Crown Prince's Chosen Bride (16 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

O
N
F
RIDAY
MORNING
Tristan's sister, Natalia, took Gemma shopping to St Pierre, the city that was the modern financial and administrative capital of Montovia.

Gemma would rather have gone with Tristan, but he had asked Natalia to take her, telling them to charge anything she wanted to the royal family's account. No matter the cost.

St Pierre was an intriguing mix of medieval and modern, but Gemma didn't get a chance to look around.

‘You can see the city another time,' Natalia said. ‘Montovians dress more formally than you're probably used to. The royal family even more so. You need a whole new wardrobe. Montovians expect a princess to look the part.'

‘
You
certainly do,' said Gemma admiringly.

Natalia dressed superbly. Gemma hoped she would be able to help her choose what she needed to fit in and do the right thing by Tristan. She suspected the white jacket might never get an airing again.

Natalia looked at her a little oddly. ‘I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about you, when you become crown princess.'

Gemma was too stunned to speak for a moment. ‘Me? Crown princess?'

‘When you and Tristan marry you will become crown princess. Hadn't you given that a thought?'

Natalia spoke as though it were a done deed that Gemma and Tristan would marry.

‘It might sound incredibly stupid of me, but no.'

In the space of just a few days she'd been whisked away by private jet and landed in a life she'd never known existed outside the pages of glossy magazines. She hadn't thought any further than being with the man she loved.

Natalia continued. ‘You will become Gemma, crown princess of Montovia—the second highest ranking woman in the land after the queen—and you will have all the privileges and obligations that come with that title.'

Gemma's mouth went suddenly dry and her heart started thudding out of control. How could she, a girl from suburban Sydney, become a princess? She found the thought terrifying.

‘It's all happened so incredibly quickly,' she said to Natalia. ‘All I've focused on is Tristan—him stepping up to the role of crown prince and making it his own. I...I never thought about what it meant for me.'

Panic seemed to grasp her stomach and squeeze it hard. She took some deep breaths to try and steady herself but felt the blood draining from her face.

Natalia had the same shrewd blue eyes as her mother, the queen. ‘Come on, let's get you a coffee before we start shopping. But you need to talk about this to Tristan.'

‘Yes...' Gemma said, still dazed by the thought.
They had not talked nearly enough.

Natalie regarded her from the other side of the table in the cafe she had steered Gemma to. She pushed across a plate of knotted sugar cookies. ‘Eat one of these.'

Gemma felt a little better after eating the cookie. It seemed it was a traditional Montovian treat. She must get the recipe...

‘The most important thing we've got to get sorted is a show-stopping formal gown for next Saturday night,' said Natalie. ‘Tristan's birthday is a real milestone for him. My brother has changed the way royal marriages have worked for centuries so you two can be together. All eyes will be on you. We've got to have you looking the part.'

Again, terror gripped Gemma. But Natalia put a comforting hand on her arm.

‘There are many who are thankful to you for being a catalyst for change. Me included.'

‘That's reassuring,' said Gemma. Although it wasn't. Not really. What about those who
didn't
welcome change—and blamed her for it?

‘The more you look like a princess, the more you'll be treated like one,' said Natalia.

Natalia took her into the kind of boutiques where price tags didn't exist. The clothes she chose for Gemma—from big-name designers, formal, sophisticated—emphasised the impression that she was hurtling headfirst into a life she'd never anticipated and was totally unprepared for.

She had to talk to Tristan.

But by the time she got back to the castle, sat through another formal dinner with his family—this time feeling more confident, in a deceptively simple black lace dress and her pearls—she was utterly exhausted.

She tried to force her eyes to stay open and wait for Tristan, but she fell fast asleep in the vast antique-style bed before he arrived.

During the night she became aware of him sleeping beside her, with a possessive arm around her waist, but when she woke in the morning he was gone. And she felt groggy and disorientated from a horrible dream.

In it, she had been clad only in the gauzy French bra and panties Natalia had helped her buy. Faceless soldiers had been dragging her towards a huge, grotesquely carved throne while she shouted that she wasn't dressed yet.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

B
EING
CROWN
PRINCE
brought with it duties Tristan could not escape. He hated leaving Gemma alone for the morning, but the series of business meetings with his father and the Crown's most senior advisers could not be avoided.

Gemma had still been asleep when he'd left her room. He'd watched her as she'd slept, an arm flung over her head to where her bright hair spilled over the pillow. Her lovely mouth had twitched and her eyelids fluttered, and he'd smiled and wondered what she was dreaming about. He'd felt an overwhelming rush of wonder and gratitude that she was there with him.

Like that fisherman, desperately hunting for his water nymph, the dream of being reunited with Gemma was what had kept him going through those months in the gloomy castle archives. He saw the discovery of her noble blood as confirmation by the fates that making her his bride was meant to be.

He'd gently kissed her and reluctantly left the room.

All throughout the first meeting he'd worried about her being on her own but had felt happier after he'd been able to talk to her on the phone. She'd reassured him that she was dying to explore the old town and had asked him for directions to his childhood favourite chocolate shop and tea room. He'd arranged for his driver to take her down and back. They'd confirmed that she'd meet him back at the castle for lunch.

But now it was lunchtime, and she wasn't in the rose garden, where he'd arranged to meet her. She wasn't answering her phone. His driver confirmed that he had brought her back to the castle. Had she gone back to her room for a nap?

He knocked on the door to her guest apartment. No answer. He pushed it open, fully expecting to find her stretched out on the bed. If so, he would revise his plans so that he could join her on the bed and
then
go out to lunch.

But the bed was empty, the apartment still and quiet. There was a lingering trace of her perfume, but no Gemma.
Where was she?

A wave of guilt washed over him because he didn't know. He shouldn't have left her on her own. He'd grown up in the labyrinth of the castle. But Gemma was totally unfamiliar with it. She might actually have got lost. Be wandering somewhere, terrified. He regretted now that he'd teased her, telling her that some of the rooms were reputed to be haunted.

As he was planning where to start looking for her, a maid came into the room with a pile of fresh towels in her arms. She dipped a curtsy. Asked if he was looking for his Australian guest. She had just seen Miss Harper in the kitchen garden...

* * *

Tristan found Gemma standing facing the view of the lake, the well-tended gardens that supplied fruit and vegetables for the castle behind her. Her shoulders were bowed and she presented a picture of defeat and misery.

What the heck was wrong?

‘Gemma?' he called. ‘Are you okay?'

As he reached her she turned to face him. He gasped. All colour had drained from her face, so that her freckles stood out in stark contrast, her eyes were red rimmed and even her hair seemed to have lost its sheen. She was dressed elegantly, in linen trousers and a silk top, but somehow the look was dishevelled.

He reached out to her but she stepped back and he let his arms fall by his sides. ‘What's happened?'

‘I...I can't do this, Tristan.' Her voice was thick and broken.

‘Can't do what? I don't know what you mean.'

She waved to encompass the castle and its extensive grounds. ‘This. The castle. The life. It's so different. It's so
other
.' She paused. ‘That's why I came here.' She indicated the vegetable garden, with its orderly plantings. ‘Here it is familiar; here I feel at home. I...I pulled a few weeds from those carrots. I hope you don't mind?'

He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by ‘other', but her misery at feeling as if she didn't fit in emanated from her, loud and clear.

‘I'm sorry, Gemma. I didn't know you were feeling like this. I shouldn't have left you on your own.'

Her chin tilted upwards. ‘I don't need a nursemaid, Tristan. I can look after myself.'

‘You're in a foreign country, and you need a guide. Like you were
my
guide when I was in your home country.'

She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I need so much more than a guide to be able to fit in here,' she said. ‘I...I was so glad to be here with you—so excited that we could be together when we thought we never could.'

Was
so glad?

‘Me, too. Nothing has made me happier,' he said.

‘But I didn't think about what it would mean to be a
princess
. A princess worthy of you. I'm a Party Queen—not a real queen in waiting. You need more than...than me...for Montovia.'

‘Let me be the judge of that,' he said. ‘What's brought this on, Gemma? Has someone scared you?'

Who could feel so threatened by the change of order they might have tried to drive her away? When he found who it was, heads would roll.

Gemma sniffed. ‘It started with Natalia, she—'

His sister? He was surprised that she would cause trouble. ‘I thought you liked her, that she was helping you?'

‘I do. She was. But—'

He listened as she recounted what had happened the day before in St Pierre.

‘I felt so...ignorant,' Gemma concluded. ‘It hadn't even entered my head that I would be crown princess. And I have no idea of what might be expected of me.'

Mentally, Tristan slammed his hand against the side of his head. Why look for someone to blame when it was himself he should be blaming? He had not prepared her for what was ahead. Because she'd made such a good impression on his family, he had made assumptions he shouldn't have. Once she had swept into that magnificent curtsy, once he had seen the respect with which she interacted with his parents, he'd been guilty of assuming she would be okay.

His gut twisted painfully when he thought about how unhappy she was. And she hadn't felt able to talk to him. The man who loved her.

Tristan spoke through gritted teeth. ‘My fault. I should have prepared you. Made it very clear to everyone that—'

‘That I'm wearing my princess learner plates?' she said with another sniffle.

He was an intelligent, well-educated man who'd thought he knew this woman. Yet he'd had no idea of what she'd gone through since he'd dumped her into his world and expected her to be able to negotiate it without a map of any kind.

‘What else?'

‘The maid. I asked her to help me with a few phrases in Montovian, so I could surprise you. She told me her language was so difficult no outsider could ever learn to speak it. Then she rattled off a string of words that of course I didn't understand and had no chance of repeating. I felt...I felt helpless and inadequate. If I can't learn the language, how can I possibly be taken seriously?'

‘She loses her job today,' he said, with all the autocracy a crown prince could muster.

Gemma shook her head. ‘Don't do that. She was well-meaning. She was the wrong person to ask for help. I should have asked—'

‘
Me
. Why didn't you?'

‘I...I didn't want to bother you,' she whispered. ‘You have so much on your plate with your new role. I...I'm used to being independent.' She looked down at her feet, in their smart new Italian walking shoes.

‘I'm sorry, Gemma. I've let you down. I can't tell you how gutted I am that you are so unhappy.'

She looked up at him, but her eyes were guarded. ‘I was okay until Natalia mentioned something this morning about when I become queen. She was only talking about the kind of jewellery I'd need, but I freaked. Becoming crown princess is scary enough. But
queen
!'

Now Tristan gritted his teeth. He'd let duty rule him again—to his own personal cost. Those meetings this morning should have been postponed. He might have lost Gemma. Might still lose her if he didn't look after her better. And that would be unendurable.

‘Anything else to tell me?'

She twisted the edge of her top between her fingers. ‘The old man in the chocolate shop. He—'

‘He said something inappropriate?' He found it hard to reconcile that with his memories of the kindly man.

‘On the contrary. He told me what a dear little boy you were, and how he was looking forward to treating
our
children when we brought them in for chocolate.'

‘And that was a problem?' Tristan was puzzled at the way Gemma had taken offence at those genial words.

‘Don't you see?
Children
. We've never talked about children. We haven't talked about our future at all. I feel totally unprepared for all this. All I know is that we want to be together. But is it enough?'

He did not hesitate. ‘Yes. I have no doubt of that.'

She paused for so long dread crept its way into his heart.

‘I...I'm not sure it is. You can do better than me. And I fear that if I try to be someone I'm not—like I spent so much of my life doing—I will lose myself and no longer be the person you fell in love with. You've grown up in this royal life. It's all so shockingly different for me—and more than a little scary. I don't want to make your life a misery because I'm unhappy. Do you understand that?'

‘I will do anything in my power to make you happy.' His voice was gruff.

‘I've been thinking maybe your ancestors had it right. When your new spouse comes from the same background and understands your way of life, surely that must be an advantage?'

‘No,' he said stiffly. ‘Any advantage is outweighed by the massive
dis
advantage of a lack of love in such a marriage.'

‘I'm not so sure,' she said. ‘Tristan, I need time to think this through.'

Tristan balled his hands into fists. He was not going to beg. She knew how he felt—how certain he had always been about her. But perhaps he had been wrong. After all the royal feathers he had ruffled, the conventions he had overturned, maybe Gemma did not have the strength and courage required to be his wife and a royal princess.

‘Of course,' he said.

He bowed stiffly in her direction, turned on his heel and strode away from her.

* * *

Gemma watched Tristan walk away with that mix of military bearing and athletic grace she found so attractive. It struck her how resolute he looked, in the set of his shoulders, the strength of his stride.

He was walking out of her life.

Her hand went to her heart at the sudden shaft of pain.

What a massive mistake she had just made.

He must think she didn't care. And that couldn't be further from how she felt.

The truth hit her with a force that left her breathless. This wasn't about her not understanding the conventions of being a princess, being nervous of making the wrong kind of curtsy. It was about her fearing that she wasn't good enough for Tristan. Deep down, she was terrified he would discover her inadequacies and no longer want her. This was all about her being afraid of getting hurt. She had behaved like a spineless wimp. A spineless,
stupid
wimp.

Through all the time she'd shared with Tristan, fragmented as it had been, he had been unequivocal about what he felt for her. He had tricked her onto the
Argus
because he had been so taken with her. He had confessed to a
coup de foudre.
He had left her with his phone because he had wanted to stay in touch.
He had changed the law of his country so they could be together.

It was
she
who had resisted him from the get go—she who had backed off.
She
who had insisted they break all contact. If he hadn't left those messages on the phone, would she have even found the courage to call him?

And now the man who was truly her once-in-a-lifetime love had left her. He was already out of sight.

She had to catch him—had to explain, had to beg for another chance. To prove to him she would be the best of all possible princesses for him.

But he was already gone.

She ran after him. Became hopelessly confused as she hit one dead end after the other. Clawed against a bolted gate in her frustration. Then she remembered the ancient walkway he had taken her to on that first afternoon. The place where he went to think.

She peered up at the battlement walls. Noted the slits through which his ancestors had shot their arrows. Noticed the steps that wound towards the walkway. And picked up her speed.

He was there. Standing in the same arched lookout where she'd stood, admiring that magnificent view of the lake. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was very still.

It struck her how solitary he seemed in his dark business suit. How
lonely
.
Tristan was considered one of the most eligible young men in the world. Handsome, charming, intelligent and kind. Yet all he wanted was her. And she had let him down.

She swore under her breath, realised she'd picked up a Montovian curse word. And that it hadn't been as quiet as she'd thought.

He whipped around. Unguarded, she saw despair on his face—and an anger he wasn't able to mask. Anger at
her
.

‘Gemma. How did you find me here?'

What if he wouldn't forgive her?

‘I followed my heart,' she said simply.

Without a word Tristan took the few steps to reach her and folded her in his arms. She burrowed against his chest and shuddered her deep, heartfelt relief.
This was where she belonged.

Then she pulled back from his arms so she could look up into his face. ‘Tristan, I'm so sorry. I panicked. Was afraid I'd let you down. I lost sight of what counts—us being together.'

‘You can
learn
to be a princess. All the help you need is here. From me. From my sister...my mother. The people who only wish you happiness.'