Page 3 of Royal Darling
I swallow hard, my heart thundering in my chest. Do I dare break from the royal tradition I eagerly agreed to? To call a halt after all this planning? After Abdul has waited nine long years for me?
She whispers fiercely, “This is your life not your mother’s.” I don’t like her talking about my mother like she controls me. I love my mother.
I yank my arm from her grasp. “Do not speak of this again.”
She sighs but remains quiet. We reach the stairs, where Gabriel and Abdul are waiting at the bottom. Gabriel’s eyes light up in anticipation of her arrival. Abdul gives me a small close-lipped smile, and I reciprocate.
We begin the descent to our respective men. She whispers under her breath, “The car will remain waiting for you any time you need it.”
“I won’t need it,” I whisper back.
She smiles at Gabriel and speaks under her breath. “You’re as stubborn as Gabriel.”
I smile too. “Thank you.”
Then I take my place with my groom.
“You look beautiful,” he says, as he’s said every time he sees me.
“Thank you,” I say modestly, eyes downcast.
“Shall we go?”
“Yes, of course.”
He doesn’t offer his arm or take my hand, merely walks by my side as we make the long trek toward the chapel at the end of the west wing. Behind us, Gabriel, Anna, and Abdul’s entourage of family members and servants follow at a sedate pace.
“I’m looking forward to showing you around Kainei,” Abdul says. “I’m sure you’ll feel quite at home, though it is a great deal hotter than here.”
“I also look forward to it,” I reply.
We continue on in silence, my mind skipping ahead, trying to imagine my new life. The picture won’t come into view, my mind a blank. I focus on Abdul instead. Will he be pleased or disappointed in his new bride? Will he take a mistress after I produce the expected heir for his kingdom? I would like a child. The rest is uncertain. For so long I imagined my time as a bride as a magical romantic experience, imagined my future groom as quite taken with me. It’s time to drop the fantasy.
I take one step into the gorgeous chapel with its soaring ceiling and abundance of gold trim and hand-painted stucco and go cold all over. The once welcoming space with its familiar marble statues, three silver pipe organs, hand-carved pews, and the long beautiful aisle with the red runner suddenly feels stifling. My breathing accelerates as the walls close in on me. Anna has gotten in my head, making my already frayed nerves even worse.
I refuse to look at her, refuse to look at my groom. I focus entirely on the minister at the end of the aisle and make my way forward woodenly, one foot in front of the other.
I make it through the rehearsal in a dignified, composed fashion.
I keep up my part of polite conversation through the rehearsal dinner, excusing myself early to prepare for bed. The strain of the day catches up to me, and I’m asleep within minutes.
The next day I wake refreshed and ready to begin the rest of my life. It was simply cold feet. Of course I can do this. It will be lovely.
I dress with the help of several maids and my younger sister, Silvia. My mother doesn’t make an appearance, saying she can only handle going to the ceremony. I push down the hurt. She will see me doing my duty, as she did, and this will make her proud.
I step in front of the full-length mirror and take in me as a bride. It’s suddenly so real. My hair is swept into an updo, the veil perched on top, my expression pinched. I attempt to relax my expression, but it’s not possible. My breathing is shallow, my hands clammy, as I take in the dress I was once so excited about. It’s very traditional, white silk with an overlay of lace up to my neck and down the long sleeves. It cinches at the waist, which is the top of a full fluffy bell shape made up of layers of tulle. The gown pools over my feet because it’s meant to be worn with heels and I’m still in my slippers. I pull the veil over my face to get the full effect, and the world dims, the happy chatter of the women behind me drowned out by the buzzing in my ears. I go numb. I’m floating above it all, watching from a great distance, the princess bride about to be married.
“You look beautiful, ma’am,” Lina says, appearing by my side. “Theperfectbride! Would you like your shoes now?”
Perfect princess. Perfect bride.
I jolt back to reality, my gut churning, a restless surge of energy rushing down my legs. I whirl. “Excuse me, I need a moment to myself.”
The maids rush from the room, and my sister, Silvia, blows me a kiss before heading out. I pull the veil back from my face and decide a walk is in order. I’m not expected in the chapel for an hour.
I lift my gown and head down the long hallway before taking a circuitous route to the ballroom, working to avoid where Abdul and his family are staying. If I could just see the reception area, imagine myself there as a happy bride celebrating my marriage, then all will be well.
Thankfully, the ballroom is empty. It’s lovely as always with its glossy inlaid wooden floors, crystal chandeliers, frescoed ceiling paintings, and gold-leaf wallpaper. I can imagine the musicians over there and the dancing in the center, likely a waltz, elegant and regal. Long tables line one side of the room, set up with chafing dishes, and on the other side is a long table with a gargantuan tiered wedding cake in the center. I move as if in a dream, drawn to that wedding cake with the porcelain couple on top under an arch of tiny white flowers.
