Marrying for his Royal Heir by Clare Connelly

Author:Clare Connelly [Connelly, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-10-03T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Given the conservative nature of Ishala, Evie was surprised by the gown Anita arrived clutching on Friday afternoon. It wasn’t revealing, exactly, but the cut of it hugged Evie like a second-skin, leaving very little to the imagination. The colour was a pale cream, but it was nothing like a bridal gown. It was cut high at the neck, and at least a hundred pearls served as buttons, clipping the gown together from the nape of her hair to the swelling of her bottom. The sleeves were firm on her arms all the way to her wrists, where delicate lace clipped over her thumb and forefinger, acting as a very delicate sort of glove.

To the knees, it was firm, but then it flared – only by the smallest degrees, to make walking possible – though not exactly comfortable. The same could be said of the shoes, which were constructed from the supplest leather Evie had ever touched. They slid onto her feet as though they’d been made for her, and the heel was high, but widened enough at the bottom to make them passably comfortable.

“Isn’t it a little early to be getting dressed?” She asked Anita at four o’clock, as the last buttons were clipped into place.

“Non.”

Evie could only laugh. “But this party doesn’t start until nine o’clock.”

“But you still have the hair, and the make up, and then some photographs.”

“Photographs?” Her eyes flew to Anita’s in the mirror.

“You were not told? Yes. Vogue Ishala is to do a piece on you.”

“Vogue?” Evie’s face blanched. “Oh, Anita. That’s not right. I’m not … even remotely glamorous.”

“You will be when I am done,” Anita murmured with complete confidence. And though she did little of the handiwork herself, every brush stroke and hair wave of the hairdresser and makeup artist seemed coordinated by the glamorous fashionista.

It took forever – or at least it felt that way to Evie. But, by eight o’clock, when the photographer and journalist were ushered into the room, Evie was the absolute picture of a princess. Her hair had been styled into an elaborate chignon with tiny little plaits that all led to the crown of her head. And yes, there was a crown, too, filled with an embarrassment of shimmering gems. It was heavy, but far too incredible to complain about wearing. The largest gem was a shimmering pink – it sent rainbows of colour kaleidoscoping around the room when she moved. A necklace had been designed to match – the stone set at its centre was almost as large, and surrounded by diamonds.

“What is this?” She whispered to Anita, fingering the pendant anxiously.

“Pink diamond.” Anita tapped the gem in the middle of the crown. “And here, too. Seventy-one carats in the headpiece and this one is almost thirty.”

Evie’s eyes were enormous. “I don’t know a thing about diamonds but those numbers sound big.”

Anita laughed. “Just don’t lose either, darling.”

“I don’t intend to.” She swallowed, beginning to feel like a walking bank vault.

She posed for the

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