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it clear that he would not be involved with it in any regard other than the official photographs.

      ‘Not long now,’ Sebastien Duchamp murmured beside him.

      Sebastien, a security expert, had married Catalina’s younger sister Isabella earlier the previous year and was acting as Nathaniel’s best man. The King had insisted that he have one. As Nathaniel had already won a number of significant victories over the King and his heir, on this one point he had been prepared to concede ground. Sebastien had seemed as good a choice as any, and Nathaniel didn’t need to lie to him. Being a member of the House of Fernandez—albeit in a peripheral sense—he knew exactly why the marriage was taking place.

      As he turned to look at Dominic, Nathaniel caught the malevolence on the Prince’s face and was again reminded of Catalina’s warning. For all his outward dismissal of the threat, he had thought it prudent to increase his security and had employed Sebastien the day after the torturous opera visit to do a thorough check of his Monte Cleure home and business premises for any potential weaknesses. Sebastien had declared it all in good order.

      On a personal level, there was little Nathaniel detested more than the sight of fully grown men parading themselves with a gaggle of bodyguards in tow. It was nothing more than a status symbol. They might as well have signs on their heads reading ‘Man of wealth. Come and get me.’ However, with Catalina moving in with him and her father truculently refusing to allow her previous bodyguards to move with her, Nathaniel had employed four of Sebastien’s men for the duration of their marriage and extra security for his apartment building.

      Nathaniel might not be deemed good enough for the King’s daughter but his money was deemed good enough to keep her.

      He checked his watch.

      Two minutes to go. With any luck, this would all be over within the hour.

      Although it was fashionable for a bride to be late, he’d made a bet with himself that Catalina would arrive at the chapel exactly on time.

      A tall man with the shiniest bald head he’d ever seen hurried into the church, taking a seat in the back row. Nathaniel had to bite the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement. Did the man polish his pate? Hot on his heels was a woman wearing a bright pink dress and a matching hat wide enough to hit the lady in the seat in front of her.

      Then, right on cue, Catalina arrived.

      The guests rose to their feet as one, craning their necks for the first glimpse of the bride.

      As she stepped over the threshold, her right hand enfolded in her father’s arm, Nathaniel found a lump forming in his throat that no amount of swallowing could dislodge. All his amusement, cynicism and detachment vanished.

      The rain outside had turned into a full-blown storm in the time he’d been in the chapel and gusts blew at the train of her ivory dress, which had a rounded neckline that skimmed her creamy breasts and tapered to her waist. It was as if she had a wind machine behind her.

      A veil covered her face but as she walked slowly up the aisle it struck him that she resembled a walking statue. Nothing in her body language suggested any kind of emotion. The only person with less animation was the King. If her father’s jaw clenched any tighter Nathaniel was sure his face would crack.

      When she reached his side, the King took a step back, not even deigning to look at Nathaniel.

      With a tightness inside he hadn’t felt in decades, he lifted her veil.

      She wasn’t quick enough to hide the truth he saw in her eyes.

      Catalina was furious.

      Then she blinked and the fury vanished, leaving only the porcelain mask of her beautiful face.

      When it was her turn to recite their vows, her voice was nothing but a flat monotone.

      * * *

      Catalina picked at her food without appetite. They were on the dessert course of mille-feuille and she couldn’t even remember what had been served for any of the other courses. She couldn’t blame it on the morning sickness. Ironically, today was the first day in weeks she hadn’t felt nauseous. Her stomach was too empty to feel anything.

      Their wedding feast was being held in the smallest of the palace staterooms. She was surprised her father and brother hadn’t held it in one of the greenhouses.

      She hadn’t had the chance to question her father about the inventory. He’d deliberately waited until the last minute to join her at the chapel entrance and the doors had been opened for them before she’d had a chance to open her mouth.

      When she contrasted it with his behaviour during Isabella’s wedding, when he’d personally collected her sister from her rooms and escorted her in a horse-drawn carriage to the cathedral, his face beaming with pride...

      Even Isabella, as self-absorbed as she generally was—and she’d only made it to the palace with minutes to spare—had been upset by the way Catalina had been treated. Her little sister had held her hand the whole way to the chapel.

      Lucky, lucky Isabella. She’d fallen madly in love with a commoner and been allowed to marry him with both their father and brother’s blessings.

      Isabella and Sebastien were besotted with each other. Catalina’s heart ached to see the tenderness between them; true love in all its glory. Marriages in the House of Fernandez were generally arranged like business deals and her parents’ marriage had been no exception. Catalina’s marriage to Helios would have been the same.

      To witness with her own eyes how a true marriage could be...

      It would never happen for her. She wished she hadn’t seen it because now she had witnessed everything she would never have.

      The affection between Isabella and Sebastien only heightened the contrast between Catalina and her new husband. Throughout the meal, conversation between her and Nathaniel had been pointedly polite.

      She hadn’t expected any overt displays of affection but he’d acted as if they were having an ordinary meal and she were an ordinary person he’d been sitting next to. There wasn’t intimacy in his eyes when he looked at her. There was nothing there, not even the sparkle that had always resonated from them in the past.

      The kiss that had sealed their vows in the chapel had been nothing but a fleeting brush of his lips against hers. It had contained less meaning than a goodnight kiss from a relative.

      The ache in her heart was growing by the second. It was ridiculous. She knew the score.

      ‘Who’s here from your side?’ she asked. She’d searched the faces of their guests a dozen times wondering who Nathaniel’s guests were.

      ‘No one.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because this is a farce.’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed, taking a sip of orange juice. She wished it were wine. ‘I just thought you might have your family here for support.’ She knew he’d lost his parents at a young age but surely everyone had some family?

      ‘There aren’t many of us.’ He gave a short smile and took a bite of his mille-feuille. Tiny flakes of pastry fell onto his chin and he wiped them away with his thumb.

      His tone suggested this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to take forward.

      ‘Did you invite them?’

      ‘No.’ He stared pointedly at her full plate. ‘You need to eat something.’

      ‘I’m not hungry.’ How could anyone eat with a room full of eyes upon them? Catalina was used to her every move being scrutinised but this felt much more intrusive. Nothing had been confirmed publicly about her pregnancy, and nor would it be for a number of months, but everyone present either knew of it or suspected it.

      It didn’t matter what people believed.

      In a few short hours she would be moving out of the only home she had ever known and into the

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