What next? Should she—?
At that moment the celebrant declared Eliza and Jake man and wife, and the newlyweds exchanged their first married kiss, to the accompaniment of happy sighs and cheers from their assembled family and friends. Natalia automatically turned towards the flowered arch where her friends were kissing, and watched as the couple started their march back down the grassy aisle. The bride was flaunting a neat baby bump, which was cause for great celebration.
‘Don’t you want to have children?’
Natalia’s mother, the Queen, had asked that question—for what must have been the zillionth time since Natalia had turned eighteen—as she’d reluctantly said farewell to her only daughter.
Of course she did. And she wasn’t averse to marriage. But she wasn’t going to couple up with a man she didn’t love just so she could have children and ensure further heirs to the throne. Besides, at twenty-seven she wasn’t panicking. She simply hadn’t met a man who thrilled her, either before or after the lifting of the edict that royals had to marry royals. In theory, she could now marry anyone she liked. That was if she ever fell in love.
Was it because of the men or herself that she’d never felt that giddying elation? Maybe she had to face up to the fact she wasn’t a ‘falling in love’ person. Perhaps she didn’t have it in her to trust someone enough to fall in love. Certainly there were very few examples of happy relationships in her family to inspire her.
She believed with all her heart that Tristan and Gemma’s happy marriage would last the distance, but it was an exception. Her other brother’s arranged marriage had been trumpeted as a ‘love match’, but his wife had turned out to be cold-hearted and greedy. Her selfishness had, in fact, contributed to her husband’s death. And then there were the King and Queen... As a teenager she’d been devastated to discover her parents’ marriage was a hypocritical sham.
But this wedding here in Sydney was the real deal, and it gave Natalia a skerrick of hope that true love could be found—among non-royals, anyway.
The bride shone her a special smile as she passed between the rows of white chairs set out on the lawn of the mansion. Eliza was one of the few here who knew her real identity. Eliza and Jake were friends of her brother Tristan. And Eliza and Tristan’s wife, Gemma, along with their friend Andie, who was married to the best man, Dominic, ran Sydney’s most successful party planning business, Party Queens.
Gemma now lived in Montovia and participated in the business from a distance. Her new sister-in-law had become a close friend, and Natalia had met the other two Party Queens on their visits to Montovia.
She had been thrilled to receive an invitation to Eliza and Jake’s wedding. Not just because Eliza was a friend, but also because she’d wanted to see Sydney—the place where Tristan had met his wife Gemma, the place where he had spent a glorious few weeks as an anonymous tourist. She’d wanted a rare chance to be anonymous too. To be herself. Possibly even to find herself.
After the rest of the bridal party had passed by, she looked over to the handsome stranger with bated breath, only to see an empty chair.
* * *
Finn was caught up in a swell of well-wishers, all rushing past him to congratulate the bride and groom. As they thronged around him he lost sight of the beautiful woman across the aisle. By the time he’d elbowed past the other guests he could only see the back of her head as she hugged Eliza, her long blonde hair glinting golden in the afternoon sun. Then he himself got caught up in conversation with the best man, Dominic.
Weddings tended to bring out the grouch in Finn. He was what people delighted in calling ‘an eligible bachelor’. He’d even, to his horror, been included in a well-publicised list of ‘Bachelor Millionaires’—but he was a private person and loathed being in the spotlight. A wedding seemed to bring out matchmaking efforts in even the most unlikely of his friends and acquaintances, all keen to introduce him to potential spouses in whom he had no interest whatsoever. Marriage was not on the cards for him. Not in the foreseeable future.
Thankfully, property developer Dominic wanted to talk business, not potential brides, but real estate was the last thing on Finn’s mind. He ground his teeth in frustration at the effort of being polite when all he ached to do was find an opportunity to see her again—the gorgeous sexy woman in the dark pink dress that hugged her curvaceous form. He had to see if she’d felt the same zing of attraction. That instant awareness that hadn’t struck him for a long, long time.
After Dominic went on his way Finn politely but impatiently brushed off a stranger who wanted to gush about how romantic the wedding was and headed for the veranda of the beautiful old Kirribilli house where the reception was being held. He had one thing on his mind—to find that lovely woman before some other guy did.
* * *
Where was he? Natalia searched the throng of guests, the women wearing a rainbow of dresses, the men in shades of grey and black. No hot guy.
Eliza had ridden up the makeshift aisle on a pony, and a cluster of people had gathered to admire the little mare tethered under the shade cast by the late-afternoon shadow of a towering fig tree. Hot guy wasn’t there either.
Natalia was five-foot-five in bare feet. Her stilettos gave her some height advantage over the crowd, but not enough to locate him.
She headed for the mansion where the meal was to be served. Then climbed the short flight of wide, sandstone steps to a veranda that gave a view of the garden to the harbour beyond.
From her new vantage point she scanned the throng in the garden below. Dignity, Natalia, dignity. A princess did not chase after a man—no matter how devastatingly attractive she found him.
She rested her hands lightly on the veranda railing, so any onlooker would think she had paused to admire the view of the Opera House with its white sails on the opposite shore of the harbour. Then she tensed at the sudden awareness that tingled along her spine. All her senses seemed to scream an alert.
Him.
Slowly she turned around. The hot guy stood behind her, framed by the arched sandstone windows of the mansion. Just steps away he looked even more handsome than at first glance. Sculpted cheekbones, and his eyes... Not the dark brown she had expected but lighter—hazel, perhaps. A sensuous mouth that lifted in a half smile.
He held a flute of champagne in each hand, tiny bubbles floating rapidly upwards like the excitement rising in her. He stepped forward and offered her a glass. ‘I snagged these from a waiter heading out to the garden.’
That voice! Deep, resonant, husky... The tone sent shivers through her. Her hands felt suddenly clammy with nerves. But it would be most un-princess-like behaviour to wipe them down the sides of her dress. She reached out for the flute, hoping it wouldn’t slide out of her grip. The movement brought her closer to him, so close that she caught his scent—spicy, fresh, male—so potent it caused her pulse to quicken.
She wanted to close her eyes and breathe him in. Instead she took a breath to steady herself. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘Most welcome. You’re a friend of the groom?’ he said.
How did he know that? Panic seized her voice, choking any possible reply.
‘You were on the groom’s side of the aisle,’ he prompted.
‘Yes.
