Royally Claimed

chapter 13

“JULIA, YOU HAVE MAIL.” A peculiar tone in her mother’s voice made her get up from the couch where she was pretending to read an old mystery novel she’d found in the island’s English bookstore. No more romances for her, novel or otherwise.

It had been two weeks since she had seen Frank. Julia had returned to her parents’ apartment in São Miguel, and they had very kindly not barraged her with questions about what she’d been up to while they were gone. The neighbors had surely filled them in. She’d caught her parents giving her concerned looks, but she’d been careful to cry quietly at night or to just let the tears run down her cheeks while in the shower.

Frank was back at his fazenda on the mainland. She missed him terribly. He hadn’t told her he was leaving. A much-improved Senhor de Sousa had said the Duke had stopped at the hospital to wish him well before he returned to the mainland.

The Duke hadn’t stopped to wish Julia well. She’d caused enough turmoil in his life—again—that he probably just wanted to get the hell away from her. She really needed to get her head on straight.

And she was supposed to be back in Boston in another week or so—back to the craziness of the emergency room and the boredom of single life.

“What is it?” She padded into the kitchen and saw her mother holding a large ivory envelope.

“For you. The return address says, ‘His Majesty Crown Prince Giorgio of Vinciguerra.’”

Her dad got up from his chair to peer at the envelope through his wire-rimmed reading glasses. “No street address, though. I suppose when you rule a whole country, people know where to send your mail.”

“Why would the Crown Prince of Vinciguerra send you mail?” Her mother held on to the packet with a death grip as she practically fondled the expensive paper.

“Let her open it, Evelyn, and then we’ll all know the answer to that question.”

Julia didn’t want to take the envelope. Prince Giorgio was Frank’s best friend and the brother of the bride. It sure wasn’t an invitation to a royal wedding shower. She couldn’t even afford a cloth napkin off that bridal registry.

Dad tugged it out of Mother’s hands and passed it to her. “Open it before your poor mom passes out from curiosity.”

Julia slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a smaller, but no less exquisite envelope, this one addressed in beautiful calligraphy to “Miss Julia Cooper.”

Inside was an invitation to the wedding of the decade, Princess Stefania to the star German soccer player Dieter Thalberg. And Julia had painted their honeymoon bedroom a nice relaxing taupe color. They could thank her later.

She handed the invitation to her mother, who gasped as she read. “How on earth did you get invited? Have you ever met any of these people?”

“Evelyn, it’s because of that Portuguese boy. The one who turned out to be some upperclass dilettante.”

“Frank is not a dilettante. He is well-educated and a hard worker,” she told her father more sharply than she intended.

He gave her a satisfied half-smile, as if she had confirmed some hypothesis he’d been mulling.

She glared at him for tripping her up.

“Julia, you should go,” her mother announced. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, something you can tell your children about.”

Fat chance of her ever having children. She didn’t even want to look at another man who wasn’t Frank.

“Don’t be silly,” her father scoffed. “Julia, at a royal wedding?”

The women both rounded on him. “What does that mean?” Julia demanded.

“Come on, now. We’re regular people. They’re royalty. All those fancy outfits and us in our T-shirts and shorts. Julia would probably curtsey to the butler—they have several apiece, you know.”

Her mother was turning the color of a pomegranate. “Bob, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You act as if we’re some know-nothings who eat cold pork and beans straight from the can. That we think toilet water swirls around in a bowl. In all your years in the Air Force, did we ever embarrass you at formal functions? Did you ever see me with my skirt tucked into the back of my pantyhose or with my finger up my nose?”

“Now, Evelyn…” He held up his hands in placation.

“Good going, Dad,” she muttered. Of all the things to bait her mother with—her mother came from a poor family and had worked hard to learn proper etiquette for all situations.

“Don’t you ‘now, Evelyn’ me!” She waggled her finger at him. “Julia is going to this royal wedding and she will know exactly how to behave and you—you are treating her to a fabulous dress.”

“But what if I don’t want to go? I have to get back to Boston,” she complained, sounding like a whiny teenager. She was just starting to come to terms with the idea of not seeing Frank again, and now her mother was tossing her at him.

Her mother put her hands on her hips. “Julia, you can just call up the hospital and tell them you’re not ready to come back. You’re still having headaches and you toss and turn at night.”

She didn’t realize her mother knew that. “I’m just tired,” she said feebly.

“A good reason to delay your return to work. After all, you deserve a medal for being wounded in the line of duty. Your spot is as good as reserved,” Dad informed her. The twinkle in his eye made her wonder if he had purposely goaded both of them.

“And you’re paying for her plane ticket!” Mother announced. “And mine, too, because she and I are going shopping—in London.”



JULIA CLUTCHED HER INVITATION as she stood in the guest line at the massive Vinciguerran cathedral. The facade was a warm ivory color with a huge stained glass circular window over the wide doors. A spire climbed upward, and Julia could see tiny figures moving around in its bell tower. They were probably preparing to ring the bells after the ceremony.

Most of the guests around her were obviously the rich and wealthy from all over Europe. But there were a few regular people like her wearing wide-eyed expressions of excitement mixed with terror at being so far out of their usual setting. She wondered if they were friends of the family or maybe former nannies or teachers.

Julia didn’t feel any more comfortable, but at least she looked the part. Her mother had taken her to Harrod’s and several other boutiques in London to find just the right outfit. She had fallen in love with a peach-colored hat with a slightly rounded crown and turned up brim. For decoration, it had a lighter-peach satin ribbon band and satin roses on one side. They had found a matching peach-colored suit with a low-cut V-neck and a skirt that hit right above her knees. Her mother had suggested in front of the saleslady that Julia might want to wear a lace camisole underneath, but had received such a look of horror from the clerk that she had immediately dropped the idea.

Julia wasn’t interested in covering anything up. She wanted to rub Frank’s nose in what he was missing. The peach color made her lightly tanned complexion glow and aside from feeling desperately miserable at not being with him, she looked great.

She was next in line, and got wanded by the security guard, her purse searched and discreetly sniffed by the police dog. Once that was done, she was directed to the cathedral entrance.

She climbed the white marble steps and blinked as she entered the church. Once her eyes adjusted to the lower light, her jaw dropped. Fairy-tale wedding didn’t even come close—this was heavenly. The altar was pure ivory marble with large golden candelabras. Big swags of cream and yellow roses draped over every available surface, with smaller bundles of blooms attached to each pew.

“Bride or groom?” Julia looked up into the face of a Germanic god—not Odin, one that had both his eyes. This guy was blond, blue-eyed perfection and didn’t even make her stomach quiver one teensy bit. She sighed and told him she was there for the bride. He checked her name and his eyes widened.

He extended his arm and she took the impressive appendage. Again, nothing. She didn’t even wonder about any other appendages he might have as they walked down the aisle.

She hummed the bridal march under her breath and he gave her a mischievous look.

“Ah, the march from Lohengrin.”

“Good job.” Of course, he would know Wagner’s greatest operatic hits.

“I’ll see you at the reception?” His blue gaze traveled to her un-camisoled neckline.

“Me and nineteen hundred other people.” She was just weary, too weary to even flirt with Handsome Hans.

He stopped at a pew close to the front and ushered her in. “Until then.”

“Thank you.” She sank into the gold cushioned seat next to a middle-aged couple that was practically quivering with joy. “Exciting day, isn’t it?” It was time to get over herself and stop being such a hermit.

“But of course!” the man said. He was wearing what looked like a brand-new suit, his plump, pretty wife in a beautiful dress that had to be of French design. “We ’ave known the bride since she was small. I am Jean-Claude and this is my wife Marthe-Louise. How do you know Stefania?”

“I’m, um, actually a friend of Frank. The bride’s Portuguese friend.”

He translated for his wife, who’d suddenly become quite animated. “My wife, she says François is a wonderful man and is a brother to Stefania, her brother Giorgio and our own Jacques.”

“Frank, George and Jack,” Julia murmured to herself.

“Ah, oui!” Jean-Claude let out a laugh. “And Steevee, too.”

She had been put in the family pew.

Then she saw him. He was walking down the aisle with an elderly woman wearing a tiara and perfectly draped silver silk formal gown that matched her hair.

He matched his pace to the older woman, so Julia had plenty of time to stare at him and try to keep her heart from beating out of her chest.

All the men were impeccable, but Frank was stunning. He wore what looked like a black military uniform, complete with medals and tons of gold braid. A red-and-white ribbon sash went diagonally from one broad shoulder to his opposite hip, where he wore a ceremonial sword with a jewel-crusted, cross-shaped hilt. His black hair was slicked back from his strong face and he looked solemn and serious, as befitted the occasion. But when he finally guided his charge to the front pew, she said something to him. He patted her hand and smiled, his joyous expression lighting his face.

Julia remembered that expression—saw it almost every night before she fell asleep. More and more, her nightmares were disappearing, replaced by dreams of being with Frank.

He returned to the front of the cathedral and took his place standing next to a tall, chestnut-haired man in equally elaborate regalia—probably his French friend the Count, the one with a baby on the way. She waited for the usual stab of pain, but it was only a slight twinge. Maybe she had been able to put more of that grief behind her than she thought.

A minute later, the handsome blond groom filed out from the side of the church to stand at the front of the aisle, his equally handsome blond groomsman at his side. The bishop and his assistants proceeded from the back of the altar. The bishop was regal in his pointed hat, shepherd’s crook staff and white-and-gold vestments. He murmured briefly to the groom, who gave a nervous smile.

Music boomed from the organ and a pretty blonde flower girl started down the aisle, stopping on the opposite side from the groom.

The organist shifted pedals and started the bridal march. Everyone in the cathedral turned to face the entrance. A pretty, petite brunette smiled up at her brother, Frank’s friend Giorgio. He was dark-haired and handsome, and even from the distance, Julia could tell he was fighting back powerful emotions of love and happiness for his sister.

The bride was so beautiful, Julia wanted to weep. Sure, she had a wonderful ivory-and-gold satin dress and an antique lace veil streaming down her back. But the love in her face as she saw her groom was what made her radiant. The groom was dazzled by her beauty, his eyes wide and his mouth falling slightly open before he broke into a huge grin.

Giorgio safely delivered his sister to her fiancé and kissed her on both cheeks. She cupped his face in her small hands and said something to him that made him blink rapidly and swallow hard.

He nodded and kissed her again before standing next to Frank and their friend Jack.

The wedding was long and ceremonious, with several hymns sung by the local boys’ choir and a hearty sermon from the bishop. Unfortunately, Julia didn’t understand much Italian, but she understood the parts about love and making babies. Jean-Claude grinned and elbowed his wife at that part. Everyone was obviously thrilled about that aspect, looking forward to having babies to spoil.

What if she could have a baby with Frank? Another baby with Frank, she mentally corrected. She’d done her best to push the memory of the first one, the lost one, out of her mind for the past eleven years, but she’d come to see that was futile and unnecessary. She still loved that baby, just as she had always loved Frank.

If she’d learned anything about the human mind, she’d learned it was like a closet. Oh sure, you could cram all sorts of broken and damaged things in its depths, but eventually the closet door wouldn’t close and everything would come bursting out.

She’d needed to stuff her grief into the closet in order to survive at first, but Frank had yanked open the door and insisted she clean it out. And he had grieved, too, poor Frank, with his tender heart and sweet nature.

Someone pressed a soft cloth into her hand, and Julia realized with a start that she was crying, streams of tears running down her cheeks.

The round face of Frank’s friend Marthe-Louise creased in concern as she patted her arm. She seemed to know Julia was crying for more than just a beautiful wedding.

Julia wiped at her tears with the handkerchief. Marthe-Louise wrapped a sturdy arm around Julia’s shoulders and a knot loosened under her sternum that she hadn’t realized still bound her.

She forgave Frank for not chasing to Boston after her, she forgave herself for not chasing back to New York after him, and she forgave whatever unfathomable twist of fate that had taken their baby from them and wrenched them apart.

She knew now that she had come here not just to show Frank how hot she looked in her new suit, but also to start again with him. If he still wanted her. She’d certainly been difficult, turning his well-ordered life upside-down and sideways.

The bride and groom were exchanging rings and saying their vows, and her heart twinged. Frank might not want to try again with her—if they were on a sports team like the groom, their record would be 0-2. But maybe they could do a last-minute save.

Stefania kissed her new husband and a pleased murmur ran through the crowd. The happy couple turned down the aisle amidst the traditional organ music for the bridal recessional, grinning so hard their faces must have ached.

Julia turned her attention back to Frank. He stood and adjusted his sword, slapping Giorgio and Jack on the back. Giorgio whispered something in Frank’s ear and he froze, the happy expression dropping off his face like a rock. He slowly turned and his gaze met hers across the pews. She hoped her eyes weren’t red and watery anymore.

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she knew her own expression was equally stunned. Giorgio must have kept track of who she was and what she looked like.

Jean-Claude and his wife gave Frank a happy wave. He returned it absentmindedly, and understanding dawned on their cheerful faces. “Ah, you are a surprise for François, non?” Jean-Claude asked. “A beautiful surprise for him.”

“Um, thank you.”

“Not at all.” They shook hands with her. “We see you at the reception, mademoiselle.”

Once the kind French couple filed down the aisle, Julia went the opposite direction, knowing that Frank would follow her and not wanting a big crowd watching them. A small chapel stood off to the side with a beautiful stained glass window of a golden dove in white beams of light.

Julia stared up at the window, wishing she could be so peaceful. Under better circumstances, she would love to sit here and try to relax.

She closed her eyes for a second, but knew exactly when he approached her. “Julia.”

She turned. “Frank. Nice to see you.” He was even more handsome close up, but his dark eyes were wary.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Julia.”

“You didn’t? I thought you asked the bride to invite me.” How utterly embarrassing. And she’d even been put in a pew with his good friends. “But who did invite me?”

“Oh, Stefania did invite you—but it was probably that scoundrel Benedito who asked her. I made him quite miserable the week after you left.”

“And this was your payback.” She blinked hard, trying to estimate how quickly she could leave this pretty little country and run back to Boston. But she mentally stopped herself. Hadn’t she done that once already?

“I made him miserable because I was missing you. He probably thought he was doing me a favor.”

“Oh.”

He moved closer, his sword and medals jingling. “How are your nightmares, Julia? I hate to think of you suffering. Sleep should be free of cares.”

“They’re fading gradually,” she admitted. More and more often she dreamed of him instead, but that was a different kind of suffering.

“Good. I still feel terribly guilty for not protecting you from that sort of situation.”

She exhaled impatiently. She had shopped till she dropped in London and had come across Europe for the same disagreement? “We already talked about this, Frank. I was a teenager and you were twenty. Neither one of us had a college degree and I’m sure your family on their private island and grand estates would have been thrilled to marry you off to the daughter of an American Air Force noncommissioned officer who didn’t even own a home since we moved every few years.”

“We Duartes are not in the habit of moving,” he replied. “We haven’t moved in eight hundred years.”

“Will you move now?” she asked. “If I meet you in the middle.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to mess this up any longer. I can’t stand not being with you. We survived the loneliness and pain and miraculously found each other again. What more can you ask after all these years?”

“Decades more.” He pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. He lifted his head. “I was an idiot to let you go. I could have easily found you but I thought you needed your space and you would eventually contact me again. When I didn’t hear from you for so many months, I thought the memories were too painful for you to see me, so I gave up. We could have dated through college and married soon after, but I was foolish and stubborn, refusing to take the first step toward you.”

“I was foolish and stubborn, too,” she admitted. “I lived in my shell for so many years until I was almost shattered. I had to come to the Azores to make myself whole.”

“I am not whole,” he whispered. “Ever since you left me again, I am missing part of my soul. Come to me in Portugal, Julia. Marry me. As you Americans say, the third time’s a charm.”

“What?” She stared at him with huge eyes.

He dropped to one knee, heedless of his lovely uniform. “Marry me, Julia,” he repeated. “Live with me in Portugal—make my estate a home for us. I cannot bear to be without you anymore. I love you with all my heart.”

“Frank…” she murmured, stunned that he was proposing to her again, here at someone else’s wedding. Her mother would have a fit at the breach of etiquette.

“Do you still love me, amor meu?” He kissed the back of her hand.

“I do. I never stopped loving you for the past eleven years. Why do you think I never married, never even got engaged? My heart was always yours.” She wrapped her fingers around his, shaking on her high heels.

“Then tell me yes, you will marry me. If you say no, I will crawl on my hands and knees following you around the cathedral. My sword will scratch the marble floors, my trousers will be ruined, and worst of all, my mother will berate me for acting a fool in front of all her friends.”

Julia couldn’t help giggling at the image. “Get up, Frank.” She tugged at him, realizing they were attracting some attention. “Don’t you know it’s tacky to propose to a girl at someone else’s wedding?”

He resisted her prodding easily. “Stefania will forgive me. She would be the first to cheer me on.”

He was probably right. From all he’d told her, the bride was decidedly unconventional.

“I’m going to start singing Portuguese love songs in a few seconds,” he warned her. “Three, two, one. Te amo, te adoro, você quer casar comigo…” His pleasant baritone voice echoed in the cathedral.

“Frank!” She slapped her hand over his mouth and he kissed her palm. He gave such a look of love from his sweet brown eyes that she melted. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He leapt to his feet. “Oh, Julia.” Heedless of anything or anyone around them, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

“Is that your sword or are you glad to see me?” she asked demurely.

He threw his head back and roared in laugher. “Both, of course. I’ll unsheathe them for you later.”

She groaned and rested her head on his shoulder. “Are you going to wear this for our wedding?”

“All of this plus the ducal coronet. It’s family custom.”

“Like a tiara?”

He gave her a pained look. “No, not a tiara—that is for women. A narrow gold crown for a man. And you get one, too.”

“A crown?”

“A coronet belonging to the Duchesses of Aguas Santas. You’ll be the newest.”

She clutched his hand. “Your mother! Will she like me?”

“She’ll love you. Would you like to meet her? She and my sisters are probably wondering where I am.”

He’d been making more than enough noise to attract everyone’s attention. “How do I look?” She patted her hat to make sure their kiss hadn’t knocked it off. It sure knocked her socks off.

“You look like the most beautiful, the most precious, the most wonderful woman in the world,” he told her. “And it is an honor that you will be my wife.”

“The honor is mine.”

He bent to kiss her again and a flash popped. “Uh-oh. I think the cat is out of the bag.”

She giggled. “After we meet your mom, I need to call mine so she won’t find out about us in the paper first.”

“I’d loan you my phone, but I left it in my other ceremonial uniform,” he said with a wink. Then his expression deepened, a look of awe and wonder on his face. “Oh, Julia, you have made me the happiest man in the world.”

“And I’m the happiest woman in the world.”

“I will never forget our past, Julia, but from now on, we only live in the present and plan for the future.”

“Our future.” She rested her cheek against his and smiled. A golden-white beam of light shot through the stained-glass dove and shone on them as a blessing. Their past had its dark moments, but they had finally come to a brighter place together. Forever.