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‘You can talk,’ Alessia laughed, rising from her seat to embrace her tightly. Where she had chosen an elegant deep red strapless ballgown for the party, Clara had gone for a toga-style shimmering silver dress that accentuated the bust Alessia would give her left kidney for. ‘You look beautiful.’
Clara beamed. ‘Thank you. Call me petty but I really want to look my best tonight for King Pig. Rub his face in it a bit more.’
‘You’re not worried about seeing him?’
‘If anyone should be worried, it’shim. Marcelo has promised Amadeo not to make a scene and I think it’s going to kill him to keep that promise. I have to keep reminding him that he got his revenge on the monster when he rescued me from him.’
‘Did Amadeo make you promise not to cause a scene too?’
‘I promised that voluntarily. After all, I’m trying to be the perfect princess and the perfect princess doesn’t karate chop guests at a grand social function, does she?’ She actually looked a touch woebegone at not being able to do this.
Alessia giggled then changed the subject. ‘How did the honeymoon go?’ This was the first time the two old friends had had a chance for a private catch-up since Clara and Marcelo’s return from their honeymoon. ‘Were the Seychelles as pretty as you hoped?’
‘It was amazing! Not that we saw all that much of it as we spent most of our time in bed—’
‘Hold it right there,’ she interrupted before Clara could start giving details. ‘I’m feeling sick enough as it is without having to listen to details about my brother’s sex life.’
Clara cackled but then her brow furrowed. ‘You’re feeling sick? What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve just been feeling a bit off for a couple of days. Probably something I ate.’
She looked even more closely at her. ‘Any other symptoms?’
‘No.’
But Clara continued to scrutinise her. ‘Are you wearing a padded bra?’
‘I’m not wearing a bra. Why?’
‘Your boobs have grown. If I didn’t know better, I’d ask if you were pregnant.’
Those words set off an instantaneous reaction in Alessia. Cold white noise filled her head, cold dread prickled her skin. Instinctively, she put her hand to her abdomen and breathed hard.
‘Alessia? Are you okay? Your face has gone a funny colour.’
But Clara’s voice had become distant and Alessia had to lean into her dressing table to support her weak frame as the room began to spin wildly around her.
Gabriel dispassionately watched the previous evening’s footage of Prince Amadeo and Lady Elsbeth’s pre-wedding party in his hotel room in Rome. Italy, a country that shared a language and much cultural history with Ceres, was enthralled by the wedding between the glamorous heir to the throne and his pretty bride-to-be. The breakfast television channel he was watching as he prepared for the day’s meetings with his newest client had so far devoted over two minutes to it.
He’d been invited to the party but politely declined. He had no wish to be part of a montage such as the one being televised.
His stomach clenched when the footage came to its star turn, the attendee its viewers would have been waiting for a glimpse of above all others: Europe’s premiere princess, Princess Alessia. The clenching sharpened as he watched her laughing with a member of the British royal family before the camera cut to her dancing with the King of Monte Cleure. The smile on her face belied what he knew would be crawling beneath her skin to be held in the arms of a man she so despised, and Gabriel felt a stab of anger at her family for forcing this dance on her.
‘I think we can safely agree that the animosity between these two nations is now a thing of the past,’ a gushing reporter was saying as the cameras panned back to the studio.
Gabriel turned the television off and pinched the bridge of his nose.
A trade and diplomatic war had been averted. Any popular uprising against their royal family from the Ceresian people, who would surely have blamed them if the situation had deteriorated further and hit them economically, had been avoided. Dominic felt valued as a ‘player’ again. Everyone was happy.
This should be a moment of quiet satisfaction at a job well done but the discontent at seeing Alessia again was too strong. Truth was, Gabriel was furious with himself for what had happened between them and time had not abated that fury an iota. He’d had a few one-night stands over the years—he wasn’t a saint—but this was the only one he truly regretted. And the only one he couldn’t erase from his head.
Couldn’t eraseherfrom his head. He still felt the weight of his arousal for her as a memory in his loins.
He still had her number in his wallet from when she’d called the business line. His heart had thumped so hard when his PA passed Alessia’s message to him that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had smashed straight through his ribcage.
The message had been brief, inviting him to call her if he wished. He’d read it a number of times, his heart deflating as the meaning had become clear.
Alessia wanted to see him again.
