and intermittently shaking your watch to ensure it hasn’t stopped working, it’s quite clear you feel the same about her.’
Anxiety isn’t love.
And he was anxious. He realised now how foolish he’d been to ignore her in the lead-up to the wedding. Except ‘ignoring’ her wasn’t exactly accurate. She’d plagued him, head and heart, every minute of every hour since last he’d seen her. Only he’d resisted going to her. He’d avoided seeing her, even when she had somehow become a part of him anyway. Was it possible she would refuse to marry him after all? And then what would he do?
Whatever it takes to make her happy.
Even if that meant letting her go.
He looked around the room with a growing ache in the pit of his gut.
She wasn’t coming.
‘Why did you marry Ethan?’
Astrid frowned. ‘Why does anyone get married? I loved him.’
‘Do you regret that now you know what he’s like?’
