Clarissa and Gabrielle—Clarissa’s sister-in-law—were now flitting about doing Alonzo’s last-minute bidding. He’d already sent Phoebe and Jade, the other two in the Fabulous Five brigade, on errands. Though they were his queen and princesses, in those wedding preparations, he ruled supreme.
Everything around the castle and the town below now echoed the themes of Glory’s dress and accessories. Everything was swathed in glorious white, gold and a whole range of vivid blues. Vincenzo had already told her that she was made of Castaldini’s hues, her hair of its soil, her skin of its sunlight, and her eyes of its skies.
“You do look like a princess, darling.”
Glory looked at her mother in the Andalusian-style full-length mirror before shifting her gaze to stare at her reflection. She had to admit her mother was right.
So clothes did make the woman. This dress made her feel like a different person. The person a dozen designers had turned her into as she’d stood for endless hours for them to mold this creation on her.
During the stages of its creation, she hadn’t imagined how it would look finished. She’d last seen it when it had yet to be embroidered. The end product was astounding.
In sweeping gradations of brilliant blues on a base of crisp white, it looked like something made in another realm, from materials and colors that defied the laws of nature. Its fitted, off-the-shoulder bodice with a heart-shaped plunging neckline accentuated her curves and swells to beyond perfection, nipping her waist to a size she hadn’t believed achievable—and without a breath-stealing corset.
Her one request had been that the dress not have a mushrooming skirt. But it was only when Clarissa had backed up her request that the designers had backed down. On hearing that they hadn’t taken her request as a command, Vincenzo had fired them and gotten new ones who’d been doing everything she said before she finished saying it.
Now the dress had a skirt that molded to her hips before flaring gently in layers of chiffon, tulle and lace overlaying a base of silk. The whole dress was adorned in thousands of sequins and diamonds that echoed the colors of her jewelry, in patterns that swept around her body and down the dress and formed the crest of Vincenzo’s province, where he was the lord.
Alonzo finished adjusting the layered veil from the back of her high chignon, then the tiara just behind her coiffed bangs, while Amelia hooked her twenty-foot train.
As they all pulled back to exclaim over her perfection, her mother neared, tears running down her thin cheeks. “Oh, darling, I can’t tell you how happy…how happy…”
A surge of poignancy threatened to fill Glory’s eyes, too, as her mother choked. She blinked it back. The last thing she wanted was to go to Vincenzo with swollen eyes and reddened nose. But there was something in her mother’s eyes that gripped her heart in anxiety. Something dark and regretful.
Gathering herself, her mother continued, “I’m so happy I lived to see this day, to see you with the man who loves you and who will protect you for the rest of your life.”
Alarm detonated in Glory’s chest. Had her mother had a relapse and not told her? She’d always said the worst thing about having cancer was how it pained Glory and disrupted her life as she’d dropped everything and rushed to her side.
Before she could blurt out her worries, a burst of music shook the chamber.
“Ferruccio has brought out the whole royal brass orchestra to your door, Glory.” Clarissa chuckled at her astonishment. “It’s a royal tradition in all huge occasions, playing the anthem to herald the beginning of ceremonies. And Vincenzo getting married is certainly huge.”
Another wave of anxiety drenched her. This was really happening. She had to walk out now and marry Vincenzo in a legendary ceremony in front of thousands of people.
She turned away from everyone, inhaling a steadying breath as she faced herself in the mirror one last time. She wondered if everyone saw what she saw. A woman lost in love but resigned that love would remain lost to her forever?
No, they didn’t. Everyone behaved as if they had no doubt this was a match made in heaven, and made forever.
Alonzo touched her shoulder gently. “Are you ready for your groom?”
She wasn’t ready. For anything. Yet she was ready for nothing else, ready for everything. She nodded.
Alonzo rushed to the table where he’d arranged the blown-glass bottles filled with the aromatic oils he’d rubbed on her pulse points as Castaldinian custom dictated. He picked up one of the oils and also took the crystal pitcher filled with the rose water he’d given her earlier to drink as another part of the ritual before rushing to open the door.
Her heart clanged, expecting to see Vincenzo. The father giving the bride away wasn’t done in Vincenzo’s province, thankfully. Instead, the groom came to take his bride from among her family and friends, to claim her as his, and take her from her old life to the new one with him.
Everything inside her stilled as she stared at the empty doorway. Vincenzo wasn’t there, and Alonzo was pouring water in his hand and sprinkling it across her doorstep carefully, once, twice, three times.
“That’s to ward away evil spirits that might try to enter with your groom and conspire to come between you later,” Gabrielle explained, a red-haired beauty whom the matron-of-honor dress suited best, with her eyes reflecting its sapphire and cerulean colors. She grinned sheepishly at Glory’s wide-eyed stare. “I’ve been investigating the myriad provincial traditions around here. I’m thinking of writing a book.”
“You should,” Clarissa exclaimed. “You’d be even more of a national treasure if you do!”
Amelia, who was having the time of her life rubbing shoulders with a posse of princesses, chuckled. “Make it a royal decree that she must, Clarissa. With all the fascinating stuff Alonzo introduced us to during the preparations, I can’t wait to read that book. I want to adopt all of those traditions in my own wedding!”
Glory barely heard their banter, all her senses focused on the threshold as Alonzo stood to one side, pumping his chest in deference and pride and called out, “Avanti, Principe.”
And Vincenzo appeared.
His gaze slammed into hers, compacting the dozens of feet between them, making her feel him against her, his breath hovering a gasp away from her inflamed flesh.
Air vanished from the world. Fire flooded her limbs.
And that was before she really looked at him.
Her heart emptied its beats in a mad rush.