What she’d give to get out of the carriage and run for her life. Then she glanced at her father with his salt-and-pepper hair, who looked splendid despite the fact that he did move slower these days. The love in his eyes when he smiled at her helped her remember one of the reasons why she was going through with this farce of a marriage.
Her father had been living for this day for years and might be granted a longer life because she’d agreed to marry his best friend’s only son now that Alberto was gone.
“You look so beautiful in all that silk and lace, my angel daughter.”
“Thank you, Papà, but I’m not your angel.” He’d always called her that, but since the day she’d learned her parents expected her to marry Stefano, she hadn’t felt very angelic.
Through her mother, who talked constantly with Stefano’s mother, Lanza had learned Stefano planned to whisk her away for a two-week honeymoon to a secret spot in the Caribbean. She now had a wardrobe of beachwear.
Two weeks alone in paradise.
“I’m going to miss you around the palace while you’re on your honeymoon, my sweet girl.”
She wasn’t as sweet as her father thought. “I’ll miss you, too. Today you look magnificent, like the king you are. I love you and I’m sorry abou—”
“Let’s not talk about that day,” he interrupted. “We were all beside ourselves. You’ve brought me joy your whole life and it’s all in the past. Promise me you’ll forget it.”
Her eyes smarted. “If you can, then I will, too.”
But she would never forget. By agreeing to marry Stefano, all hope for personal happiness had died. Her mind kept going back to the note he’d had couriered to her.
They were definitely doing something unprecedented.
Soon the closed carriage drew up in front of the steps of the fourteenth-century cathedral. One of the footmen opened the door. She held her bouquet of white roses and stephanotis as he helped her step out, giving the press an opportunity to see her in all her wedding finery and take pictures.
Her chestnut-colored hair had been swept back and cascaded beyond her shoulders. The lace veil draped over the pearl tiara worn by her great-great-grandmother fell to her chin in front and flowed down her back to meet the hem of her gown with its long train.
Her father got out behind her and accompanied her up the steps to the roar and cheers of the thousands of people filling the streets. Lanza’s mother and sisters, along with her aunts, uncles and cousins, had already gone inside with the other dignitaries and waited in the pews. By now Prince Stefano’s entire family from Umbriano, including their future queen and her young children, would have already entered and been seated.
Once inside the doors, Lanza heard the glorious organ music and choir, catching her off guard. She took a deep breath, realizing the moment had come when she had to pledge her life to a man who’d lost a brother, hated royal life and was as unhappy as Lanza.
The wedding march sounded, alerting her this was it. Her father turned to look at her. “Are you ready?”
No...
Like an automaton, she put her free hand on his left arm, and they walked into the Romanesque nave that was packed wall to wall with the invited guests turned out in elegant dress. The fascinators worn by the women made the scene resemble a garden even though it was winter.
With each step that took her closer to the altar where the cardinal stood resplendent in red and gold robes, her legs felt less substantial. Then she saw Stefano waiting in a magnificent royal suit of navy and gold braid. Across his chest from shoulder to waist he wore the bright blue sash of his office as Prince of the Realm of Umbriano.
At the funeral she’d hardly noticed him with everyone around. They’d all been in mourning. Lanza had been in such deep shock, she hadn’t realized that over the years he’d grown taller than Alberto. Looking at him now, he probably stood six foot two and was built of rock-hard muscle.
A little closer and she gasped quietly. His burnished complexion reflected his work and travel in hot climates. Mesmerized, her gaze roved over his chiseled features set beneath dark brows and wavy black-brown hair. The boy had become a breathtaking man.
As the tabloids had claimed leading up to the marriage, he was a dashing male specimen. She suspected he had to shave twice a day and was more gorgeous than her idea of any prince in an old fairy tale.
Her heart tripped over itself. Stefano was going to be her husband. The man she would go to bed with and whose children she’d bear. She gripped her father’s arm harder and continued walking until they reached the cardinal, who put out his arms.
“Come stand in front of me.”
Stefano moved to Lanza’s side. She let go of her father’s arm and handed Donetta the flowers, then turned back to meet his dark, penetrating eyes. A thunderbolt passing through her body couldn’t have been more electrifying. Shaken by emotions new to her and an instant awareness of him, she transferred her gaze to the cardinal, who opened with some prayers, before proceeding to the marriage ceremony.
“Stefano Amadeo Piero Casale, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” he said in a deep voice Lanza felt resonate to her toes.
“Lanza Vittoria Immaculata Rossiano, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor him, keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”