A Wish and a Wedding (18 page)

Her chest lifted and fell with the quiet dragging in of her breath. She leaned into him, whispered in his ear. “The antechamber…after the ceremony.”

His heart soared and his rebel body, anticipating the reunion, went into overdrive. He adjusted his ducal cape so his excitement wouldn't become public knowledge. “I'll count the minutes,
eros mou
,” he whispered in her ear, touching the pearly skin with his mouth.

She shivered, made a tiny sound—and he moved on at last, satisfied, to greet Toby, waiting for him with twinkling eyes.

“Sander, my almost cousin,” the gentle giant murmured with wicked humour. “Making assignations with your lady in the palace? Ah, those were the days. It makes me feel nostalgic.”

Sander grinned and shook hands with the commoner turned Grand Duke and Prince after his marriage to Lia. Everyone knew of Lia and Toby's unorthodox courtship in the secret passageways of the Malascos palace, right under the nose of the autocratic old King, who'd wanted Lia to marry Max, the Grand Duke of Falcandis. Old King Angelis, confined to his room now, had totally forgotten his former dislike of the Australian firefighter turned Grand Duke. He adored Toby, loved the baby son born two months before, and firmly believed he'd manipulated events to make the marriage possible.

The minutes moved like snails as the ceremony droned on and on. An hour became two, while Taki, Maria and Stavros revelled in their new positions and Mari smiled like the Sphinx, gracious, mysterious—accepting what she couldn't change, but not seeming to share her family's shining happiness.

Not for the first time Sander felt doubt creep into his heart. He'd believed she loved him, hoped she truly wanted life with him. What if he'd been wrong? What if she still missed her free, anonymous life in Australia? Her family title now made that life almost impossible for her—and he'd been the first to suggest Taki's elevation. In making her worthy of him, he'd ripped her life, her choice, from her.

He barely made it through the four hours of the reception without his hungry gaze following her around the room. He couldn't remember what he'd eaten or drunk, what he'd said to his dinner partners. He could barely remember if they'd been old or young, male or female. All he'd known were the moments
she'd
stopped at his table, talked to him: precious seconds that had ticked by too fast.

Now the time had come. Watching, he saw her turn her gaze to him; her head tipped and she vanished into the crowd.

Moments later he made his way to the door at the other side of the room, walked down the deserted hall and back into the reception room and slipped inside the door of the private antechamber.

He closed the door behind him, ignoring the rich appointments in the gold-and-white room, the Persian rug and Chippendale desk. He drank in the sight of her, shoes kicked off and swinging in her hand. Ah,
that
was his girl, his Mari, and he was alone with her at last…

Her head, lowered at first, lifted and turned to him. “Don't,” she said softly, before he could smile or whisper her name with the hunger he couldn't restrain. “We need to talk, and I can't think when we touch.”

Her honesty robbed him of breath or thought. He nodded, and waited.

“You said you'd give me space, but your manipulation went on—the roses, the title for Dad,” she said quietly, looking him in the eyes. “You still haven't given me free choice.”

Pain and guilt pierced him. “I know.” Hoarse words, honest admission. “I thought I was helping to make your decision easier.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Make it easier for me to choose you, you mean,” she replied, with weary anger. “I lost my life. I lost my job. Mum and Dad sold the house. And—I've changed. I'm not who I was a year ago. You've left me nothing to go home to.”

“Is it so bad here?” he asked, his throat ripping as if broken glass had lodged there.

Her sad glance tore through his heart. “You don't know how big the choice is for me. You're not only the Duke now—you'd be Ambassador to the United Nations but for me, wouldn't you?”

Taken aback, he stared at her. “Only in the sense that you made me see that ignoring my duty was as wrong for me as it was for my people. I turned the position down because I had enough to do.”

“How can I believe that?” she cried.

“I might have manipulated events around you, withheld the truth from you at the start, but I've never lied to you. I didn't want the position,” he said quietly.

She dropped the shoes and snapped, “How would I know? All I know is since I came into your life you've given up an exalted position. How can I not think that it's because of me—that I'm holding you back?”

“I did it for the right reasons, Mari,” he said, through a tight jaw. “I'm tied to my land, my people—but I don't think that's your deepest problem. Your problem is with yourself.”

“I'm a commoner,” she said slowly, her nostrils flared.

“Not any more.”

“You can't change what I am.” Her face hardened. “
Lady
is a word, Lysander. All I am is a commoner, with a word tacked on in front of my name.”

“As am I—and Lia and Charlie. It's all any of us are. I'd have thought Charlie, Lia and Toby's experience would have taught you that.”

She stared at him. “Nothing will change my upbringing. I'm a commoner. You're a blue-blood.”

“My mother said you were blinding yourself to who I really am.” Impatiently he grabbed at a letter-opener from the exquisite Chippendale desk behind him and pierced his thumb. “What colour is that?” he snarled, pointing at the droplet of blood welling from the cut. “If it was
blue,
I'd be dead.”

Mari sighed and shook her head.

“The problem was never the title, was it?” he asked, a vast sadness filling him. “I've done all I can to prove to you that we're not so far apart as you think, but in the end it's down to you. When did you first feel you weren't as good as anyone else? When did you start to believe that no matter what you did you were replaceable, unworthy of love and a happy life?”

In her sweet eyes there was honest bewilderment. “It isn't that, Lysander. I want to be loved, to be married—but I miss my life at home. I miss Australia, and the freedom to be me, to
make mistakes without being watched. If I marry you, I'll never have it back. How could we visit
my
life, the life I still love and will always miss?”

The grey mists filling him suddenly parted as he understood. “The same way the Crown Prince and Princess of Denmark do. They didn't build themselves a palace in Tasmania, did they? They stay with her family and eat at the local pubs, visit her old haunts.”

“With the press there with them all the way,” she sighed.

He nodded and shrugged. “I'm sorry, Mari, but that's a fact of life for you for the rest of your life—no matter who you marry. You're the King's cousin. But you can either run from it—pretend it doesn't exist, as I did with my life—or you make it work for you, as Frederik and Mary do, by making everyone love you. The press love Mary's origins, and the fact that she's never tried to be anyone but herself.” Slowly, he added, “As they love Charlie, Lia and Toby. The ordinary royals—the fairy tale come to life. The people and the press lap it up, because it makes the nobility human.” One step, two; he lifted a hand, and as if mesmerised Mari took it in hers, bringing it to her lips, kissing his skin with tender hunger. So long since she'd been so close, so loving… The thrill of joy that always came at her touch ran through his whole body. “The people love your family, Mari,” he muttered, husky with his need for her. “And they love you for all you do for the country—always giving, without asking for anything in return. Has anyone mentioned your origins to you when you help the country? Has anyone said you don't deserve your title, or that you're not good enough for me?”

Mari frowned. “No, of course they haven't. I'm the King's cousin.”

Her palm-kisses were making him crazy to have more. Impatient with her lack of self-worth, he retorted, “It has nothing to do with Charlie. They love you for who you are—just as they love your whole family. The whole country knows by now that I want to marry you, yet there hasn't been one word
of dissent. They're all waiting for the announcement, to join in the celebrations. You're my duchess already, in everyone's eyes but your own.”

Still kissing his palm and fingers, she glanced up, startled. Rethinking her life. He waited for her to readjust.

“Lysander,” she whispered, clinging to his hand. “Is that true?”

He understood what she hadn't asked. “My mother's waiting outside with the family ring,
eros mou
—the Persolis engagement ring. She adores you, and can't wait to welcome you to the family.” When she didn't answer, but stood there dazed, he wound his fingers through hers. “Can I ask her in?”

Mari bit her lip, trying to dampen the hope that leaped into her eyes.

It was time to give her a tiny push. “All I have to do is call her phone once.”

A breath shivered out of her. She frowned again. “Lysander…I don't know…”

It was his turn to lift her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm, her fingers, with lingering, loving sweetness as he said the words he'd fought against for months. He had to say them now, for her sake, because he truly loved her and wanted her to be happy.

“Tell me you don't love me, Mari. Look in my eyes and tell me you don't love me, that I'm not worth the life changes you'd have to make for me, and I'll make it all go away. You'll have your quiet life back in Australia. I'll never see you again.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and he held his breath, counting the moments. Did she love him as he loved her? Had he gambled her life on an empty premise?

Then, finally, she spoke. “I adore you,” she whispered, “but if you ever manipulate me like that again I'll have to kill you.”

With a shout of happiness, Sander snatched her into his arms and kissed her, hard and hungry. “I won't have to,” he murmured between kisses. “You think I don't know you're going to arrange the rest of my life?” he added with a wicked grin.

She laughed and snuggled in to him. “Did you really have to rope in all my relatives, as well as the Diplomatic Corps?”

He chuckled and kissed her hair. “What can I say? You're a strong-minded woman. It only took over a hundred against one for an entire year before you finally gave in.” He lifted her chin, making her look at him. “Say it, Mari.”

She didn't pretend to misunderstand. “I love you, Lysander. I'll marry you, have your children…and, yes, I probably
will
run the rest of your life,” she added, eyes twinkling with happy self-knowledge.

“My mother will be very relieved to know that,” he said solemnly, his eyes dancing.

“Your mother
is
very relieved.” An amused voice came from the doorway. “I beg your pardon, but I've been waiting for you both to notice me these past few minutes.”

Mari ran to the Duchess. “Kat,” she whispered, and hugged her.

Kat held her tenderly. “Good girl. I'm glad you didn't make it easy for him. Lysander needs a real woman with strong principles. You chose well, Lysander.” She smiled at her son, then turned back to Mari. “Now you really have become my daughter.”

“Thank you,” she whispered into the floral-scented embrace.

“No, I thank
you
, darling girl. Thank you for making this past year worthwhile, for becoming the Duchess he needs before you said yes.” The old Duchess smiled at her. “That's what you were doing the past year, wasn't it—taking royal lessons as your cousins did, making sure you could sustain the life and the pressures that would come with being Lysander's wife?”

Startled by her insight, at her ripping aside all the other issues to find her core insecurity, Mari nodded and flicked a glance at Lysander. The pride and love in his smile turned her insides to honey-mush. Glad as she was for such a loving mother-in-law, she couldn't wait…

“What am I thinking?” the Duchess laughed, and hugged her again. “A newly engaged couple want to be alone, and I keep talking. Here you are, son.” She pressed a small box into
Lysander's hand. “I'll keep your secret for exactly an hour. If you're not out and announcing your engagement by then, expect the room to be invaded.”

She closed the door behind her; Lysander gave her
that
smile, and Mari ran into his arms. “Fifty-nine minutes of kissing,” she murmured. He laughed and set the alarm on his watch, and neither said anything more—for exactly fifty-nine minutes.

The Summer Palace, four months later

I
T WAS
enough to make her believe in fairy tales…but this was
her
happy ending…

“Are you happy,
eros mou
?” Magnificent in a dark tuxedo, Lysander put his arm around her waist as they stood on the balcony usually reserved for royalty only. The intense interest of the people and press in the Duke and new Ambassador (he'd eventually decided to take the posting, at Mari's urging) and his commoner Duchess—already gaining the respect of the diplomatic world with her caring and her need to help—had led to this unprecedented move.

“I don't think I could possibly be any happier.” Mari stood beside her husband of one hour in a wedding gown made by Europe's foremost new designer, emeralds and diamonds at ears, throat, wrists and fingers. They were on the balcony where she'd watched her cousins greet their people. Now she was the one waving and throwing flowers down to the smiling, cheering crowd, and she knew they were her people too.

She, Mari Mitsialos, was a duchess, an ambassador's wife—but though both those things were important, they paled beside the core truth: she was going to be beside the man she loved for life.

The past four months had taught her how true it was: titles
didn't make people; people either made a title or lowered it. She'd worked hard—learning diplomatic language, meeting the people of Persolis and discovering their needs. She was still learning how to be a duchess from Kat, but she'd had the intense satisfaction of seeing her parents and her mother-in-law having fun meeting in the middle of their different lives. And though she and Lysander were both busy, they made time for each other every day, working in and around each other's schedule. She'd learned to treasure a brief glance, a moment's touch of hands—but for the next month, on the royal island, they'd just be a couple in love, and finally alone…

“Mari! Mari!” the people chanted, throwing roses to her. One made it high enough; Lysander caught it and, with a loving smile, handed it to his bride. She kissed the crimson bloom and laid it against her heart. The cheers deafened her; the popping of flashes grew more intense.

“You know what they want—exactly what I want,” Lysander murmured, pride and love in his voice; and, in the joy overflowing from a heart bursting with happiness, she laid the rose on the balcony and turned into his arms.

As they kissed the roar of the crowd grew, and then went quiet—or maybe it was just that she couldn't hear anything, see or feel anything but Lysander. Duke or Ambassador, he was just Lysander to her—the man she adored—and she was his bride, his wife.

She was truly blessed.