Phoebe’s smile was wobbly. ‘There’s one more thing I haven’t told you.’
He waited for her to speak.
‘That dream I had.’ She shuddered even now, remembering it. ‘Your mother was in it. Well, not your mother, but her voice, telling me that her deepest hope was that you would be loved. That you would understand you were worthy of love.’
In response to that he closed his eyes as though his feelings were too deep.
‘It made me realise my feelings—and how selfish I was, in not being honest with you. Your mother was right—you are so worthy of love, and as soon as I understood how much I loved you, I knew that my own fear of making a mistake like I had with Christopher wasn’t a good enough reason not to tell you how I felt.’ She shook her head. ‘It was a terrible dream, but I’m so glad I had it.’
‘A terrible dream with a happy ending,’ he agreed, placing a hand on her stomach. The babies kicked and they both smiled. The stars shone down on them and Phoebe felt a warm, perfect sense of completion. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was right where she was meant to be.
EPILOGUE
INTHEEND, they learned the truth of Phoebe’s father quite by accident. Or perhaps it was yet another example of the hand of fate exerting itself over their lives, driving them towards a future that was truly and utterly complete.
Some years after they’d reached out and grabbed their happiness with both hands, Octavio was meeting with a group of advisors and politicians. He had worked tirelessly to restore the country to a state of good government, and these men were amongst his most trusted team members. Some of them had even served in his parents’ government and parliament.
One in particular, he found he relied on quite heavily, in terms of counsel and advice, a man whose wisdom always seemed to be just what he needed to hear in the moment. But there was something else about the man that held Octavio’s attention, something familiar that he just couldn’t place. It was at the end of the meeting, when Rafael Herrera was packing up to leave, and Octavio couldn’t help but notice a certain efficiency to the man’s movement that was almost graceful. He felt a frisson of something spark in his belly.
‘Would you stay a moment?’ he asked, his voice slightly hoarse, his heart racing with the possibility…but surely it was extremely unlikely. The name was not the same, and he’d known this man for years. But perhaps Rafael might have a relation, a brother, who shared the same name as Phoebe’s father? Or perhaps hewas being fanciful; seeing ghosts out of a desperate need to help his wife. Though she was happier than he’d ever known another human to be, at times, he caught her looking into space and frowning and he’d understood where her thoughts had taken her.
‘Of course, Your Majesty.’
‘Please, call me Octavio,’ he invited, because this was going to be a very personal conversation. ‘I wanted to ask you something—something quite unusual.’
‘Anything, of course.’
He was not going to just come out and say it though. ‘Have you ever been to New Zealand, Rafael?’
The other man looked a little taken aback. ‘Is there a reason you ask, sir?’
‘You know my wife is from there.’
‘Yes, naturally.’
Octavio frowned. Rafael Herrera knew the Queen was from New Zealand and he had undoubtedly seen pictures of her. If there was a similarity between them, wouldn’t he have noticed it himself? Then again, according to Phoebe, her father had never known she’d even been conceived. It was a stretch to think he might have been able to make the connection without knowing one existed.
‘For some time, she has been looking for her biological father. All she had was his name and the fact that he was from Castilona. Once, we thought we were close—a man was found matching the physical description, name and approximate age, but he had never been to New Zealand.’
Rafael was standing very still, and Octavio’s skin lifted in goose bumps all over.
‘What is her father’s name?’ he asked with urgency.
‘Carlos Guttierez.’
‘I need—I’m—’ Rafael looked around, quite helpless. Octavio moved quickly, grabbing a seat and placing it behind the older man.
‘Sit,’ he urged.
He collapsed into the chair, dropping his face into his hands.
‘And her mother’s name?’
‘Jennifer James.’
‘Jenny,’ he whispered, groaning. ‘Dear God, Jenny.’ He looked up at Octavio, his eyes huge. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Why don’t you start at the beginning, and if it checks out, I will bring this to my wife.’
