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“Good morning, Mother,” he said as he entered her office and took a seat across from her. “Your gardens look lovely as always. I don’t know how you do it.”
The queen was not to be distracted by his flattery. “I’m surprised you noticed. It seemed as if your attention was focused on Noelle Dubone and that son of hers.” The queen paused and tilted her head, prompting him to answer the unasked question. When Christian remained mum, she continued. “Or should I say that son of yours. You’re planning to marry her, I presume. We simply cannot have any more illegitimate royal children running around Sherdana.”
“I’m working on that.”
“Good. I’d like you to have a ring on her finger before the media gets hold of this. We’ve had enough scandalous romance at the palace in the past year to last several generations of Alessandro rule. There aren’t any other of your progeny running around Europe, are there?”
“Not that I know of.” He didn’t add that he hadn’t known about Marc either, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t always been as careful with Noelle as he’d been with other women.
His answer did not please his mother one bit. “Christian!”
“No. There aren’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’ve been careful.”
The queen’s expression grew even more severe. “Not careful enough.”
“Noelle was different.” It was almost a relief to let himself think about her all the time. He’d spent five years pushing her out of his mind. When a bit of music reminded him of slow dancing in her apartment, her body languid against his as his palms coasted along her curves. Or when he’d catch a whiff of the perfume he’d bought her and remembered introducing her to several new places to wear the scent.
“Christian?” His mother’s sharp voice jerked him back from those heady intoxicating days.
“Yes?”
“We need an heir for the throne.” She didn’t need to add that he was their last chance to make that happen.
He gave her a short nod. “I’ll do whatever it takes to convince Noelle to marry me.” He was more determined than ever because if Noelle refused him, he wasn’t sure he could marry anyone else.
* * *
Noelle’s shop was sized to cater to exclusive clients. Generally the brides arrived with a single assistant or an entourage of no more than six. Today’s appointment was taxing the salon space. There were twenty opinionated family members and one browbeaten bride. The youngest daughter of a billionaire Greek shipping magnate, Daria was the last of her four sisters to marry, and they all had advice for their baby sister. Additional guidance was being provided by two grandmothers, the girl’s mother, soon-to- be mother-in-law and several current and future sisters-in-law.
In advance of this appointment, Noelle had provided a dozen sketches in three rounds of correspondence over a period of two months. The bride or—as was looking more likely—the bride’s family had chosen five of the twelve. Knowing she wasn’t the only designer the bride was looking at, Noelle had pulled out all the stops. The gowns were elegant, fantasy creations perfect for a twenty-year-old bride. She looked gorgeous in each and every one.
While her family squabbled over every look, Noelle could see her designs had not yet resonated with Daria. The bride’s bland expression grew more distant with each gown. She answered Noelle’s questions in an unhelpful monotone. Rather than worrying that a two hundred thousand euro commission was slipping through her fingers, Noelle pondered what would make the young woman happy.
Noelle stood beside the door in the large dressing room while her assistant designer and head of alterations worked together to free her dissatisfied client from the latest frothy wedding dress.
“I have one last dress for you to try,” Noelle stated, hoping the startled confusion on her assistant’s face hadn’t been noticed by the client.
“But I’ve already tried on the five gowns.”
“I decided to make up an additional dress from the sketches I sent you.” The gown was the first designed by Noelle based on a get-acquainted interview she’d had with the bride shortly after the engagement was announced. She’d been surprised that the design had been rejected during the first round and couldn’t get it out of her head that the style was perfect for Daria. “Are you interested in seeing it?”
“Of course.”
To Noelle’s delight, a flicker of curiosity sparkled in the girl’s dark doe-like eyes. “Wonderful. Calantha, could you please get Woodland Snow.” Since each wedding dress had a personality all its own, Noelle named all her gowns.
