you all right?’ His deep voice was huskily concerned.
The disembodied question drew a sharp laugh from her. All right? So now he was concerned after throwing her into an emotional tsunami, after making her question things that she had never questioned? He had made her want what she could not have ever.
Suddenly the fight drained out of her, as she realised she would never be happy, or at least content, until she let go of that tiny grain of irrational hope that the marriage wouldn’t really happen, that there would be a last-minute reprieve.
She just had to accept it and not fight, not want more.
‘I’m fine. I’m going in. Luis is expecting me to join him.’
‘I’ll see you in.’
He was closer.
‘So suddenly you’re the perfect gentleman,’ she mocked unsteadily.
Sebastian’s eyes had adjusted to the light and her face was a pale blur, her body less distinct. The compulsion to reach for her in the darkness was so strong the effort of fighting it made him quiver like someone with a fever. ‘I deserved that, but you deserved a better proposal.’
‘Not everyone has your way with words. I suspect the only proposals you have any working knowledge of are of the indecent variety.’
‘I may not know much about duty, but you have now agreed to marry my brother so you are totally out of bounds. Even to a total sleaze like me, so you can stop looking at me like that.’
‘You don’t know how I’m looking at you.’
‘I know those big hungry eyes. Just go inside while you still can.’
She shivered, a thrill of excitement shimmering through her body at the message in his dark voice. ‘What happens if I don’t go inside?’
‘You are killing me, you know that, don’t you?’
She felt a tide of hot shame wash over her. ‘Sorry.’
‘Me too.’ He heard the swish of her dress as she turned and ran away in the darkness. ‘See you at the church, cara,’ he called softly after her.
SEBASTIAN ARRIVED AT the cathedral early. The place was empty but for a group putting the final touches to the flower arrangements that filled the massive space with the overpowering fragrance of orange blossoms.
He hated the pervasive smell but it was better than the alternative—being outside for the orgy of meet-and-greet, hand-wringing, air-kissing formality to be endured when the guests ranged from obscure European royalty to heads of state and the elite of Europe.
For one day the eyes of the world were focused on Vela Main, though not ones in helicopters. The capital had been designated a no-fly zone for the duration. The security was so extreme that he was surprised the sun got to shine without a permit. This was a day that might have looked to have been miraculously thrown together in two weeks, but in reality it had been planned in the minutest of details for the past five years. The only thing they’d needed was a date for the wedding machine to swing into action. There was a contingency plan for everything, including the possibility that the bride might have put on a hundred pounds or was six months pregnant.
The only point of friction was the presence of the television cameras. Just how much did they want to share with the world’s media? How much of an air of mystery did they want to retain? In the end a compromise had been reached—it had been decided the cameras would not be allowed to film the service itself. A small blessing considering they would film everything else.
His head lifted from his contemplation of the floor and his private reflections on the general awfulness of weddings, and this one in particular, when a side door closed behind the last of the florists.
Was it the silence or the atmosphere? He had no idea, but suddenly there was no hiding place for the thoughts that he had been running from. The ones he had refused to acknowledge.
Suddenly the thing he was running from was right there, an inescapable fact, the reason he had moved heaven and earth not to be here today, had actually invited his father’s wrath. The fact of the matter was that he could barely look at his brother without wanting to knock him down. He was jealous.
Sebastian believed all things to be transitory but that didn’t alter the fact that he wanted Sabrina. It actually went beyond wanting; it was a yearning! Hell, he had less control than he’d had as a hormonal teenager!
Was there some perversity in his DNA that made him want the things he could not have? And then, when forced to recognise it, going out of his way to prove to himself and the world that he didn’t want it?
It was a lot less painful than being told you couldn’t have something.
His wry smile was tinged with sadness as his father’s voice drifted into his head, not just the words but the intonation preserved perfectly in his memory from years ago. He’d just turned fifteen and his brother seventeen...
‘Sebastian, you will not go to the briefing next week with your brother.’
He could recall the kick-in-the-gut feeling; he had been hoping for a paternal pat on the back.
‘He will ask you and you will say no. Do you understand?’
Sebastian hadn’t understood. Luis had begged him to go with him in the first place, after the first weekly briefing he’d attended had, as he’d gloomily told his younger brother, been a nightmare. It had gone on for hours, been so boring that Luis had almost fallen asleep, but he hadn’t been able to because the senior palace officials had kept asking him what he thought.
Luis had thought it a massive waste of time.
Sebastian had loyally tagged along, expecting the worst, and it was true that some of the discussions had gone over Sebastian’s head, but the complexities discussed had not intimidated him, and he had been a lot less reticent than Luis when asked for an opinion.
His father had come into the room halfway through and sat as a silent observer. Hadn’t he seen how well he’d done?
‘These meetings are for your brother. They’re part of his training. One day he will be King, our people will look to him. He needs to stand on his own feet. Do you think he did that today?’
‘No, Father. Actually I’d prefer to play cricket anyway. Poor Luis, I expect he’d prefer that as well.’ He’d made himself believe it because lying to himself was better than envying his brother.
Well, he hadn’t been playing cricket for the last two weeks, but he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into enjoying the pleasures his brother could not. He had made a point of being photographed falling out of exclusive night spots in several time zones.
The media had loved it: headlines spoke of his debauchery; there had been two kiss-and-tell stories that he had been asked to confirm or deny. The truth was, neither of the enterprising ladies in question had made it as far as his bed, and neither had any of the other women snapped falling out of nightclubs and
