Playing the Royal Game

He and his bride would bring fresh ways to Santina.

The wait was interminable, and despite brave words to his brother, he did wonder if she’d change her mind, if at the last minute she would leave him standing. But then he heard the shift in the music, the excited chatter build in the church behind him, and then a shuffle as the congregation rose. He did not turn around; instead he stared ahead and the moment he had dreaded for the whole of his life was here. Except as he heard the congregation hush, the gnaw in his gut that should have tightened seemed to fade, the ache and the void seemed to fill....

He remembered the day he had met her; the loneliness that had twisted him as he’d sat in the club had been replaced by the first honest conversation he had ever had—how an afternoon with her had made the world seem right.

And he closed his eyes for he could not fathom it.

Then he opened them again, and the thought was the same.

At eight minutes past two as she started to walk towards him, Alex fell in love with his bride.

Had loved her all along, Alex realised as he turned around to see her, spent his days trying not to think of her, trying not to admit what he had thought impossible for him.

And he expected pain in her face and for her to be shaking and full of nerves—except she was smiling, a little pale, holding Bobby’s arm tightly as she walked towards him, but she was walking with eyes wide open and her head held high.

His mind was playing a trick on him.

Aware of the cameras on him, aware at a wedding like this there could be no surprises, that till the formalities ended late into the night this was duty, he was, as always, supremely composed as he faced her.

And every camera that was trained for a reaction saw his slow smile, saw him look away and then back again. He continued to stare, a dust of colour on his neck spreading to his ears, for surely every one could see—for, if he squinted a little, if he left her just a little out of focus, it could almost be their engagement night. She could almost be walking towards him in her nightgown, for the lace draped her body, seeped into chiffon on her arms and around midthigh, the chiffon seeming to fade on her legs and arms. It was Santina lace, and a secret smile played on her face as his thoroughly modern bride walked towards him. Allegra was back and his heart twisted with love and pride as she joined him and peered up at him from beneath her fringe.

‘Allegra...’ He could feel the cameras on him. He wanted to say it here, but the priest was already talking, the first hymn being sung and time was galloping along. It killed that she’d marry him without knowing that he loved her.

It did not kill her to stand there.

She stared at her groom and said her words clearly.

She would love him till death, she said, for it was true, even if sooner they must part.

Then she looked down, not shy but just deep inside herself, because she could not look him in the eyes as he lied—and did he have to say his vows so clearly, did he have to not waver, to sound so convincing? She felt his hand tighten and she looked up, saw those liquid brown eyes and their intensity; he was a fine actor, for she was the only one in the room who knew the truth.

There was no moment to talk, for each one had been meticulously taken care of. There were photos on the steps of the church and one tiny unscheduled moment when Allegra stepped towards the crowd, throwing her bouquet into the people, returning the flowers that they had given her—the little blooms that she’d carried home after her jaunts into the town, the little petals that had brightened so many lonely days.

Then they were whisked away to the palace, formal photos where the Jacksons stood with wide smiles and the Santinas just a touch more reserved, perhaps in nervous anticipation of the party tonight!

The photographer was respectful but this was his moment and he was damned if he didn’t get the perfect shot. But the king was distracted, his wife beaming by his side, and then later at the bridal breakfast, utterly and completely radiant, he’d heard her laughing, a laugh that was unfamiliar, a laugh that maybe he’d missed.

It was hell for Alex, standing there, holding her, smiling with her, knowing she was lonely, knowing the truth he had to share.

They were in the horse carriage, heading back to the palace.