MARCELO COULD NO longer taste his food. Even if he could taste it, he’d lost his appetite. The conversation surrounding him rang distantly in his ears. Apart from when Clara spoke. He heard her every utterance with crystal-clear clarity.
And there she sat, happily eating her dessert and drinking her wine and conversing and laughing as if what she’d relayed had had no bearing on her life. As if that incident hadn’t stolen her future from her. Because she’d never attended another school. Never undertaken any of the exams that hold the key to having a life without limitation. She’d described the flat she lived in that came with her job. It was half the size of this dining room.
How could she be happy about any of that? How could she not be filled with anger and bitterness at everything that had been stolen from her?
How could she sit there, erupting with laughter with Alessia as they tried to explain the funky chicken dance they used to do for fun in their boarding school bedroom to his bemused mother?
These were thoughts still going round and round in his head when they wished his family goodnight.
‘Well?’ Clara asked the moment the guarded doors closed behind them, slipping her hand in his. ‘How did I do?’
He swallowed back the bile that had been lodged in his throat since her narration. ‘Very well.’
‘Did they like me?’
‘Judging by their body language, yes.’ But he’d seen the private looks exchanged between his parents. As he’d suspected, his family had all been taken with Clara and her fresh, unfiltered view of her world. But those same characteristics also gave them doubts. From the way Amadeo kept trying to catch his eye, his brother’s doubts were grave.
Marcelo had warned them that marrying Clara into the family was a gamble, but when the alternative was a diplomatic war, they’d collectively agreed it was a gamble worth taking. They had no right to complain if it turned out to be a gamble they might be on the losing side of.
As far as Marcelo was concerned, their doubts were unfounded. They hadn’t seen now hard Clara worked in her lessons. They didn’t know how determined she was to get things right. As long as she performed like a princess in public they had no cause for complaint. Damn it, she was only taking the role as a favour to them.
Aware anger was rising in him over things that hadn’t been said or even alluded to, aware that it was a deep protectiveness of Clara making him want to slay dragons on her behalf, Marcelo expelled a long breath and tried to expel the misplaced anger with it. The dragon he wanted to slay wasn’t his family but her brother.
When they reached their private quarters, Bob set himself straight on them. After fuss from them both, he made himself comfortable on his favourite sleeping spot: Marcelo’s seventeenth-century armchair.
And then Clara set herself on him.
Throwing her arms around his neck, she rose onto her toes. She would have kissed him if he hadn’t moved his face out of the way.
Her face clouded. ‘What’s wrong?’
Removing her hands from his neck, Marcelo clenched his jaw and breathed in deeply. ‘What you were saying about your expulsion...’
‘What about it?’
‘I keep thinking about your brother. He shouldn’t have accepted it. He should have fought on your behalf.’
‘You must be joking. He fully supported the school’s decision.’
‘Did he kick you out of your home because of it? Is that why you started working at the shelter at sixteen?’
‘Not at all—I got the job off my own back. Legally, he was supposed to look after me until I was eighteen but I’d had enough of school and being surrounded by humans who hated me so I decided to get a job where I was surrounded by animals instead. They’re much nicer creatures and they never tell lies. And I was so lucky that the job came with accommodation. Andrew was delighted to be rid of me, though I’m quite sure he’d been looking forward to me turning eighteen so he could help me pack my bags and see me out of the door.’
‘Why didn’t your father make provisions for you?’ Marcelo was aware his voice had risen to match the anger rising back up in him.
‘Because he was an idiot who thought the sun shone out of Andrew’s backside. The family wealth has been passed down to the eldest child for generations and the unspoken deal has always been for that child to look out for their siblings but my father always refused to see how much Andrew hated me. I’d have much preferred to have been sent to Australia to live with my mum’s sister, but hey ho, I was stuck with Andrew. He did what was legally required and that was it.’
‘How can you be so calm about this? You could be discussing the weather!’
‘Why are you so angry?’ she asked.
‘Why aren’t you angry?’
‘I have nothing to be angry about.’
‘You have everything to be angry about. Dio, Clara, all your life, the people who should have protected you treated you—’
‘Being angry doesn’t change anything,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s done. Andrew will join our father in hell for how he’s treated me over the years plus he’s not getting an invite to our wedding so the whole world will know we’re estranged and that we’ve snubbed him—trust me, that’s social death to him. I was always an embarrassment to that man. And I told you, I was happy to be expelled. I hated that place and that place hated me. No one wanted to be friends with me and I can’t say I blame them,’ she continued, barely pausing for breath. ‘I was always getting the other girls into trouble. I didn’t mean to but the teachers knew that if they asked me who’d been breaking whatever school rules had been broken and I knew who the culprit was then I’d tell them. I didn’t want to and I never would have volunteered the information but if they asked me, what else could I do?’
‘But I thought you were the troublemaker?’
‘I was that too. Well, that’s how they viewed me. I never meant any harm, unless you count bunking off the lessons I hated as harmful, but if a teacher saw me yawning and asked if I was bored when I was bored then what was I supposed to say other than yes? And why was organising a petition to employ people who can actually cook rather than serving cold food that’s so overcooked the nutrients are long dead and buried considered troublemaking, or picketing for the heating to come on earlier in the mornings so we didn’t turn into icicles when getting dressed? And why was pointing out to a maths teacher that there’s a simpler way to formulate an equation considered troublemaking?’
Pulling her back to him and wrapping his arms tightly around her, he rested his cheek against her silky hair and tried to get a grip on the tempest of emotions flooding him.
‘Teachers are never keen to have students challenge their authority,’ he muttered.
With the strong beat of Marcelo’s heart thumping beneath her ear, Clara sighed. For a moment her indignancy relating her hated school days had come close to bubbling into something darker.
It disturbed her how often she’d found herself squashing the darker emotions of her past since she’d been in Ceres. Maybe it was because she’d so stupidly allowed herself to believe that Andrew’s request that she travel to Monte Cleure on his behalf meant he finally wanted to put the past behind them and let her be a sister to him. Or maybe it was because relating it all to Marcelo brought it all back and made it feel more present than it had in a long time.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘Sticking up for me earlier. For being angry on my behalf even if it is pointless. It means a lot.’ It meant more than she could ever express. No one had ever stuck up for her before. Not since her mother. Having someone on her side felt truly special, and she would hold onto it for as long as it lasted.
He gave a muted laugh and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
‘Have you stopped being angry now?’ she asked.
‘I’m trying.’
‘Try harder.’
He gave a muted laugh and kissed the top of her head for the longest time. ‘I don’t think I will ever stop feeling angry about this. Your life could have been so different.’
‘But my life is good. It’s a happy life. I know not many people understand me or get me but I’m cool with that. Like when I told Alessia she was a product of her environment, well, I’m a product of mine. Losing my mum was the single most traumatic moment of my life. I didn’t speak for three months after she died and then when I found my voice again it was shutting up that became my issue. It was like a filter had been ripped away not just from my voice but from my eyes and my impulse controls, and I can’t always control it but I do try and while you and I are married I will try as hard as I can to remember my lessons and not embarrass you.’
He held her even tighter. ‘You could never be an embarrassment to me. You’re uniquely you. Never lose that.’
She pulled her head back to look up at him. Her eyes were shining but Marcelo detected a faint hint of disbelief. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Yes. And I mean this too...’ He swallowed hard. ‘Bella, when we say our vows, I want them to be real.’
As Marcelo spoke, a rush of relief flushed through him to finally put into words the feeling that had been growing inside him.
‘But they will be real,’ she said. ‘I’m never going to get married again so I won’t be telling any lies when we say them.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’ He pressed his forehead to hers. ‘I don’t want our marriage to last for only a year. I don’t want any end date.’ If he had to marry, why not the woman he was having the best sex of his life with? And it wasn’t just sex. Clara was a breath of fresh air in the staleness of his life—why let that go over an arbitrary cut-off date when he knew damn well he’d never meet anyone like her again? She might not be the perfect princess he was supposed to settle down and breed with, but she was the perfect woman for him.
She pulled her head back again, her eyes wide. ‘Are you saying you want to marry me for real?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re the only woman who can make the mundane fun and I will never meet another you.’
She just stared at him.
‘What do you say?’ he asked into the silence.
She blinked and grazed her bottom lip. ‘Can I think about it?’
A week later, just as the beauticians finished working their magic on Clara for the pre-wedding party, she received notification that Samson and Delilah were cleared to travel to Ceres. After firing messages back and forth, she was delighted when it was confirmed their journey’s end would coincide with her and Marcelo’s return from their honeymoon in the Seychelles. She’d have her family back again!
How lucky was she? She’d have her smart, gorgeous husband and three dogs under the same roof as her.
Hurrying into Marcelo’s room to share the good news, she found him fastening his ball and chain cufflinks. Inordinately pleased at this, she beamed before explaining everything.
‘I’m getting my babies back!’ she finished.
He raised an arched brow. ‘Your babies?’
She hugged herself. ‘That’s how I think of them. I’ve known since I was a teenager that I won’t have babies of my own, so my dogs take that baby space in my heart... Why are you looking at me like that?’ There was the strangest expression on his face but she couldn’t quite decipher it. ‘Do you think I’m mad or something? I mean, it’s fine if you do, but you already know I’m bats about my—’
‘You’re not mad, bella,’ he interrupted softly. ‘I was just thinking you will make a wonderful mother and wondering why you’ve never wanted any of your own.’
‘Oh. Well, it’s not that I don’t want them but rather... Sorry, do you really think I’d be a good mum?’
He smiled but there was still a lingering of that strangeness. ‘You’d be loving and protective. What more would a child need?’
‘A father? I mean, that’s why I never thought I’d have them. You need sperm to make a baby and as I never thought I’d have sex and the thought of using a turkey baster doesn’t appeal...’ Her words tailed off at the starkness of Marcelo’s stare.
She swallowed, suddenly uncertain and suddenly a lot breathless. ‘What?’ she whispered.
‘We could have children.’
Her hands flew to her chest. The thuds of her heart smashed against them. ‘What?’
‘You and me. You want children. I want children. If you agree to marry me for real then why not?’
In the week since she’d asked for time to think about his proposal, he hadn’t mentioned it again. But it hung between them.
Clara was in a genuine flux about it. Her feelings for Marcelo ran deep but were those feelings only because of the sex? How was a girl supposed to know? Her life had been happy since she’d been expelled from that horrible school and she’d left home. She and her pooches all lived for the moment taking each day as it came.
She couldn’t compare that happiness to what she had with Marcelo because it was so different.
Her happiness with Marcelo was off the charts but she couldn’t help the whispers in the back of her mind that these feelings shouldn’t be trusted.
‘Do you really want to have children with me?’
His gorgeous face was steadfast. ‘There is no one else on this earth I would rather have children with.’
Thuds battered hard against her chest.
She could be a mum, she thought dazedly.
She could have children with him.
An image flashed in her mind. A fast forward of her life. Her and Marcelo with a small boy and girl, running through the castle vineyard, Samson, Delilah and Bob racing with them. Beaming smiles on the humans’ faces. Wagging tails from the animals. Kisses. Hugs. Piggybacks.
Could that really be hers?
Could it?
Looming larger than life in the whole perfect picture was Marcelo. The man who’d brought the woman out of her.
He’d saved her life. That alone was enough for her to hold the deepest of affection for him. Marcelo would always have a piece of her heart and the whole of her gratitude.
She wanted to trust him with the rest of her heart, she realised as emotion swelled from deep inside her.
She wanted to trust the whole of herself to him.
Reaching for his hand, she threaded her fingers through his and stared into his piercing ice-blue eyes. His chest was barely moving. He was holding his breath, she realised.
She smiled. Looking at him always made her want to smile. ‘If I was to have children with anyone, it would be you. Only you.’
His throat moved. After a long moment his mouth opened but a loud rap on the bedroom door interrupted the moment and in an instant the glow of emotion evaporated and was replaced by the same nerves she’d experienced just before she’d met Marcelo’s parents.
Marcelo noticed the immediate change in Clara’s demeanour. Fear rang large in her eyes and it crushed the urge to demand she put him out of his misery and tell him what she was thinking, about a real marriage and, now, about children. About having a family with him.
Now that he’d become accustomed to his own feelings on the matter, the thought of marriage and children: family, no longer made him want to run for the hills. Not when the wife and mother was Clara.
She’d kept him hanging for her answer for a week. Keenly aware of what she’d be giving up to be his wife for real, namely her future freedom, he’d vowed not to pressure her. He’d tried telling himself it would be no big deal if she turned him down—why would anyone voluntarily tie themselves to a royal institution in this day and age?—but the longer she’d kept him hanging, the tighter his guts had cramped.
But, he rued, even if they weren’t about to be the star attractions at a party filled with nobles, politicians and a smattering of celebrities, he couldn’t force her to commit to something she was still unsure of. He knew it. He’d seen it in her eyes before the fear had taken over.
‘You look stunning,’ he said gently, taking her other hand and bringing it to his chest. And she really did, wearing an elegant cream halter-neck dress that swished softly to her ankles, her hair swept off her face in an equally elegant chignon. ‘Every inch the princess.’
Her chest rose and fell raggedly and then the wide smile he’d come to adore so much beamed into his heart.
Squeezing his fingers, she said, ‘Come on, my prince. Take me to the ball.’
Hands clasped together, they left their quarters.
As they took the long walk through the maze of wide corridors to the stateroom the party was being held in, Marcelo wondered if Clara’s honesty had changed him in some way. When they’d first agreed to marry, he’d had no problems at all with making vows he didn’t intend to keep. Now, all he could think was that he needed those vows to be true. From both of them.
The enormous duck-egg-blue and gold-coloured stateroom had been decorated with an abundance of silver and gold balloons and decorations that glittered under the clever party lighting. Although this party was being hosted for diplomatic purposes, another way of reinforcing to the world that Marcelo had swept Clara from the Monte Cleure palace out of love, royal officials had gone to great lengths to create the illusion of a real engagement party. Clara hadn’t even thought of it as an engagement party until she saw the pile of presents carefully displayed on an antique table in the corner. In a week, she supposed there would be more presents for their actual wedding.
An hour into the party and Clara relaxed a fraction. What she found helped was reminding herself that all the people here were human just like her. Even the President. Even the King and Queen of Agon. Even the businessman currently believed to be the richest person on earth.
One thing she was particularly grateful for was the Queen taking her under her wing. Arm in arm, they circulated amongst the two-hundred-strong guests, introducing Clara properly and exchanging a few words before moving on.
And, as always, she was grateful for Marcelo. When the buffet opened—and it was a buffet like no other she’d ever had with its vast array of creative and colourful platters—she remembered the training she’d been given and ate dainty portions which, mercifully, he kept adding to for her.
Marcelo was a prince in every way.
Her prince.
The most exciting, unselfish lover a girl could wish for. Her personal cheerleader.
Her protector.
The man who suppressed such an intrinsic part of himself for duty and family. The reason she was so determined to master decorum and etiquette.
How could she possibly be torn about accepting the life he was offering, which was a whole life with him? A true lover. Children. A family. All the things she’d never allowed herself to want simply because it was akin to wanting smaller feet. Pointless.
And now Marcelo and the chance to create their own family was being dangled before her and she realised she did want it. She wanted it badly.
So why hadn’t she already snatched his hand off for it?
Another hour passed. Somehow she, Marcelo and Amadeo had been drawn into a group of people whose names she didn’t remember. Clara was careful to look interested, smile a lot and adopt the listening pose when anything was addressed directly to her. One woman brought up the topic of artificial intelligence and the next thing she knew a rabid discussion about the benefits as opposed to the dangers was under way.
‘What’s your opinion on the matter?’ the most vociferous of the antis asked her.
Remembering the one thing that had been drummed into her over and over, namely never give an opinion on anything, she replied, ‘Oh, don’t ask me! I was expelled from school at sixteen and left without any qualifications.’
The originator of the subject’s eyes widened before laughter rang out around their small grouping. Even Amadeo was smiling, but when Clara met his stare, there was something—a coldness—that sent unpleasant prickles up her spine.
Had she said the wrong thing?
She tried telling herself she’d imagined it, for every time their eyes met thereafter, there was nothing but the same warmth he gave everyone else, but she thought it wise to keep all talk to the minimum, and spent the next hour exhausting herself with the strength of her concentration.
‘Relax, bella,’ Marcelo whispered in her ear when they found themselves alone for the first time since the party started.
‘I’m trying but it’s so hard. I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing again.’
Before he could answer, Alessia joined them and swiped two glasses of the free-flowing champagne from a passing waitress. She handed one to Clara, who sipped at it. No way was she going to overindulge that night, not when she was fighting her motormouth with everything she possessed. It really didn’t need any stimulus, thank you very much.
As the evening had worn on, the music from the professional DJ—deliberately chosen to project a youthful image to the world—had steadily increased, tempting more and more people onto the dance floor. Clara kept experiencing nostalgia pangs, remembering school nights when Alessia would put her music on in their room and they would dance madly...
As if her nostalgia had conjured it by magic, a song came on that immediately made Clara and Alessia look at each other. It was their funky chicken song.
Excitement rushed through her, transporting her back to that nostalgic time as if she were right there, right now, and, without thinking, Clara quickly knocked back her champagne, gave her empty glass to Marcelo with a cheeky grin, then dragged a protesting Alessia onto the dance floor.
‘Come on, Princess Twinkletoes,’ she laughed, ‘You know what to do.’