A Touch of Notoriety - By Carole Mortimer Page 0,64
very much.’
‘And I love you, too, my Beth,’ he answered gruffly before his lips at last claimed hers.
And a long, long time later Raphael did ask her to marry him, and she said yes...
* * *
All of the Navarro and Cordoba families attended the wedding three months later.
Beth walked down the aisle on Carlos’s arm, and behind her walked her sister, Grace, as matron of honour, and beside her was Raphael’s sister Rosa, as bridesmaid. Esther sat on one side of the aisle, and beamed proudly at the same time as the tears of happiness streamed unashamedly down her cheeks. And on the other side of the aisle sat Raphael Cordoba senior, Raphael’s father, his dark eyes gleaming with pride for his son, and affection for the woman he already loved like another daughter.
When Beth emerged from the church an hour later on Raphael’s arm she was no longer Beth Lawrence, or Beth Blake, or even Gabriela Navarro, but Beth Cordoba, wife of Raphael Cordoba, the man she loved, and would continue to love with all of her heart for the rest of her life, and the man who vowed he would love and cherish her with that same total commitment for the rest of his life.
She was, and always would be, Beth, Raphael Cordoba’s wife.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Beholden to the Throne by Carol Marinelli
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CHAPTER ONE
‘SHEIKH King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.’
Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?’
‘He is ready for you now,’ Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy’s lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.
‘They’re just having their dinner...’ Amy started, but didn’t bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters’ routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy’s heart.
What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.
Well, Amy would see about that!
The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife’s death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.
‘I will look after the twins and give them dinner,’ Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.’ She ran disapproving eyes over Amy’s pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn’t been in to visit his daughters for weeks.
Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their lipstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how,