Her wedding was the next day. Her marriage was already set in motion. She had a coin with her name minted on it, as Mateo had informed her that evening. She couldn’t walk away from this, just because the situation was a little bit messier than she’d anticipated. There was far, far more riding on this marriage than her own happiness.
And yet...it caused a pain like grief deep inside her to know that Mateo had loved another woman, loved her enough to not want to love someone else ever again. It was, she told herself, a grief she could get used to, and would ultimately have to live with, but a grief, nonetheless.
Since their confrontation in the stables, Rachel had felt a coolness between her and Mateo that definitely hadn’t been there before, and it saddened her. It was no way to start a marriage, to say vows, with this tension between them.
And yet that was how it seemed it was going to be.
She’d woken that morning to bright sunshine and pealing bells—apparently they would ring all morning, until the wedding. Rachel tried to tune them out as Francesca helped her dress, giving her understated make-up and sweeping her hair into an elegant up-do.
‘This feels crazy,’ Rachel murmured numbly as she stood in front of the mirror and gazed at the vision she beheld. ‘That can’t be me.’
‘It is,’ Francesca said with a wide smile. ‘You look utterly fabulous.’
‘All thanks to you.’
‘Not all,’ the stylist answered with a wink. ‘But I’ll take a tiny bit of credit.’
Rachel moved to the window that overlooked the front of the palace and the large square that stretched to the cathedral on the other side, already crowded with spectators even though it was still several hours until the ceremony.
Many looked as if they had set up early, with camping chairs and flasks of coffee, and others were waving flags or banners. All for her...her and Mateo.
Since coming to Kallyria, Rachel had been too busy and overwhelmed to look online and find out what the media was saying about her and Mateo, and in truth she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Now, however, as she eyed a banner that said simply True Love, she wondered.
‘Francesca,’ she asked slowly. ‘What are they saying about Mateo and me?’
The stylist, who was tidying away the many cosmetics she’d used to create Rachel’s natural look, glanced up with an arched eyebrow. ‘Hmm?’
‘What are they saying about us? Are they asking why we’re marrying?’ Rachel caught sight of a sign that read A Real-life Fairy Tale!
‘Well...’ Francesca paused as she mentally reviewed all she’d heard and read. ‘Nothing bad, if you’re worried about that. Everyone thinks it’s incredibly romantic that you’ve worked together for so long and that now he’s king Mateo wants you by his side. I mean, it is romantic, right?’
Rachel forced her lips upwards in what she suspected was a parody of a smile. ‘Right.’
‘I mean, Mateo could have chosen anyone...but he wanted you. People are saying you’re the luckiest woman in the world.’
‘Right,’ Rachel said again. She turned back to the window, not wanting Francesca t
o see the expression on her face.
The luckiest woman in the world.
Why did she not feel that way right now? Why did she feel as if she were living a lie?
A short while later, it was time to go. Francesca arranged her veil to spread out behind her as Rachel headed down the staircase to the palace’s entrance hall, for a round of official photographs.
Her cheeks ached from smiling, and the heavy satin of the dress felt as if it was weighing her down, as Rachel posed for photograph after photograph. This was what she’d agreed to, she reminded herself. She was lucky, even if she was filled with doubts right now. Mateo was a good man, a man she liked and trusted, even if love was never going to come into their particular equation. She had more, so much more, than most women of the world. She certainly wasn’t going to complain.
But her heart felt as heavy as her dress as she prepared to make her official exit from the palace, and walk alone across the crowd-packed square to the cathedral where her groom—and a thousand guests—awaited.
As the doors were flung open, the bright sunlight streamed in, making Rachel squint. Francesca’s hand was at her back, her voice a murmur in her ear.
‘Chin up, eyes straight ahead. Nod, don’t wave, in case you drop your bouquet.’
Rachel glanced down at the magnificent selection of white roses and lilies she’d been given for the photos. She gulped. ‘Okay.’
‘Walk slowly—right foot forward, feet together, and so on. It will feel a lot slower than you’re used to. Count it in your head.’
‘Okay,’ Rachel said again. She wished they’d rehearsed this part, and not just what happened in the church, but it had sounded simple when the square was empty. All she had to do was walk across it.