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       CHAPTER FOUR

      LIANA GAZED AT her reflection in the gold-framed mirror of one of the royal palace’s many guest suites. She was in a different one from the last time she’d been here six weeks ago, yet it was just as sumptuous. Then she’d come to Maldinia to discuss marriage; this time she was here for a wedding. Hers.

      ‘You’re too thin.’ Her mother Gabriella’s voice came out sharp with anxiety as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.

      ‘I have lost a little weight in the past few weeks,’ Liana said, and heard the instinctive note of apology in her voice. Everything with her parents felt like an apology, a way to say sorry over and over again. Yet she could never say it enough, and her parents never seemed to hear it anyway.

      They certainly never talked about it.

      ‘I suppose things have been a bit stressful,’ Gabriella allowed. She twitched Liana’s short veil over her shoulders and smoothed the satin fabric of the simple white sheath dress she wore.

      Her wedding to Sandro was to be a quiet affair in the palace’s private chapel, with only family in attendance. After the fairy-tale proportions of Leo and Alyse’s ceremony, and the resulting fallout, something quiet and dignified was needed. It suited Liana fine.

      She wondered what Sandro thought about it. She hadn’t seen him since she’d arrived two days ago, beyond a formal dinner where she’d been introduced to a variety of diplomats and dignitaries. She’d chatted with everyone, curtsied to the queen, who had eyed her coldly, and met Sandro’s sister, Alexa, as well as his brother, Leo, and sister-in-law, Alyse.

      Everyone—save the queen—had been friendly enough, but it had been Sandro’s rather stony silence that had unnerved her. It had occurred to her then in an entirely new and unwelcome way that this man was going to be her husband. She would live with him for the rest of her days, bear his children, serve by his side. Stupid of her not to think it all through before, but suddenly it seemed overwhelming, her decision reckless. Was she really going to say vows based on a desire to please her parents? To somehow atone for the past?

      No wonder Sandro had been incredulous. And it was too late to change her mind now.

      Gabriella put her hands on Liana’s shoulders, met her gaze in the mirror. ‘You do want this marriage, Liana, don’t you?’ Liana opened her mouth to say of course she did, because she knew she couldn’t say anything else. Not when her mother wanted it so much. Even now, with all the doubts swirling through her mind, she felt that. Believed it.

      ‘Because I know we might seem old-fashioned to you,’ Gabriella continued in a rush. ‘Asking you to marry a man you’ve barely met.’ Now Liana closed her mouth. It was old-fashioned, but she wasn’t going to fight it. Wasn’t going to wish for something else.

      What was the point? Her parents wanted it, and it was too late anyway. And in any case, a real marriage, a marriage based on intimacy and love, held no appeal for her.

      Neither did a husband who seemed as if he hated her.

      And wasn’t that her fault? For telling him she didn’t respect him? For pushing him away out of her own hurt pride and fear? But perhaps it was better for Sandro to hate her than call up all those feelings and needs. Perhaps antipathy would actually be easier.

      ‘I just want you to be happy,’ Gabriella said quietly. ‘As your father does.’

      And they thought marrying a stranger would make her happy?

      No, Liana thought tiredly, they didn’t want her to be happy, not really. They wanted to feel as if she had been taken care of, dealt with. Tidied away. They wanted to forget her, because she knew soul deep that every time her parents looked at her they were reminded of Chiara. Of Chiara’s death.

      Just as she was.

      If she married Sandro, at least she’d be out of the way. Easier to forget.

      Better for everyone, really.

      She drew a breath into her lungs, forced her expression into a smile. ‘I am happy, Mother. I will be.’

      Her mother nodded, not questioning that statement. Not wanting to know. ‘Good,’ she said, and kissed Liana’s cold cheek.

      A few minutes later her mother left for the chapel, leaving Liana alone to face the walk down the aisle by herself. Maldinian tradition dictated that the bride walk by herself, and the groom keep his back to her until she reached his side.

      A stupid tradition, probably meant to terrify brides into submission, she thought with a grimace. And would it terrify her? What would the expression on Sandro’s face be when he did turn around? Contempt? Disgust? Hatred? Desire? She knew she shouldn’t even care, but she did.

      Ever since she’d first met Sandro, she’d started caring. Feeling. And that alarmed her more than anything.

      She closed her eyes, fought against the nerves churning in her stomach and threatening to revolt up her throat. Why had this man woken something inside her she’d thought was not just asleep, but dead? How had he resurrected it?

      She longed to go back to the numb safety she’d lived in for so long. For twenty years, since she was eight. Eight years old, pale faced and trembling, staring at the grief-stricken expressions on her parents’ faces as she told them the truth.

      I was there. It was my fault.

      And they had, in their silence, agreed. Of course they had, because it was the truth. Chiara’s death had been entirely her fault, and that was a truth she could never, ever escape.

      This marriage was, in its own way, meant to be more penance. But it wasn’t meant to make her feel. Want. Need.

      Yet in the six weeks since she’d returned from Maldinia, it had. She felt the shift inside herself, an inexorable moving of the tectonic plates of her soul, and it was one she didn’t welcome. Ever since Sandro’s scathing indictment of her, his assault on her convictions, her body, her whole self, she’d started to feel more. Want more. And she was desperate to stop, to snatch back the numbness, the safety.

      ‘Lady Liana? It’s time.’

      Woodenly Liana nodded and then followed Paula, the palace’s press secretary, to the small chapel where the service would take place.

      ‘This will be a very quiet affair,’ Paula said. ‘No cameras or publicity, like before.’

      Before, when Alyse and Leo’s charade had blown up in their faces, Liana knew, and they’d been exposed as having faked their fairy-tale love story for the entirety of their engagement. This time there was no charade, yet Liana still felt as if everything could explode around her. As if it already had.

      ‘All right, then.’ Paula touched her briefly on her shoulder. ‘You look lovely. Don’t forget to smile.’

      Somehow Liana managed to make the corners of her mouth turn up. Paula didn’t look all that satisfied by this expression of expectant marital joy, but she nodded and left Liana alone to face the double doors that led to the chapel, the small crowd, and Sandro.

      Drawing a deep СКАЧАТЬ