EPILOGUE

 

 

 “It’s no use. No good, I can’t do it. I can’t.”

“Why? Claire, why?”

“Just tell him I can’t. Tell them all I can’t.”

“Claire…”

“GO, Thalia!”

She went, closing the door behind her swirling, royal blue bridesmaid’s dress.

Those dresses were too flowy. I shouldn’t have chosen them, I should have chosen something sleeker. But I’d been taken in by the rich color and the romantic, whimsical idea of looser skirts, something that would seem to float as they walked… Ridiculous sentiment.

Too late now, but there it was.

I sat down in the chair nearest me, ignoring the way the lace sleeves suddenly pulled tight at my shoulders. It was a delicate fabric, and would fray easily, or so I had been warned, but one did what one must for fashion.

Pity I wouldn’t be seen in it.

Never mind the painstaking details on the bodice that I’d become an absolute witch over, or the perfectly framed silhouette that I’d terrorized two seamstresses for, or the custom stilettos I was wearing that had cost an absolute fortune and fit like a dream. Never mind that my hair and makeup were pristine and elegant, or that the man of my dreams was waiting for me just at the other end of the chapel, or that at least half of Europe had filled the seats to see us marry.

Never mind any of that. I couldn’t do this.

Oh, I loved him, there was no question there. I adored him wildly and passionately, that hadn’t changed in all the time we’d been together. In fact, it had only grown in intensity.

But now that the day was here, now that I finally had the approval of my family, the forgiveness of the Royal Family of Monterra, as well as the almost good graces of the Royal Family of England, I couldn’t go through with it.

I was Lady Claire Sutherland, the Ice Queen of Europe, a cold, calculating socialite with no reservations when it came to backstabbing and betrayal to get what I wanted. Or so this morning’s opinion section in a local paper from home had claimed.

And I couldn’t refute the claims.

I had been that woman. Sometimes, I still was, when it came down to it. She’d made appearances in some board meetings with the Monterran Arts Foundation, though only briefly, and she’d gotten the job done, which had made the board happy in the end.

But to marry that mad woman?

Now that was insane.

I couldn’t let him do that. Salvatore, the Duca di Brista, had become a worldwide force for youth activity and physical education, partnering with Prince Alex’s brother, Prince James, from my home country, who also had a passion for that sort of thing. The pair of them had become the token heartthrobs for girls all over the world. James, or Jamie, as most people knew him, I had known from youth, and he’d never been as severe about my behavior as his brother and his wife. Of course, I’d never tried to pursue Jamie, so that probably explained it.

But Salvatore had gone from a classic example of a playboy to a prominent figure that inspired respect and admiration. Having a wife that only a handful of people could stand wouldn’t help him at all. I’d never be fully reformed, it wasn’t in my nature. I’d never be completely forgiven by Queen Katerina or Princess Caitlin, but both were in attendance today, no doubt dragged by their husbands for the sake of family connections.

I wouldn’t have forgiven me if I were them.

Then again, I wasn’t sure I’d actually asked for it.

I’d been waiting to see if they’d got over it, seeing how changed I was, and considering I lived in Monterra six months out of the year, when I wasn’t travelling for the Arts Foundation or as Salvatore’s arm candy. I’d even struck up a charity with Thalia that our fathers fully backed, one that provided art classes and education across Europe. And, if she could be prevailed upon to see me, I’d thought about engaging Prince Dante’s wife Lemon into the mix in an attempt to bring the Americans on board.

That one was still up in the air. I was slightly afraid of that woman; she seemed the sort to spit and snarl when approached by a hostile figure.

She was here, too.

So many people were here that couldn’t stand me.

What if they objected to the match?

A vision of forty-seven people standing in unison and screaming their objections when the priest asked flashed across my imagination, and I put my face in my hands as panicking breaths started coursing through me.

He shouldn’t marry me. He needed someone people actually liked, someone who would make sense to the people around the world.

Not a woman who would make everyone stop and go, “Really?” followed by “Why?”

I wondered why.

Why did he want me? Why had he asked me to marry him? It had been a sweet and tender proposal, when we had returned to Tuscany for an event and escaped back to some of our favorite spots from that house party a year ago, and since then our lives had been a whirlwind.

I’d asked him a dozen times if he was sure, and his response was always the same: “Ti amo. Sono sicuro.”

I love you. I’m sure.

I loved him, too. I was sure I wanted to marry him.

I just didn’t know if I could. Or should.

“Claire?”

I turned with a jerk, gaping at the door. There stood my groom, gorgeous in a perfectly fitted uniform of the Monterran Royal Guard, with his honorary medals decorating his chest.

His hand was over his eyes, but he was there.

“What are you doing?” I squawked, tossing my exceptionally long veil over one shoulder to see him better. “It’s bad luck to see me.”

He lifted his hand in a wave, the eyes beneath closed tightly. “Eyes closed, Tesoro. I can’t see you. No bad luck.” He came into the room and closed the door behind him, then faced me, putting his hand over his eyes again. “Thalia says you can’t do this. Did you find my secret mistress from 2011 or something?”

I laughed a surprisingly watery laugh. “You never had a secret anything when it came to women.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m terrible with secrets.”

I shook my head, loving every inch of him and aching that I couldn’t walk down the aisle to him. “It’s too much, Salvatore. I can’t do this.”

“You can’t marry me? Or you can’t get married?”

I sighed heavily. “Probably both.”

He hummed quietly, not seeming too shocked or perturbed. “Do you love me, Claire?”

“Yes.” The word was ripped from my chest and hung in the air for a moment. “Yes, I love you. So much. I adore you, amore, you know I do.”

He grinned, and his grin made me grin. “E ti adoro io. Sei il mio sogno diventata realtà.”

Even now, I couldn’t catch all the words he’d said, though my Italian was much improved, but I got the general idea.

He adored me, and I knew that he did.

That was the problem.

“Why do you want to marry me, babe?” I asked in a weak voice. “I’m not a good match for you, everybody says so.”

“Nobody told me that,” he said easily, coming towards me. “Not a one. A few people thought I was crazy, but I assumed that was because you were too sexy for me. I love that about you, so it wasn’t a good reason to change things.”

I groaned and turned away from him. “Be serious! I can’t be the reason everything you are working for doesn’t happen! People don’t like me, and you need a wife people love!”

“I need a wife that I love,” he said firmly, no longer joking at all. “That is all I have ever needed, and that is all I will have. Nobody else is marrying you, Claire. I am.” He huffed and shifted his weight. “Will you come over here, cara mia? I need to hold you or touch you or something, I’m about to go mad and open my eyes or something.”

I got up and came over to him, adjusting my skirts. “I’m right here,” I told him, taking his hand.

He brought it to his lips at once, kissing each knuckle and then reaching out to stroke my cheek, his eyes still closed. “Marry me, Claire. I don’t know how to have my dreams without you, and whatever I accomplish or don’t accomplish in my life, all that matters is that you are by my side.”

I swallowed hard and arched up to kiss him, making sure to keep it gentle, though he took my chin and added more emphasis than I would have done.

“I love you,” I whispered.

He smiled, kissing my brow. “Ti amo, fatina. I’ll see you at the altar.”

I nodded, though he wouldn’t see it. “Yes, you will.”

He squeezed my hand tightly. “Promise?”

“Promessa,” I replied.

He groaned and gave me another hard kiss. “I love it when you speak Italian.”

I laughed and pushed him away. “You’ll hear plenty of it later so long as you go!”

He kissed my hand quickly and felt his way to the door, then turned back once it was open. “I’ll be waiting, Tesoro. Don’t be long.”

He blew me a kiss, then was gone.

I turned back to the mirror with a heavy breath, my heart racing.

The wedding was on. I couldn’t refuse Salvatore anything, and today seemed a poor time to start.

I touched up my makeup, as my lipstick had gotten smudged, and tried for a smile. It felt forced and looked pained.

Well, it would have to do.

Thalia and Rosalia popped back in, looking beautiful and radiant in their one-shoulder gowns. “Ready, bella sposa?” Rosalia asked. “Your sister is anxious.”

I snorted softly. “Olivia is getting married next year, she can be anxious on her own time. But yes, I am ready.”

I turned from the mirror and followed them out.

The music started, and I took my father’s arm, letting him lead me down the aisle.

As soon as I saw Salvatore, my smile… my real smile… made an appearance, and my heart and every other part of me sang a brilliant chorus. His eyes lit up at the sight of me, and his smile made me want to run at him full speed, despite our setting and audience.

He knew, I could see it, and he winked, which only sped my heart up more.

I loved him with all my heart and then some. His was the song my heart sang, and I couldn’t imagine my future with anyone else.

He knew that, too, and his eyes shimmered with a tender light as I approached.

This was forever, I decided then and there. No matter what happened, no matter what we faced or what anybody said, this was it. I would never let him go, and he would love me with the same passion twenty years from now that he did today. We were going to do this, and we were going to last.

Forever. With him.

That was now my dream.

I could barely breathe as my father placed my hand in Salvatore’s, as we turned to face the priest, and the ceremony started.

But when the time came, my voice was clear and precise: “I will.”

And I did.