Page 111 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 1-4
He hadn’t been here himself in the run-up to the wedding but his staff had been on hand to help and money had been no object. Poppy supposed she had better get used to the message he was sending loud and clear—he would be available only for the absolute minimum of interaction.
Steeling herself for what lay ahead, Poppy drew herself up straight and said, ‘You’d better tell Clotilde and her team to come back in and finish getting me ready.’
As the glam team filed back in and started fussing around her, putting the tiara on her head and attaching the veil, something glinted in the reflection of the mirror and she lifted her hand to look at the antique diamond engagement ring. Caius had had his people send over a selection of rings from the Sadat Sur Mer vaults and she’d chosen this one. Something about it had called to her, in its simplicity. A circular diamond in a square platinum setting with tiny emeralds on each side.
She dropped her hand. So much for a romantic proposal. They couldn’t be more removed from that. Poppy put her hand over the still discreet bump. Her belly seemed to be growing daily and she knew that she would do anything for the baby within. Her son or daughter would not know the awful rejection she’d faced just because of her sex.
She would do better and she vowed that Caius would do his bit too. At least with a guarantee of a minimum of five years of marriage, their son or daughter would have both parents in their life for the formative years. She pushed aside the voice that reminded her she’d had both her parents until she was six, not that it had proven all that beneficial in the end.
She tried to ignore the memory of the hurt she’d felt when Caius had made it apparent he wanted to marry for only a year. He’d eventually compromised. He couldn’t have made it more clear that he would prefer to be dragged over hot coals than marry her.
As the veil was arranged over her face, obscuring the room around her, Poppy thought to herself that now all she had to do was navigate the next five years living with a man who resented her. Maybe even hated her. Not a problem. She’d done it her whole life with her father. Another few years would be nothing.
‘Ready?’ It was Stephen’s voice.
No,Poppy thought, suddenly dreading seeing Caius’s stony expression, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t be weak or show any vulnerability. That was why she was here in this situation and that was how you got hurt.
‘I’m ready.’
Chapter Four
CAIUS STOOD ATthe altar in his ceremonial wedding suit complete with royal sash and medals. He felt all the eyes on him, avidly watching this prince who’d fallen from grace. Cameras strategically positioned were the portals for God knew how many more around the world.
Of some comfort was his sister, Cassie, in one of the first pews. She’d been crowned Queen of Sadat Sur Mer some weeks ago but familiar guilt and shame rose up within Caius—even though he knew rationally he wasn’t to blame for his mother’s reckless affair, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for the accident of his birth, that he wasn’t a full-blooded Mansur. The old wound of feeling as though he had nothing of substance to offer because he’d been born purely to fulfil a role had been compounded by helplessly having to watch Cassie take on a burden she shouldn’t have ever had to face.
Caius pushed his introspection aside.
Of course no one believed this union was a real match. And they’d believe it even less when the press annoucement was made about the pregnancy. They’d mutually agreed to do that after the wedding.
The stiff engagement photo that had been taken in Central Park the day after Poppy had dropped her pregnancy bombshell had spoken multitudes. For once Caius had been unable to get over the shock of the pregnancy for long enough to appear charming, his go-to response to pretty much everything.
Even his sister had commented dryly, ‘You look like a deer in the headlights. Maybe it’s because you’re not used to being photographed with women in bright daylight, sober and fully dressed.’
The fact that Caius had still wanted Poppy after exposing himself spectacularly by telling her he wanted to pick up where they’d left off when clearly she’d had no intention of that had contributed to his overall lack of ability to find his usual level of charm.
He gritted his jaw. Not the memory he needed right now as he waited for this farce to begin. He felt as if he’d been standing at the top of the aisle for aeons. Was Princess Poppy going to stand him up? For a moment, his first reaction wasn’t one of relief and that irritated him intensely.
Because he truly resented being in this situation. He’d been born to fulfil a role, born to two parents who’d barely tolerated each other. Then he’d been spat out as soon as it had become apparent his blood wasn’t pure, only to now be pulled back into that orbit. An orbit that had deemed him unsuitable.
His friend and best man—Ares Drakos, Cassie’s fiancé—bent his head towards Caius now and said, ‘She’s here.’
A little electric tremor went up Caius’s spine as the crowd hushed and the organ started to play. He felt an overwhelming urge to turn but fought it.
They hadn’t seen each other since that morning in Central Park and their respective teams had organised everything in the meantime. Maybe when he saw her now he would feel nothing?
But he couldn’t deny the sense of anticipation, a prickling under his skin. Fatefully, the fact that no other women had appealed to him since that night in Paris pointed towards her still having an effect on him, and, for a man who’d never expected to actually want his bride beyond doing his royal duty, it was a terrifying prospect.
He scowled at himself. Was he so institutionalised that he’d instinctively sought out a royal mate by sleeping with Poppy that night?
The back of his neck prickled now. He found it was impossible to keep looking away. He slowly turned around to see Poppy moving slowly down the aisle, on her own. He hated the fact that he found her coming to him alone was somehow significant. And made himfeelsomething uncomfortable. Empathy. Sympathy.
He sucked in a breath as she came closer. She was encased in white lace, no, not white, a kind of off-white. With a high neck and voluminous satin skirts. The sleeves ended at her elbows.
She wore a sparkling tiara, peeping out from under the veil that obscured her face at the front and trailed behind her at the back.
Her waist looked tiny. He imagined spanning it with his hand. The red of her hair was vibrant enough to be visible under the veil. And as she drew closer, he saw only the faintest indication of her pregnancy, the faintest bulge of her belly under the lace and satin. Bizarrely, Caius felt an urge to reach out and put his hand to her there and curled his hand to a fist to negate it.
Did he imagine it or did he see Poppy’s green eyes flicker down to that movement before looking up again?
