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      Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘My wedding day—’ Her stomach churned with apprehension. How could time have passed so fast?

      ‘So, where is your husband-to-be?’

      ‘Prince Alessandro?’

      ‘Yes, yes,’ her elderly friend retorted impatiently. ‘My son. Where is he? Why has he left you on your own?’

      ‘Your—’ Emily’s mouth fell open as the full extent of her blunder overwhelmed her. ‘You didn’t say!’

      ‘And would you have been so open with me if I had?’ Alessandro’s father demanded as he levelled a shrewd look on her face.

      ‘Well…I…I don’t know,’ Emily admitted frankly. ‘You must think me a terrible fool—’

      ‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘I think you anything but a fool. My son, however—’

      ‘Oh, no, please,’ Emily said, shaking her head. ‘You don’t understand—’

      ‘What don’t I understand?’ the old Prince demanded, straightening up so that even in his gardening clothes Emily could be under no misapprehension as to his status.

      ‘I…Well…This is not the usual sort of wedding.’

      ‘You love him?’ he asked her directly.

      ‘Well, I…’ Emily paused, unsure of what to say.

      ‘I said,’ he repeated sternly, ‘do you love my son?’

      ‘Causing trouble again, Father?’

      The deep, familiar voice went straight to Emily’s heart.’ Alessandro!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. Who said a prince could descend on you unannounced, wearing snug blue jeans and a close-fitting white top, looking as if he had just climbed out of bed? And his hair was still damp from the shower, she noticed on closer inspection.

      ‘I see you’ve met my father,’ he said, shooting her a wry grin.

      He betrayed nothing of their developing friendship, but, remembering his concern for her after the chocolate festival, Emily felt a shiver of awareness shimmer over every part of her as he moved past her within touching distance. He had been more than tolerant. He had been…As she struggled to find the right word she watched him throw his arms around the older man and kiss him warmly on both cheeks several times before hugging him again. To be the object of such fathomless affection—to be capable of bestowing it—

      She looked at Alessandro as if seeing him for the first time, and knew without question that she loved him.

      ‘Papa! Mi sei mancato!’

      His father’s voice was equally fierce as he clutched his son to him. ‘Anche tu, Alessandro. I’ve missed you, too, vagabondo!’

      Another hug and they were done, leaving Emily still gaping.

      ‘You have neglected your bride so badly she has forgotten that tomorrow is her wedding day,’ the old man accused, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. ‘You are a bad boy, Alessandro—neglecting us both like this.’

      ‘I never neglect you, Papa,’ Alessandro argued, flashing a glance at Emily as he tightened his arm around his father’s shoulder. ‘It’s just that business sometimes—’

      His father pressed his lips together in a show of disapproval. ‘Business, business, business,’ he proclaimed with a dismissive gesture. ‘And your bride, Alessandro? What about your bride?’

      Emily was forced to laugh as Alessandro executed a deep bow, flashing her a smile as he straightened up. ‘I can only offer you my most humble apologies, Signorina Weston. Whatever punishment you decide to exact, I shall accept without question.’

      Don’t tempt me, Emily thought, feeling the effects of his statement reverberate around her senses.

      ‘Once again,’ Alessandro continued easily, tossing her an amused and comprehending look, ‘I regret that unavoidable matters arose, demanding my immediate attention—’

      ‘Your bride demands your immediate attention,’ his father broke in sternly. ‘Your wedding is tomorrow, in case you had also forgotten that, Alessandro.’

      ‘I had not forgotten, Father,’ Alessandro responded softly, glancing at Emily.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Emily insisted, shaking her head to hide her confusion.’ Alessandro is very busy, Your Royal Highness. And I have plenty to occupy me,’ she managed vaguely. ‘I’ll leave you two together—’

      ‘You will do no such thing,’ the old Prince informed her imperiously. ‘You will stay here with me and talk a while longer. After tomorrow Alessandro may begin the process of taking precedence over me. But today, as far as I am aware, I am still the undisputed ruler of Ferara, and I wish to talk with my future daughter-in-law. Alone,’ he added pointedly. ‘Make yourself busy somewhere else, Alessandro. Emily and I have much to discuss.’

      ‘Father,’ Alessandro said, executing a small formal bow. ‘Your wish is my command.’

      The wedding had more similarities to a big-budget film than any ceremony Emily had ever attended before. And, in true cinematic fashion, preparations for her starring role began just before dawn, when her private secretary called to inform her that the beauticians and hairdressers had started to arrive.

      Breakfast was delivered on a tray with legs, presumably so that she could enjoy her last breakfast as a single woman safely tucked up in bed. But Emily was already out and about when the young maid knocked timidly on the door. Together they decanted the fruit juice and croissants onto a table overlooking the rose garden.

      ‘You can take the rest away. I shan’t eat it,’ Emily insisted ruefully, scanning the cooked delicacies and plates of cold meats and cheeses, knowing she couldn’t face them. ‘Oh. Leave me an orange,’ she said as an afterthought. She knew they had come from the palace orchard and were absolutely delicious.

      ‘Yes, signorina,’ the maid said with a courteous bob.

      Just as Emily had thought, her simple breakfast proved to be the only oasis of calm in a day that was testing in the extreme. Pulled from pillar to post, she found herself constantly surrounded by strangers all charged with seeking perfection. The unfamiliar attention was daunting, and what made it worse was being treated suddenly as if she was on a higher stratum from everyone else. It made normal conversation impossible.

      As her hair was dressed up, ready to hold the weight of the tiara, and the finest film of coral rouge was applied to her cheeks, Emily began to feel increasingly like an inanimate object. No one seemed able to meet her eyes. No one spoke unless she instigated the conversation. And no one seemed prepared to volunteer an opinion on anything, preferring to wait for her to state her own views as if they were the only ones worth listening to. The lack of verbal interplay was driving her crazy. And her nerves were building to crisis level as what had been a theoretical exercise became all too real.

      Just when she thought she couldn’t stand one more minute of it, her face broke into a smile.

      ‘Dad! Mum! Miranda!’ Breaking free of the posse of primpers, Emily fled across the room towards her family.

      ‘But, signorina…your veil,’ the designer called after her.

      ‘Give me a moment, please,’ Emily said, keeping her head firmly buried against her father’s shoulder.

      ‘Five minutes,’ her father bartered, keeping her close as he encircled Miranda’s shoulders with his other arm. ‘Then you can have her back, I promise.’

      There was such quiet determination in his voice that even the highly-strung designer was forced to concede defeat.

      Her father sounded just like Alessandro, Emily thought fondly, raising her head to watch the couturier make an imperious signal and lead his group

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