The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

he suspected you, she reminded herself. He told you that himself. So he did not trust you at all.

      ‘I just don’t know what to do!’ she whispered.

      ‘Well, stop crying, for a start! Just calm down and take a deep breath.’ Lulu’s face was very fierce. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’

      ‘But what if it’s the end of my marriage?’ questioned Millie shakily.

      Lulu’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would that bother you?’

      Millie scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers. ‘Of course it would bother me!’

      ‘Because you like being Queen?’

      ‘No, you idiot—because I love him! How dare you suggest a thing like that?’

      Lulu went quiet for a moment. ‘Well, thank God for that. I just had to be sure, that’s all. Sure you knew what you were fighting for.’

      Millie turned her head to look at the rainwashed lawn. ‘Maybe Gianferro doesn’t want to be fought for. Maybe he’s decided that it’s over.’

      ‘You’re going to give in that easily? Whatever happened to the Millie who would never give up? Who got back on her horse again and again—no matter how many times she had fallen off?’

      Millie listened to Lulu in silence and realised that her sister was right. That even if he had decided he didn’t want her any more, she had to give it another chance. She had to. She would fight with every fibre of her being if that was what it took.

      ‘I’m going to have to go back to Mardivino and sort it out,’ she said slowly. ‘Because he’s certainly showing no sign of coming to England to find me.’

      Lulu raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, come on!’ she chided. ‘How can he? What? Hop on a plane and arrive here unannounced? He’s the King, Millie—and kings just don’t do that kind of thing!’

      He could, Millie thought—could have done it if he had wanted to. Because he had the power at his fingertips to do almost anything he wanted. The point was that he didn’t want to—and who on earth could blame him?

      She felt the cold, curling fingers of pain clamping themselves around her heart, but to stay in a state of confused ignorance would never help her heart to heal. Her marriage might be over, and the sooner she learned the truth about it, the better. And Lulu was right…Why should she give up when nothing in the world had ever been so worth fighting for as this man was?

      Millie had travelled on a scheduled flight, but after a week in England with no word at all from Gianferro she was feeling tired and vulnerable. She couldn’t face the thought of returning to Mardivino by the same route—with the VIP representatives fussing and hovering round her at the airport, the inevitable lurking paparazzo photographer lurking around to snatch a photo of the young Queen.

      She had not anticipated how greedy the press would be for images of her—or how carefully she would need to plan her wardrobe for travelling. One hint of a loose-fitting top and it would be announced to the world that she was pregnant. Millie bit her lip. How ironic.

      She phoned the Palace, but Gianferro and Alesso were not there.

      Eventually Millie got through to Alesso on his cell-phone. ‘Is Gianferro there?’ she asked him quietly.

      ‘He is touring the new hospital.’

      ‘I see. Well, I want to come home…’ For a second she was aware that she no longer considered England as her home—it should have been a small victory of her newly married life, but it tasted bitterly of defeat. ‘Can you arrange for the King’s flight to be sent for me, Alesso?’

      ‘Yes, of course, Your Majesty.’

      ‘And Alesso? Will you tell him I rang?’ she said quietly and then her voice softened. ‘And that I shall see him tomorrow evening.’

      ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

      While Millie’s lady-in-waiting packed for her, she and Lulu wandered down to the stables, and as they stood looking down at a brand-new foal Millie was overcome with a powerful wave of nostalgia for how things used to be—when life had seemed a whole lot simpler.

      ‘Do you miss England?’ asked Lulu suddenly, when they had walked back through the fields, splashing through the boggy puddles in their Wellington boots. The sun had emerged from behind a cloud and its brightness was drying all the leaves on the branches, like washing hung on a line.

      Millie closed her eyes and breathed in the very Englishness of the air. Her senses could transport her back to other times and other places, and never more so than now, when her senses were so keenly alert. But nothing did stay the same—it might look the same on the outside, but the people who flitted in and out were growing and changing all the time. ‘Sometimes.’

      ‘But not the weather?’ joked Lulu.

      ‘No, not the weather.’ Millie smiled.

      ‘What, then?’

      ‘Oh, the freedom. Yes, the freedom, mainly—being able to do what you want without consulting a diary or a secretary. Being able to wander off without men in bulky jackets never being very far away from you. But that’s life as a Royal—and I knew that when I married Gianferro.’

      But in a way she had known it only on a purely intellectual level—she had been unprepared for the reality of almost complete loss of freedom. She had floundered in her new life, like a little squirming fish thrown into a mighty swirling ocean. And instead of turning to her husband for help and support she had pushed him away—driven a wedge between them with her stubbornness and the secret she had nursed.

      Was it too late to try and get close to him again?

      The private jet skated onto the runway at Solajoya airport the following day and Millie stared out of the window, hoping and praying for the sight of her husband come to meet her—but there was no sign of him.

      Not even Alesso was there—just a couple of officials who Millie did not know terribly well. She had not wanted a fuss, but she had expected some kind of welcome—no matter how lukewarm. But this felt like…like what? As if she was being marginalised? As if a very definite message was being sent out to her?

      Her feelings of insecurity grew all the way to the Palace, and once there things were no better, for there was no sign of the King. No note. Nothing.

      Nothing.

      Millie kicked the shoes off her aching feet and looked around the empty suite of rooms. Nor were there any flowers on the tables. The shutters were drawn as if nobody lived there any more, and she moved forward to open them so that golden sunlight poured like honey into the room, leaving her dazzled and confused as she turned to her dresser.

      ‘Has there been any word on when the King might return, Flavia?’

      ‘No, Your Majesty.’

      She picked up the phone. Gianferro was not answering his mobile, but then he rarely did. It was Alesso that she got through to. As usual.

      ‘You had a good flight, Your Majesty?’ he enquired.

      ‘Yes, yes,’ answered Millie impatiently. ‘Where are you?’

      ‘In Soloroca—it is the anniversary of the opening of the Juan Lopez Gallery, remember?’

      ‘Is Gianferro not there with you?’

      ‘Unfortunately, no. He has taken the Spanish officials sailing.’

      Millie scowled at her reflection in the mirror. ‘And what time is he expected back at the Palace tonight?’

      There was an almost infinitesimal pause. ‘There is a reception which is not scheduled to end until late, Your Majesty. The King gave the instruction that he may be delayed and that you are not to wait up for him.’

      There were a million things she wanted to say, but she could not. Alesso knew