Page 8 of His Royal Bride Replacement

Her throat closed over so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t railroad her into marrying a stranger and becoming a princess. She wanted to tell him that he was a shockingly beautiful guy and too much altogether for her to withstand when she had never before been exposed to a man of his calibre. And then he called her little fox and even though she had a million questions, she couldn’t concentrate enough to ask them because he was actually taking her hand in his. She swore an electric charge raced right up her arm when skin-to-skin contact was finally made by his light, warm hold.

‘Yes, but it’s for my family and a little…because I have sympathy for your predicament right now,’ she admitted in a rush, determined not to show an ounce of her susceptibility because he was too smooth by half.

‘This was my grandmother’s ring.’ Rosy watched wide-eyed as a glittering oval pink diamond ring was eased onto her ring finger. ‘She had tiny hands like you and here…it fits,’ he pronounced with satisfaction. ‘Do you think that’s a good sign?’

‘I’m not thinking anything right now,’ she lied as she noticed that unexpectedly happy sparkle in his green eyes that suggested that she had just made his day. And she supposed shehadbecause he had found his replacement bride at very short notice and she was conveniently right on his doorstep in the palace. An ordinary young woman, so shocked and impressed by who and what he was that she wasn’t demanding answers to any of the questions she still had teeming on her tongue. But, of course, he couldn’t mean arealmarriage with sex and all that and he couldn’t be talking for ever either. Right now Prince Alessio was choosing a temporary bride to take him and Sedovia through the crisis that Graziana had left in her wake. In a year’s time or so, or possibly even sooner, he would be urgently requesting a divorce.

He vaulted upright again. ‘I’ll make my announcement. I will always be grateful for your trust and generosity and you won’t have to worry about anything ever again,’ he intoned fervently. ‘My staff will sweep every obstacle from our path to enable us to marry. You need to give me your phone number. A rather prosaic request, which underlines how little we know each other.’

‘Yes.’ Rosy dug out her phone and they exchanged numbers. It brought her down to earth but she was still in shock. She had agreed to marry a ruling prince. But it still didn’t feel real.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Sit down,’ Vittoriaurged the bride, because Rosy was white as milk and visibly trembling and, in the background, they could both hear the festive roars of the crowds in the streets below, already gathering for the wedding day celebrations.

The older woman leant down to whisper in her sister’s ear, from which a priceless pearl and diamond drop earring was suspended. ‘You don’t have to do this. I may think Prince Alessio’s the most fanciable thing since Patrick first made sour dough but if the prospect of Alessio is truly what is making you look sick, you canstillwalk away.’

‘What, and get murdered by the mobs out there?’ Rosy whispered shakily but a loving smile softened her lips at her sister’s generosity.

‘I’m not saying that escape would be easy but it’s possible right up until you say “I do” at the altar,’ Vittoria insisted briskly. ‘Alessio’s not been doing what he should’ve been doing this past week.’

‘He’s been working, selling the story, if you want to call it that. He’s got the media skills… I haven’t. No, it’s just the crowds and the excitement getting to me. It freaks me out a bit.’

‘He should’ve been spending more time with you, helping you shape up, getting toknowyou,’ Vittoria spelt out in a punitive hiss. ‘And so I told him at that stupid dinner.’

Rosy nodded, trying not to imagine how Alessio would have responded to such blunt interference, and a flush of mortified colour finally warmed her pallor. The ‘stupid’ dinner, which they had both attended at the palace a couple of nights earlier, had been a mere photo opportunity to capture the Sedovian prince meeting his lady love’s family. Vittoria and Patrick had weathered it well. Patrick had predictably hived off to meet the palace head chef and discuss some new kind of ravioli that had appeared on the dinner menu. Her nephews had disappeared into a games room that was stacked with options to entertain teenagers.

And Vittoria had basked in Alessio’s attention, trying to sum him up and get a good read on him because that was what Rosy’s sister did with anyone getting close to her family. Only possibly Vittoria was working out what Rosy had already learned about Alessio—he didn’tletpeople in. He was always courteous, charming and a hell of a polished communicator, but he didn’t allow people to get close.

Rosy had had a rare glimpse of therealAlessio the day he’d proposed to her when he had told her stuff, more personal stuff because she’d already known about Graziana, and he had seen no need to prevaricate on that topic. She had been shaken when he had said very, very convincingly, ‘I was not fortunate enough to meet a woman I could love,’ and a little piece of her soft heart had broken off and gone in his direction because he had been sincere. She had truly believed thathadhe met a woman he loved there would never have been a marriage of convenience with Graziana arranged in the first place.

But Rosy had not seen a glimpse of the real Alessio since then, in spirit or in the flesh. Once Prince Alessio had made his shocking announcement about the change of brides and Graziana’s elopement, the Cathedral View Hotel had been mobbed by the media and Rosy had had to move into a guest room at the palace to give her family the peace to continue running their hotel. She had been handed over bag and baggage to the household staff to be packaged asthebrideand that had proved to be serious business.

Little capsule etiquette lessons on how to address the other royals and VIPs attending the wedding. They had discovered that she didn’t need coaching on the cutlery or art or in various other fields because she had been educated well and sensibly brought up. Good manners, patience and tolerance were innate in her but Alessio’s vanishing act—to work or otherwise—had left her feeling abandoned by the guy who had promised to help her adapt while he still remained, by his own choice, a virtual stranger.

And she now assumed that that was how he expected their supposed marriage to work: as a romantic pretence in public and nothing whatsoever in private. Certainly, the palace had to realise that they were fake because Alessio had kept his distance. And he had not given Rosy any material with which to fashion romantic fibs for her own family’s benefit. She had had to tell Vittoria the truth. She was the replacement bride and Alessio would very generously reward them all by taking care of that bank loan and any outstanding debts. What she had not foreseen, however, was that her connection to the hotel would cause business to boom there, with the restaurant packed every night, or that would-be guests for rooms that were already fully booked were still phoning and arriving at all hours pleading for a space.

‘Are you sure that you want to do this?’ her sister had asked her doubtfully. ‘Are you attracted to him? Is that why?’

‘Yes, I do find him attractive,’ Rosy had admitted ruefully. ‘But I’m not going to be doing anything about it. This is a business arrangement and it’ll stay that way until we part. I’m convinced that he’s only willing to marry me because he thinks the Sedovian economy will suffer without this wedding. So, think of me like a wedding doll, not a future wife. I’m a symbol, nothing more.’

Vittoria departed to collect her sons downstairs and head to the cathedral while Patrick remained in the palace to escort Rosy on the strictly timed schedule. Only her wedding gown was Rosy’s own personal choice. Her magnificent pearl and diamond tiara, earrings and necklace were Maretti heirlooms. Her bouquet had been chosen by the staff. But the dress? That was very much Rosy’s dream. She had been shocked by the number of top designers who’d stepped forward when it had become known that a royal wedding gown was required within the space of a week.

It was classic with a slender silhouette, long tight lace sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. The silk bodice was adorned with crystals that glittered and the skirt and the train were exquisitely white, embroidered with Sedovian wildflowers. In her opinion, she looked exactly like a fairy princess from a cartoon, particularly with her mad mop of curls left long and loose…hugely persuaded by the stylist, who had told her that Alessio had verbally admired Rosy’s amazing curls. She wrinkled her nose, wondering why he had even noticed her curls.

She wasn’t wearing anything borrowed or blue. She might be stepping into Graziana’s shoes and have inherited most of her bridesmaids—the Sedovian ones at least—but at no stage had Rosy ever viewed herself as a genuine bride. She was too practical to see herself as anything other than Cinderella, but the Prince wasn’t hers and there was no fairy godmother hovering in the wings to make her secret fantasies come true.

Did she have secret fantasies? Yes, of course she did, and Alessio could have played a starring role in them had he not been quite so careful to ensure that she didn’t get any ideas above her station or any notion that he had any kind of a personal stake in marrying her. She was the convenient stand-in bride, nothing more important, and she was way too sensible to base any dreams on Alessio Maretti. He was as gorgeous as a sunset but as unobtainable as the moon. No, Rosy wanted a normal, hard-working guy, who thought she was as special as the stars in the sky.

Abstractedly, she wondered where he was taking her on their two-week honeymoon. He had been planning to take Graziana to Barbados, but a staff member had remarked that it would be bad taste to take Rosy to the same place, so where wasshegetting to go? Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Patrick, closely shaven and unusually immaculate in his fancy wedding apparel, was even more nervous than Rosy was when they climbed into the waiting beribboned limousine.

‘I’ll be glad to get out of this monkey suit,’ he lamented, running an uneasy finger round his silk cravat.

‘I’ll just be grateful when the cathedral and all the fuss is over,’ Rosy confided anxiously.

The car moved at a stately pace through the flag-waving, cheering crowds to the cathedral where a line of attendants and security men awaited the bride’s arrival. Breathing in deep, her train caught up immediately by an attendant to aid her exit, Rosy emerged to a burst of cameras, mercifully kept back by the protective barriers. She kept her back straight and her head high and forced a smile. Bride, wedding day, look happy. It was a pretty simple role, she told herself as she was escorted into the church and the splendid music started up, along with the soaring voices of the choir. There had been no time for a rehearsal but the aisle was a straight passage, if a very long one, and she walked down it, her hand braced on Patrick’s arm, the bridesmaids flocking in behind her.

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