The Dreaming Of... Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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likely.
Her hand drooped. Thankfully, they were going through a long archway that connected San Domenica to the palace, where the wedding banquet was being held.
‘Are you all right?’
Her breath huffed out before she could stop it. ‘I’m an ex-juvenile delinquent who’s just been crowned Princess of one of the most influential kingdoms in the world. I’m very, very far from all right.’
She startled as he picked up her free hand and placed it on his thigh. ‘You’ve overcome the adversities thrust at you many times before. You’ll rise to the challenge this time, too.’
Her limbs weakened and, against her better judgement, hope sprang in her chest. It bloomed when he picked up her hand and kissed the back of it.
The roar vibrated against the glass, and she became painfully aware of the reason for the gesture. Pain slammed into her. She couldn’t pull away, not without thousands of eyes witnessing the withdrawal.
She kept the smile on her face until she feared her jaw would crack. ‘So the honeymoon is over even before the ink has dried on the marriage certificate?’ she demanded waspishly.
His eyes gleamed. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that ours hasn’t been a straightforward route to the altar.’
If it hadn’t been for the baby, they wouldn’t have found themselves in front of an altar at all. ‘No. I guess not.’
His lips pursed, an infinitesimal motion no one else would’ve caught. But she saw it.
‘Can I suggest, however, that we make the best of it?’
When his gaze dropped to her stomach, and an intense emotion passed over his face, Jasmine’s world greyed further.
‘Of course.’
She tried to breathe, but there was little room in her wedding dress for such frivolities. The lace-and-satin gown cupped her breast and torso and dropped to flare in a long dress and train. Isabella had called every fashion house in Europe and had started a bidding war on who would design the Crown Princess’s wedding gown. The two-day deadline hadn’t daunted even one of them.
Jasmine had finally settled on a Milanese couturier who’d worked magic with fabric right before her eyes. The material was heavy without being oppressive and the lace provided her with means of keeping cool in the hot Santo Sierran sun.
Now her crown was a different story. It weighed a ton, decorated as it was with ninety-nine diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
She touched it, felt the sharp bumps of precious gems beneath her fingers, and hysterical laughter bubbled from her throat. ‘Is it true the crown designer stopped at ninety-nine because the palace decreed at the time that a hundred was too ostentatious?’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘You’ve been learning Santo Sierra history.’
‘I thought I should, seeing as I have no choice now.’
His smile dimmed. ‘Sí, we all have our crosses to bear.’
* * *
The wedding banquet carried on much like the wedding. Except where several priests muttered homilies, Jasmine had to sit through several speeches from well-wishers from around the world.
Numerous toasts were also raised in honour of the absent king, whom she’d met for the first time that morning.
So very like his son in stature, but with a defeated look in his eyes that made him seem...less. He’d haltingly given them their blessing before his medication had kicked in again.
She’d watched Reyes kiss his father’s forehead with tears trapped in her throat. The love between father and son had been palpable, and Jasmine could just imagine what the turbulent period had done to them.
The clear love in his eyes when he gazed down at his father had given her a little more hope. Hope that was very quickly dwindling as the distance between them grew with each hour.
She smiled for a solid hour. Then smiled some more. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any more. They’d finished with the formalities and those guests who wished it were getting into the dancing session of the evening.
Jasmine rose.
‘I’m going to bed.’
Reyes glanced up from where he’d been in deep conversation with one of his advisors. Rising, too, he tucked her arm through his.
‘I’ll escort you.’
She shook her head. ‘You don’t need to—’
‘Sí, I do.’ The implacable dominance behind the words shut her up.
As they mounted the stairs her heart began to flutter.
Everything had gone at such a fast and furious pace, she hadn’t thought to the wedding night.
Liar.
She’d thought of nothing but the wedding night since she woke this morning, and terrified herself with different scenarios, most of which had ended with her going to bed alone.
Now, as she walked beside Reyes...her husband...she allowed herself to believe everything would be all right.
They reached their door and he raised her hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it. ‘I’ve arranged for two of the servants to help you with your gown. Sleep well, querida.’
One month later...
JASMINE WAS EXHAUSTED. Her feet ached and a headache throbbed behind her left ear. Relaxing in the air-conditioned car that was taking her back to the palace, she massaged her nape.
The four hours she’d been scheduled to teach her mediation class at Santo Sierra’s municipal college had stretched to six. Not because her students were dying to learn everything she could teach them about mediation.
No. She’d been delayed because her young students had been fascinated about what it was like to be Queen.
Hysteria rose in her chest. She’d been Crown Princess for a pathetically short time before the King’s sudden decline in health and subsequent death had propelled Reyes onto the throne and her into being Queen.
Beyond that, nothing had changed in her world. Jasmine had wanted to rip the rose-coloured glasses from her students’ eyes. Tell them to find and settle for unconditional love and nothing else.
They wouldn’t have believed her, though, even if she’d managed to utter the words. They all believed she’d captured the world’s most eligible man and brought him to his knees after a whirlwind romance. Just as she, Reyes and his councillors had planned in San Estrela what felt like a lifetime ago.
What they didn’t know was that she hadn’t seen her husband for two weeks and she hadn’t shared his bed since the night they’d spent at the wedding-cake house.
He’d spent the days leading up to his father’s death in a vigil by King Carlos’s bed with Isabella. Jasmine had berated herself for feeling left out.
Then, after the King’s passing, they’d had to deal with the arduous protocol of the coronation. Reyes had accepted his duties as King with gravity and pride, but the result had been an even greater distance between them as he’d dived headlong into securing economic ties he’d fought so hard for.
Jasmine understood the duties that being King demanded. And yet she couldn’t help but think her husband was using them as a perfect excuse to stay away from her.
She had woken up one night two weeks ago to find him in bed with her, his hand spread over her flat belly. Choking back tears, she’d placed her hand over his and gone back to sleep, her heart lifting with the hope