There was a knock on the door and when she opened it she found a maid holding a tray with fresh fruit, rolls and steaming hot, rather unusually fragrant coffee. ‘Your breakfast, mademoiselle.’
Was this the time to announce that—despite her half-French bloodline—she actually loathed coffee and could only ever face tea first thing in the morning?
Probably not.
Not long after that maid left, another one much older one arrived, carrying a massive armful of wedding finery which she informed Angelique she would help her get into in preparation for the ceremony at ten.
‘I’m not wearing that!’ Angelique said as the maid laid out an outfit that looked more like a circus tent. A particularly beautiful circus tent, however. On closer inspection she saw there were fine threads of gold delicately woven into the fabric and hundreds of diamonds were stitched across the bodice.
‘These are the official bridal robes of the province,’ the maid said. ‘The Princess Royal was married in them in July. It is a great honour that you have been given permission to wear them.’
I can’t believe I’m doing this, Angelique thought as she stood and was wrapped in the voluminous folds. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She made a living out of wearing the minimum of fabric. Now she was being wrapped in metres of it like some sort of glittering present.
Her blood simmered.
It boiled.
How could it be possible that within a less than an hour she would be married to Remy Caffarelli?
‘Are we done?’
‘Just about.’ The maid came at her with a denser than normal veil dripping with even more diamonds and a train that was at least five metres long.
‘Oh no.’ Angelique shied away. ‘Not that.’
The maid gave her a pragmatic look. ‘Do you want to get out of here or don’t you?’
* * *
‘Are you OK with this?’ Crown Prince Talib Firas Muhtadi said to Remy as he finished his second cup of thick, rich, aromatic cardamom-scented coffee. ‘Things are really unstable right now in our province. The tribal elders are notoriously difficult to negotiate with and highly unpredictable. It’s best to do things their way just to be on the safe side. We don’t want a major uprising over an incident like this. Best to nip it in the bud and keep everyone happy.’
Remy mentally rolled his eyes as he put his cup back down on the saucer. ‘No big deal. It’s just a formality, right? It’s not like this marriage—’ he made the quotation marks with his fingers ‘—will be recognised at home.’
Talib looked at him for a long moment without speaking.
‘You’re joking, right?’ Remy said, feeling a chill roll down his spine like an ice cube. Please be joking.
‘Marriage is a very sacred institution in our culture,’ Talib said. ‘We don’t enter into it lightly, nor do we leave it unless there are very good reasons for it.’
What about total unsuitability?
Being polar opposites?
Hating each other?
‘I fought it too, Remy,’ Talib added. ‘But it’s only since I met and married Abby that I realised what I’ve been missing out on. Oh, and yes, the marriage will be considered legal in your country.’
Damn.
Double damn.
* * *
The first thought Remy had was it could be anyone under that traditional wedding dress and long veil and he would not be any the wiser. But he instantly knew it was Angelique because of the way the robes were shaking, as if her rage was barely contained within the diamond-encrusted tent of the fabric that surrounded her slim body.
And her eyes.
How could he not recognise those stormy grey-blue eyes? They flashed with undiluted loathing through the gauze of the veil as she came to stand beside him.