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‘I’ll see you at the wedding.’

CHAPTER THREE

      ‘TRY HIM AGAIN.’ Catalina dug her nails into the palms of her hands, the only outward display of her inward disquiet. ‘Ask him if he’s free on Thursday.’

      She’d asked Aliana to call Nathaniel and request a dinner date for Wednesday. He had politely declined, citing a prior engagement.

      Aliana disappeared into the adjoining small office, leaving Catalina alone with Marion, whose sharp little eyes were studying her with unabashed curiosity.

      ‘I would like you to take one of the palace cars and go to Madame Marcelle’s shop and bring me back a selection of her laces.’ She didn’t give a reason. She didn’t have a reason. All she wanted was to get rid of her cousin for a time.

      ‘I can call and have it brought to the palace.’

      ‘No. I wish for you to go personally. You know my tastes so I know you will choose wisely,’ she added, playing to Marion’s ego.

      Unable to refuse, Marion nonetheless made a great show of searching for her handbag, which was at the foot of her chair.

      As soon as she’d gone, Catalina breathed out and closed her eyes. Marion’s behaviour, including all those sly smiles and blatant eavesdropping, had become intolerable. Or was it that the limits of her own patience had finally been reached? The pregnancy hormones were certainly rampaging through her. It was becoming a struggle to keep the poise she’d held throughout her life.

      Aliana reappeared, shaking her head. ‘He has a prior appointment Thursday night too.’

      ‘And probably Friday and Saturday night,’ Catalina muttered, thinking quickly. It had taken all of her courage to ask for Nathaniel’s private number from her father but he had surprised her by handing it over. He hadn’t looked at her though. He hadn’t looked her in the eye since he’d called the life growing inside her a bastard.

      It had been five days since their worlds had imploded. Since Nathaniel’s visit to the palace and his agreement to the marriage, there had been only silence.

      She’d spent the intervening days getting her head clear. She’d pushed aside the fleeting romantic notions she’d had, those few moments when she’d seen a future that could possibly be happy.

      She didn’t even know where those notions had come from. She didn’t expect or want love. Love was a kind of witchcraft, a power strong enough to destroy the person suffering from it. A marriage built on mutual respect was the most she had ever hoped for, although hopes were an indulgence she rarely allowed herself.

      Nathaniel was a commitment-shy womaniser of the highest order. Their brief marriage would be over before it had begun and she would remarry. Now all she cared about was the welfare of the tiny life she carried. She needed to protect it, but all she sensed was danger.

      She took a long breath and straightened her spine. She would call him herself. Let him make his excuses not to see her personally.

      Before she could move to her office, she rushed to the bathroom and brought up her breakfast.

      * * *

      Nathaniel’s phone vibrated noisily on the desk.

      Swearing, he cursed himself for not turning the vibration facility off when he’d switched it to silent.

      The same number from ten minutes ago flashed at him.

      He snatched it up, pressed the answer button and put the phone to his ear. ‘Tell the Princess I am unavailable until the day of our wedding and if she doesn’t like it she can—’

      ‘It’s Catalina.’

      The unexpectedness of her voice and the coolness of her tone momentarily froze him.

      ‘Are you there?’ she asked. He could imagine her sitting at the round French mahogany table of the family room, legs crossed, back straight, as composed as she always was.

      He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I’m here. What can I do for you?’

      ‘I need to see you.’

      ‘As I explained to your companion, I don’t have any free time until the day of our wedding.’

      ‘I’m sure you can make the time.’

      ‘Is it important?’

      ‘Nathaniel, we’re having a baby together.’

      ‘I am aware of that. It’s the reason I’m marrying you.’

      There was a slight pause before she said, ‘Our marriage might only be temporary but our child is for life. Unless Dominic was telling me the truth and you have no interest in our child?’

      He sighed. It didn’t surprise him that Dominic would tell such a lie. ‘He must have his wires crossed. I will want to play an active part.’

      ‘Then show me the courtesy of meeting with me.’

      There was something in her voice that gave him pause.

      ‘If I agree then I want it to be somewhere neutral and not in the palace,’ he said slowly. If he never had to set foot in that palace again he would die a happy man.

      ‘I was going to suggest the same thing.’ There was definite relief in her words. She went silent again before asking, ‘Do you like opera?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Good. My family have a private box at the Monte Cleure Royal Theatre. There’s a production of La Bohème on this week. Our box is free on Friday so we can have it to ourselves.’

      ‘I just told you, I don’t like opera.’

      ‘Then you won’t find the singing a distraction when we talk.’

      Rebuffing Catalina’s assistant was a lot easier than rebuffing his fiancée personally. It would be easier if she were issuing hysterical orders but her sheer calmness made him feel foolish for his previous avoidance.

      He knew beyond doubt that the less interaction they had as a couple, the better it would be for them both. But especially for her.

      ‘Okay then, Friday,’ he agreed, before terminating the call.

      He rubbed the nape of his neck and closed his eyes.

      * * *

      The theatre manager greeted her personally, hurrying Catalina through a private side door and up the red-carpeted staircase to the House of Fernandez’s private box before the general public had time to notice her appearance.

      They’d arranged to meet in the royal box at eight p.m. She was fifteen minutes early.

      To make the time pass quicker and in an attempt to smother the nerves swirling in her gut, she tucked herself into the corner and opened the programme. She had made it to the section describing the careers of the secondary players when Nathaniel slipped into the box, all six foot plus of him, looking dashingly handsome in a black tuxedo and bow tie, with a tumbler of Scotch in hand.

      He was exactly on time.

      Her heart battering against her ribcage, she got to her feet and gave him her hand. Dutifully, he put it to his mouth and razed his lips across her gloved knuckles. The heat from his breath sank through the satin.

      ‘You’re looking well,’ he said, stepping back and openly appraising her.

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘No sickness?’

      ‘Not right now. It comes and goes.’

      He gave a half-smile. ‘That must be difficult.’

      ‘I’ve been told it comes with the territory.’

      Below them, the theatre was filling, the buzzing

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