Raul's Bought Bride

Chapter 7

The following weeks melted away in a blur of anticipation until, almost imperceptibly, the moment arrived: Amanda's wedding day. The grand cathedral pulsed with life, each ornate detail bathed in the glow of countless candles and shimmering chandeliers. Outside, television crews from every corner of the globe—except for Zahara's own—lined the bustling streets, their cameras eager to capture the royal wedding of the century, a spectacle that promised history.

A soft knock announced the arrival of a maid, who glided in gracefully, carrying a tray laden with delicate biscuits and a freshly squeezed cup of orange juice. The tangy aroma of citrus awakened Amanda to the undeniable truth: she was nurturing life within her. The careful omission of coffee or alcohol from her diet spoke silently of the double responsibility she now bore.

"His Highness wanted me to bring you a small snack before the ceremony. We must make sure you're in the best of health," the maid said with a gentle smile, her eyes kind but guarded, as if aware of every unspoken secret.

Amanda's laughter bubbled up—a soft chuckle that seemed to blend with the ambient music of the day. Ever since the moment it was revealed that she was carrying Raul's heir, he had taken meticulous steps to ensure her well-being, sparing no effort to provide comfort and care during this transformative time. Yet, beneath the surface of gratitude, Amanda's spirit ignited with a quiet defiance.

"You can tell His Highness that I can take care of myself—that I didn't need him then, and certainly don't need him now to cater to my every whim," she remarked with a playful yet firm lilt in her voice.

The maid's eyes widened in surprise at Amanda's forthright words, a reaction not surprising given how quickly the news of her pregnancy had spread like wildfire. Wherever she went in those early, vulnerable weeks, congratulations and whispers of destiny trailed in her wake.

But as the day unfolded, Amanda's thoughts wandered to a future she was not entirely ready to embrace. The tender promise of motherhood lay on the horizon, a beacon for her to forego the reckless pursuit of freedom for the sake of her unborn child. She could not imagine depriving her baby of its father—a thought too cruel to entertain. In her heart, she remained gentle and kind, even as the world pressed expectations upon her.

An hour later, Amanda stood before a lavish golden mirror, transfixed by the reflection of a woman transformed. Draped in regal jewels once the cherished legacy of Raul's family, each sparkling stone seemed to whisper of history and responsibility. She felt like an imposter, yet she also realized that to become a queen, she would need to embrace the cascade of gifts, both tangible and intangible, now bestowed upon her.

"His Highness wanted me to give you this," announced a maid, extending a pristine white sheet of paper that glowed under the cathedral's soft light.

As Amanda delicately unfolded the paper, a shiver of fear mixed with anticipation coursed through her. It wasn't solely the weight of the future that frightened her—Raul did too. Growing up without a father, she had yearned for a nurturing presence for her future child. Her eyes lingered on the neatly folded note, and her heart echoed the intimate promise written within:

"I want today to be special, not just for the baby, but for you. I'm waiting until the moment you are in my arms."

Her breath caught; each word rekindled a spark of longing and hope. It was as if Raul's thoughts, even from afar, reached out to soothe her solitary fears. For a few precious moments, she believed that this union might be the answer to her unspoken prayers.

The grand cathedral doors swung open, and through them, a red velvet carpet unfurled like a royal river toward her. There, at the far end, stood Raul—his gaze locked onto her with an intensity that stoked both adoration and a palpable sense of possession. All around, the crowd watched in hushed reverence as cameras captured every emotional nuance of the ceremony. In that moment, Amanda felt a stirring readiness to step into her new role as queen and, more profoundly, as his wife.

The walk down the crimson carpet was a surreal tapestry of fleeting seconds, each step punctuated by the rapid thump of her heart. The warm smile of the priest embraced her as he beckoned her onward, his hands guiding her toward the sanctuary of the waiting altar.

Glancing down at the exquisite ring on her finger—a symbol of destiny and commitment—Amanda felt the gravity of transformation settle over her. She was now the queen of Zahara, Raul's chosen consort, a beacon of leadership and grace. Although it all might have seemed like a lavish dream, as long as Raul remained at her side, she believed there was nothing they couldn't achieve together.

Raul's gaze held hers for a long, measured moment, silently acknowledging the tremors of fear that she tried so hard to conceal. Seizing her delicate hand, he pressed a gentle kiss upon her palm, an affirmation of both tenderness and shared destiny.

Though his mind was already swirling with the plans for an evening filled with dignified introductions, sumptuous dinners, and, eventually, a wedding night charged with secret desires, Raul knew that a brief liberation was necessary. He longed for the intimacy of a secluded moment later—where Amanda would be stripped of all her royal adornments and laid bare, pleading for his kiss—but for now, duty called, commanding them to usher their guests through the night.

Time raced toward midnight as the celebration blazed on. Across the grand hall, Raul remained vigilant, his eyes never straying far from Amanda's graceful movements. The fluttering of butterflies in her stomach timed perfectly with the moment when guests began to depart, leaving the newlyweds with an exquisite slice of privacy.

But even in this tender interlude, shadows emerged in the form of biting words. "You're the new wife, I see, but you don't look like anything beautiful to me," snarled a venomous voice from behind.

Amanda spun around, her annoyance evident. She knew too well the sting of hatred and envy; those old burdens had been left behind in her past. She had forged her own path, moving far from the stifling confines of her parents' expectations to earn her own life, however imperfect it might be.

"Yes, and you're the most obnoxious person here, Josephine. Why don't you go find someone else to torture?" she retorted coolly, distancing herself from the woman whose sole purpose seemed to be casting aside joy and confidence.

Before Amanda could relish her victory, another voice cut through the charged atmosphere. "Amanda, you may have found your prince charming, but just wait. While you're on bed rest, Raul will be bedding me," drawled Stephanie, her voice slicing through the room with malicious glee.

A fire sparked within Amanda as she leaned close, her whisper a smooth yet fierce warning. "You're a slut, Josephine. You may have every man's fleeting desire between your thighs, but don't—and I mean don't—try to make a move on Raul." The words, edged with both venom and determination, rippled into the charged silence.

"I am queen," Amanda hissed, her voice low and dangerous, "and that means I have the power to rid myself of you!" With that, she turned, striding purposefully into the gathering chaos in search of her husband, each step echoing the certainty of her royal resolve.