The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

       EPILOGUE

      MILLIE learned the hard way that babies were not something that could be ordered up—like strawberries on a summer menu.

      She and Gianferro had a year to themselves before they ceremonially threw her Pills away while he wiped her tears of regret with soft and healing kisses. A year of exploring and learning about each other, learning how to live as husband and wife. And how to love. But that bit came more easily than either of them had expected—especially where Gianferro was concerned. It was as though, having given himself permission, he entered into loving with the true zeal of the convert. Passion had always come easily to him, and so now did love.

      Millie was having formal language lessons, and she got her husband to speak to her in French and Spanish, and Alesso in Italian, and gradually she was picking up a smattering of all three.

      It helped that she had nephews and nieces who were fluent in all the languages spoken on Mardivino—and she had made a big effort to befriend their mothers. Their slight diffidence towards her had quickly worn off, and once they’d seen that she wasn’t just going through the motions of friendship Ella and Lucy had welcomed her into their families with open arms. And for the first time since he had been a little boy Gianferro had begun to get to know his two brothers properly.

      In fact, everything was absolutely perfect except on the baby front—because nothing had happened. After months of trying, she still wasn’t pregnant, and Millie didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t dare ask anyone else about their experiences—not even her sisters-in-law—because she didn’t want anyone else to know. It was too big a deal for everyone concerned. She wasn’t like other women. Once she went to the doctor it would be on record, and then…

      But what if…?

      ‘Why are you frowning so?’ Gianferro asked one night, as they were getting dressed for dinner.

      Millie had once made a vow to herself that she would not shirk responsibility, but she was unprepared for the pain of voicing these fears—and even more concerned about the possible consequences if they happened to be true.

      ‘I’m not pregnant,’ she said.

      ‘I’d rather guessed that.’

      Her head shot up. ‘How?’ And then she saw the silent laughter in his black eyes, and blushed. ‘Gianferro—it’s not funny—what if…what if…?’

      ‘What if you can’t have a baby?’

      ‘Well, yes!’ She put her hairbrush down with trembling fingers. ‘You’ll have to divorce me!’

      ‘Millie, stop it,’ he said gently.

      ‘But you will!’

      ‘How long has it been now?’

      ‘Nearly four months!’ she wailed, and to her fury he burst out laughing. ‘Don’t!’

      ‘Come here,’ he said tenderly. ‘What does that book you’ve got say?’

      Millie sniffed. She hadn’t realised he’d noticed her reading it. ‘Not to worry until it’s been at least a year.’

      ‘Or not to worry at all, more like it,’ he said sternly.

      ‘Why aren’t you worried about it?’ Millie questioned.

      ‘What if I told you that I was having too good a time just the way things are?’ he said simply.

      ‘Are you?’ she asked softly, in delight.

      ‘Yes, cara. I am. Now, come over here and have a look at the designs for the statue.’

      She walked over to him and leaned over his shoulder, looking down at the plans. ‘Oh, Gianferro,’ she breathed. ‘It looks beautiful.’

      ‘Doesn’t it?’ he agreed, with a smile of satisfaction.

      All three brothers had decided that it was high time that their mother should have a monument erected in her honour, and a prestigious Mardivinian sculptor had been given the precious commission. It was to stand just outside the capital, in stunning landscaped gardens with a small lake and tinkling fountain. It would be a place where families could picnic and children could play, and lovers could lie and look at the rare trees and shrubs.

      The statue was unveiled six months later, on a beautiful, sunny spring day, and Millie sat with her sisters-in-law—their faces all soppy with pride and love as they watched their three dark husbands bow before the marble image of their mother.

      Prince Nicolo. The Daredevil Prince.

      Prince Guido. The Playboy Prince.

      And King Gianferro. The Mighty.

      As the three men walked towards their wives Ella laid a hand on Millie’s arm, her face concerned.

      ‘Are you all right, Millie?’ she questioned anxiously. ‘You look awfully pale today.’

      Millie shook her head, and then wished she hadn’t as a wave of nausea hit her. ‘No, I’m just feeling a bit…under the weather,’ she said weakly as a shadow fell over her. She looked up with relief when she saw it was her husband.

      ‘You’re not sick, are you?’

      Millie met Gianferro’s eyes, which were filled with love, as they always were, and some new emotion, too.

      Pride.

      She raised her eyebrows at him in question.

      ‘No, Ella,’ he said softly. ‘The Queen is not ill.’ Tenderly, he touched his hand to her blonde hair and smiled. ‘Shall I tell them, cara, or will you?’