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But that first time of making love as man and wife was not the slow coupling she might have hoped for. It was wild, almost primeval—though no less thrilling because of that. And the pleasure was exquisitely sharpened by abstinence. Yet it felt as if he was using the sex as some kind of catharsis to exercise unknown demons. Sobbing out his name as Xaviero shuddered inside her, Cathy clung to him as he breathed something in Italian against her damp skin.
‘I’ve…I’ve missed you,’ she said eventually.
Lazily, he turned onto his side, his finger tracing an undulating line from hip to breast, where it lingered and teased the rosy little tip until she gave a moan of pleasure. ‘And I have missed this…’ Letting the hand now splay luxuriantly over the silken globe of her bottom, he felt much of the strain and tension dissolving in that soft, sensual touch. ‘You are…sensational,’ he breathed.
‘Am—am I?’
‘I’d forgotten quite how much,’ he declared unsteadily.
Wordlessly, they made love again and when it was over Cathy lay there staring up at the ceiling as her heartbeats gradually began to slow—not wanting to disturb a moment of the perfect harmony she felt. But as her own pleasure began to fade she felt a strange foreboding creep in to replace it. They were close, yes—but only physically close. The sense of oneness she had longed for had so far failed to materialise. Was she being greedy or unrealistic in expecting it to happen so soon? Or was she foolish in hoping that it might happen at all?
All night long, I am yours, he had said.
And for the rest of the time, what then?
Chapter Ten
THE next weeks were spent immersing herself in the art of being a princess—and Cathy was endlessly grateful for the adaptability she’d learnt while working at the hotel. Seamlessly slipping between chambermaiding and receptionist duties, she had been able to turn her hand to just about anything—and these were skills which proved invaluable in her new life.
And didn’t throwing herself into her new role help her paper over the cracks in her marriage?
Busying herself with tasks befitting a brand-new royal helped Cathy forget that her worst fears were being realised, day by day. And that the ice-cold heart of her new husband could not be thawed, no matter how much tenderness or passion she showed him in their bed. Only at night did he let his guard down—but the ardent lover he became crumbled into nothing but a memory by morning. The mask of his regency was assumed as soon as his valet began laying out his clothes and he became a distant stranger once more.
It was as if she had no real part in his daily life—when he treated her with the undemonstrative civility he might show one of his aides. She was never allowed to show affection, nor to disturb him—and if she wanted to speak to him, she had to make an appointment like everyone else! Reminding herself that she had been chosen as his wife primarily because she would accept such conditions, she resolved to say nothing. And, like generations of women before her, Cathy played down the shortcomings in her relationship by reaching outside it for fulfilment.
Her days were spent organising her new office and deciding on what staff she would need to help her. There were posts for a private secretary, assistant secretaries and ladies-in-waiting as well as a hairdresser and a language coach. Although English and Greek were taught in all the schools, Cathy had started to study Italian, which was the main language spoken on Zaffirinthos. From being a non-academic child herself at school, suddenly she could see the point in learning, if it actually had some kind of purpose.
And Xaviero’s aides were proposing a grand joint tour of the island to introduce her to the people—even though the dark cloud of Casimiro’s continuing coma meant that they were reluctant to pin down a date. But by then Cathy had started to visit the King on a regular basis and found that increased exposure to the inert figure on the white bed made his incapacity seem far less shocking than it had done at first.
She found herself actually looking forward to the visits—at least they made her feel as if she was being properly useful. She soon got to know all the nurses, who—once they’d stopped viewing her with a certain suspicion—soon started to warm to her. Because here, in this stark and bleak setting, all status and privilege seemed completely irrelevant.
Each day Cathy would sit with the King, while a bodyguard stood keeping his own vigil behind the bullet-proofed glass which had been specially installed. She found herself telling him about her blundering attempts to learn Italian and about how much all the staff at the palace talked about him and missed him. She described her little garden in England and how she hoped her tenants were looking after it properly.
