Royally Claimed

chapter 5

Fashionista Magazine: The Royal Review:

UNTIL NOW, PRINCESS Stefania has been hush-hush over many of the fashion details of her big day, but she finally told our loyal royal correspondent Countess Lily de Brissard how she’s decided to wear her hair. Long and loose or fabulous up-do? A little of both, it turns out. “I have a small face and lots of curly hair,” explained Princess Stefania. “So I plan to pull the top and sides back in a smooth do, while letting the back hang loose and curly. This way, I can have my hair out of my face but still have my natural look.”



Princess Stefania also has something very special for the “something old” category of the old wedding rhyme—“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” “I will be wearing my grandmother’s own bridal veil from her wedding more than fifty years ago. It was handmade in Belgium and is the finest, most delicate lace imaginable. They don’t make lace like that anymore, and I’m so proud to wear it in my grandmother’s honor.”



JULIA PACED THE STONE FLOOR in the apartment’s living room. As she passed the mirror over the small table, she caught sight of her hair and stopped to examine it.

What had she been thinking to get a haircut this morning? She had been walking by the small beauty salon and had impulsively gone in to see what they could do with her mop of hair.

Despite her borderline Portuguese language skills, she hadn’t accidentally told them to give her a crew cut or Mohawk. Although the ladies had tsked over the sad condition of her hair, they had done yeoman’s work to get rid of the frizzy ends and coax it into big ringlets to air dry. Since she’d always pulled her hair back into a headband or ponytail, she’d never bothered having a “day-off” hairstyle.

She tossed her head and let the curls bounce against her cheeks. The hairstylists had also done her makeup for her when she told them she had a lunch date. She looked better than she had in months. Years, more like, she told herself wryly. Graduate school and overnights in the E.R. hadn’t exactly put a bloom in her cheeks.

She turned away from the mirror and spied the clock. Frank was coming in just a few minutes. What was she supposed to bring for an afternoon on the island? A jacket, sunglasses and sunblock were easy choices. But what else? She looked down at her denim capri pants and short-sleeved coral-colored blouse with small ruffles framing the button-down center. She had strapped on black patent wedge sandals that showed off her new coral pedicure.

A knock sounded at the wooden door, and she spun toward it, then back to the mirror, then back to the door. She forced her breathing to slow and pasted a bright smile on her face, determined not to show any nerves.

Julia opened the door and greeted Frank with what she hoped was a good mix of casual friendliness. “Hello! How are you? How was the boat ride?”

Frank ignored her outstretched hand and swept her into his arms. His mouth carelessly destroyed her peach lip gloss and her hard-fought nonchalance. She quickly surrendered and eagerly clung to him, enjoying the stroke of his tongue and the pressure of his hands on her waist, his strong fingers straying deliciously close to her bottom.

He finally lifted his head. “Hello to you, too, I’m much better now that I’ve seen you and the boat ride was just fine.”

“Oh. Good.” She made herself ease away and checked her lipgloss in the mirror.

He came up behind her, his black hair touching hers in their reflection, just a shade darker than her dark brown. “I like your curls.” He wrapped one around his fingers and brought it to his face. “You smell like ripe, juicy peaches.” His expression made it clear that he liked peaches.

“Glad you like it,” she stammered. “It’s been a while since I had a trim.”

He theatrically patted his own hair. “Me, too.” He seemed to sense her nervousness and stepped away. “I’ll have to get a haircut before Stefania’s wedding. She told me I was getting shaggy the last time we web-conferenced.”

“Lots to do before a wedding. My brother’s wedding seemed more complicated than the invasion of Normandy, and I thought the mother of the bride was going to have a nervous breakdown before it was over. My own mother wasn’t far behind.”

“Oh, yes, I remember my sisters’ weddings. Fortunately I was in school for much of the preparation.” He looked around the living room. “Do you have a jacket? The wind can be cool on the water.”

She reached for a spring-green windbreaker and her tan leather handbag and locked the door behind them. Fortunately Senhor de Sousa was nowhere in sight but was probably peering out past the curtains. They walked down the hill through the town and to the docks, Frank tucking her hand into his arm as they walked.

“Watch your step,” he cautioned as they arrived at the docks. He guided her over the boards to a large launch for a rather small yacht. She was no naval expert, having a better eye for airplanes, but it looked to be perfectly adequate for traveling the fifteen or so miles to Belas Aguas.

The boat was locked up tight with no sight of Frank’s assistant. “What project is your friend Benedito working on?”

“Hopefully catching his flight back to Lisbon.” Frank stepped onto the boat first and helped her aboard.

“What?” They were alone? All alone?

“No, I didn’t try to get rid of him.” Frank smiled at her. “He said his wife had called with a medical issue and he needed to get back to the fazenda to care for her. I’m going to start the boat.” He climbed the short flight of stairs to the enclosed bridge and unlocked the door.

Julia’s antennae popped up and she followed him. Diagnosis had always been one of the favorite parts of her job. “What kind of medical issue?”

He turned over the engine, which came to life with a dignified roar. “Ah, that intrigues you.” He raised his voice to be heard over the engine. “However, I’m unable to provide any more information except that they were ‘female problems.’”

“That could cover a lot of different things.” And many women were understandably reluctant to discuss gynecological problems with men, especially a husband’s boss.

“Leonor has always been very healthy so I am sure everything will be all right.” He smiled at her and then went back to checking various gauges and dials on the control panel.

“It’s good of you to let him go back considering all the work you have left.”

He gave her an amused look tinged with exasperation. “We’re not in the business of oppressing peasants anymore, Julia. The man tells me his wife is sick, he goes to her. He’s not a serf.”

“Of course.” She’d never gotten used to the idea that he was literally the lord of the manor and assumed some old rules still applied.

“Make yourself comfortable while I untie the boat.” Frank flicked one of her curls as he passed her, and a warm feeling banished some of the anxiety in her stomach.

She peered out the back window at the deck. The boat had room for several sunbathers and she guessed there was probably a good-size galley, or kitchen, in the level below the bridge.

Frank worked easily, undoing the lines and making sure the boat was clear. He stopped to greet a passing deckhand, who quickly lost his awe of the Duke of Santas Aguas after a minute of masculine banter. Julia could only imagine what joke caused the two of them to break into laughter.

The deckhand was still grinning as he strolled away and Frank whistled a tune as he disappeared from sight to the front of the boat.

Julia looked out to sea. Looked like clear sailing, or motoring rather. She heard Frank’s steps. “A nice day to be on the water.”

He grinned. “For the forty or so minutes we’ll be on it.”

“The clouds are beautiful—bright white and puffy.” She laughed. “My dad would kill me if he heard me describing them that way. Being in the Air Force, he was a meteorology expert and made me call them by the proper names.”

Frank checked the dials once more and then hit a button that started a grinding noise. “That’s to lift the anchor,” he explained. “What kind of clouds do we have today in the beautiful Azores?”

“Since the Azores are almost four hundred miles from end to end, I can’t presume to speak for the rest of the islands.”

He nodded his head gravely but she could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “And our little corner of this Mid-Atlantic paradise?”

“Has cumulus clouds, of course. They could be the precursors of more severe weather if their moisture content increases.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for storms, but for now I think we’re safe.”

From the weather, at least.

Frank guided the boat out of the marina and small harbor and into the open sea, pointing due north to his island. He engaged the autopilot system and slid open the windows on the bridge so they could catch the ocean breeze.

“So, Julia, tell me what you have been up to the past years. You must have spent a lot of time in school to get your graduate degree. Where did you go? Did you work at the same time?”

“Did I ever. Worked and worked.” Julia sat in one of the swivel chairs and Frank sat across from her. Under his gentle questioning, she found herself telling him about her long years of nursing school in Boston, her first job in the E.R. that was both heartbreaking and exhilarating. “I went to graduate school because I wanted to know more. I got tired of wanting to know things that I didn’t know and not knowing how to learn them.”

“It sounds as if you must’ve learned plenty.” Frank looked at the control panel again to make sure that they were still on the right course.

Julia wasn’t sure that they were on the right path at all but it was kind of late to turn back now. But she decided to just go with the flow and see what happened.

“I hope you’re hungry. I picked up something at the café for lunch. With working at the villa, Benedito and I didn’t have time to cook anything today.”

“Do you know how to cook?” If Julia’s memory was correct, Frank knew how to open a bottle of wine and make sandwiches. Not that there was anything wrong with wine or sandwiches. She had pretty much lived on a diet of sandwiches while she was in school. And working in the E.R. meant that the cafeteria was closed at night, so she often lived on a diet of vending machine offerings. Of course Portuguese sandwiches were a lot nicer than the white bread and turkey slices of dubious origin that lurked in the hospital cafeteria.

“I made myself learn how to cook. Benedito’s wife Leonor taught me several of her dishes. Although they don’t taste the same but I often wonder if she left ingredients out on purpose. She is a rather jealous cook, you know.” Frank stood up. “Are you thirsty? I have several soft drinks down in the galley if you’re interested.”

Julia realized her mouth was quite dry from all the talking. She had not talked that long with anybody for weeks, if not months. Her father never expected her to talk much, and her mother talked enough for all three of them. “Sure, I’d love a drink—a cola if you have one, with plenty of ice.”

Frank jumped to his feet. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Julia got up to stretch her legs and looked out one of the windows. She spotted a blue smudge on the far horizon rising out of the sea. It had to be Belas Aguas. Her mouth got even drier at the sight of the place where she and Frank had been so happy.

And there he was at her elbow, passing her a cold drink. His own drink was equally full but without the ice cubes. “I knew you were going to be on the boat,” he said. “I laid in more ice than the local fishing fleet needs.”

She elbowed him in the ribs with her free arm. “Warm soda is a sign of barbarism. What’s the point in having warm drinks? If you want something warm, you should make yourself a pot of tea or coffee.”

Frank winced. “Please tell me you don’t refrigerate your red wine.” He looked around the bridge. “I may have to get myself a tissue since you’ll make me cry.”

Julia gave him a sweet smile. “Why, Frank, there’s nothing better on a hot summer day than a glass of cold red wine. With ice cubes.”

He groaned. “Now that is a sign of true barbarism. Do you know how hard we have to work to make an excellent red wine? Years and years. First we have to grow the grapes, then we have to harvest them. After that, we pull our hair out during fermentation, and then we pour it into the casks, hoping that it turns out to be something in several years.” He rested his fingers lightly on her shoulder. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Of course I’m joking, Frank,” she teased. “I only drink white wine with ice cubes.”

“Ah, Julia, you do not give an inch, do you?” He looped his arm around her neck and pulled her to him unselfconsciously, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Peaches.” He sighed happily.

Just then, her stomach gave a terrible growl. He started to laugh, and she gave up and joined in. “Don’t worry, honey, we’re almost there.” He pointed at the blue smudge in the distance that was becoming less of a smudge and more of a distinct shape with every minute that they drew closer.

He took one last drink of his cola and set it aside in the cup holder, his free arm still looped around her shoulder. “Time to put it back on manual control now. I’d hate to run aground on my own island. Rather embarrassing for me, don’t you think?”

“And rather hard on us and the boat, as well.” The island was turning from blue to green in front of her eyes. It was a longer, lower island than many of the others in the Azores, covered in stumpy trees and green, green grass. Since the temperatures were between the fifties and seventies year-round, nothing ever froze, unlike Boston.

Belas Aguas had always reminded her of a giant golf course, smooth and green. And terribly expensive. “Did you ever think about turning some of the land into a golf course?” she asked, knowing it was a nosy question.

“A golf course?” Frank started to laugh. “No, I can’t say I ever considered that. At one point, we were thinking about renting out the villa to people who needed a private vacation spot.”

“Like for your friend Stefania and her new husband.” She tapped her fingers on the glass of cola. “I can see how that would work.”

“Well, Belas Aguas isn’t exactly a beach hotspot. We don’t have a deep enough harbor to take really large ships, and the weather never gets really hot here unlike in the Mediterranean.” He flipped a couple switches and took his arm off her shoulder so he could steer the boat. She moved away from him, disappointed, and that was not a good sign.

Julia had been counting on the presence of their elderly chaperon, Benedito. Not because she was afraid Frank would do anything, but because she was afraid that she might. Well, she’d just have to behave herself, despite all of Frank’s signals that he would rather she did the opposite.



“SO, STEFANIA HAS DECIDED to pick gold and ivory for her bridal colors. The cathedral in Vinciguerra has beautiful marble with lots of gold decoration and her wedding dress is ivory satin with gold trimming on it. The dress designer is engaged to my friend George, Stefania’s brother. That’s actually how they met. Since Stefania’s parents are passed away, George, Jack and I offered to help her with her wedding plans.” Frank knew he was babbling as he unlocked the kitchen door of the villa, but nerves were getting the best of him.

Julia nodded as she entered the kitchen. “Well, this certainly looks the same,” she said.

He grimaced and she saw it. “No, that’s not what I mean. I love the timelessness of the villa—of the whole island.” She walked around the kitchen running her hands along the old wooden table that acted as a center island. “How old is this table?”

He shrugged, and set down the big paper bag of carry-out lunch from the café. “I suppose it’s really old. Benedito says that it’s been here since he was a boy, and he is at least 118 years old.”

Julia laughed. “You two are so bad together, but I suppose by now it’s just a game for you.”

“He means well, and he takes joy in keeping me on my toes. No chance of me becoming a stuffy nobleman with Benedito around.”

“You could never be stuffy, Frank.”

“My father died when I was about eleven, and I became the Duke. My mother is a lovely woman, but with my father gone, she focused all her fussing on me. I was well on my way to becoming quite the insufferable little prig, striding around the fazenda and barking orders to the men. Benedito was the only one who dared say boo to me and he made it quite clear that while I may have inherited the title, I had to earn the respect that went along with it.”

“I can’t quite see you as the arrogant lord of the manor.” She leaned against the table, the movement causing her cleavage to deepen.

“Here, let me take your jacket for you.” It was a pretty spring-green color that looked wonderful with her dark hair and hazel eyes. Of course, she could be wearing an old horse blanket and he would still think she looked wonderful. Especially if that was all she was wearing.

Frank hung her jacket on a hook next to the door and forced himself to concentrate on their conversation. “Oh, I was a real piece of work at that age. Riding boots, a small riding crop and a bad attitude to go with them both.”

“But your father just died,” she said. “Anybody would’ve had a hard time with that, especially a boy of that age.”

“And that’s why Benedito didn’t beat the, um, snot out of me. He just worked me until I was too exhausted to be obnoxious.”

“Attitude correction through exhaustion. I can think of a few nurses that I would like to try that technique on. Most emergency room nurses are good team players, but there are always a few prima donnas in any group.”

Frank took out a container that smelled delicious—maybe beef? He’d offered the cook at the café a small fortune to make a wonderful meal for two. It looked as if it was enough food for five. “Are you hungry?” He had finished unpacking the one bag and went to the next. This bag had those tasty marinated olives and more pastries. He hoped they would put her in an equally sweet mood.

“Starving,” she said. “I only had some fruit and bread and butter for breakfast, and after that I was in the hair salon all morning.” She looked mortified, as if she hadn’t meant to tell him about that part of her day.

Frank hid a smile. His masculine nature puffed up in the knowledge that she had spent her whole morning primping for him. “It was time well spent,” he said. “But you do realize that I have always enjoyed your looks, hairstylist or not.”

“Good thing for me,” she retorted, “because I am not sure I can do this again myself.” She pulled a curl in front of her nose and deliberately looked at it cross eyed.

He couldn’t help laughing. She was the most unpretentious woman he’d known. Unlike Paulinha, who needed at least three hours to get ready for a simple evening, and six for a formal function. He tensed briefly and deliberately shoved away her image. He hadn’t ever promised her anything, but once he went back to Portugal, he had to make his intentions—or lack of intentions—clear. It wasn’t fair to her, taking time away from her life in Lisbon to travel to Aguas Santas, presumably to visit with his sister.

And compared to Julia’s tart sense of humor and lack of deference, Paulinha was almost too sweet, like eating a box of pastries all by himself. When he was younger, he had basked in her girlish admiration as a balm to his battered ego, but now she was a woman and rightfully expected the things a woman expected of an eligible single man.

Things he wasn’t willing to give. At least to her.

“Why so serious?” Julia gave him a playful squeeze on the back of his arm. “Did the café pack the wrong food?”

“No, of course not.” He busied himself unloading the bags and pulled several serving bowls out of a cabinet.

Julia opened a box and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, pork.” She started to pour it into a bowl and Frank shooed her away.

“No, no, you are my guest. If you would like to freshen up before lunch, the powder room is through that door and on the left.”

“Okay, if you insist.” She strolled off and he hurried to fill the bowls. The dining room table was already set, so all he had to do was open a bottle of Aguas Santas red wine and let it sit for a few minutes before pouring it.

He set the bowls on the table, which would easily hold a dozen guests, but he had set places across from each other at one end. No point in creating the old farce where the couple yelled at each other from opposite ends of a giant table. The dishes were heavy pottery instead of fine china, but Frank wanted to keep things looking casual. The red, yellow and blue glaze had a warm, friendly Mediterranean look that said, Just a casual lunch between friends. No, really, I’m not trying to get you into bed. I’d use the good china for that.

He groaned. Ever since he’d been helping Stefania with her bridal registry, he’d learned more about china and dishes than any red-blooded man needed to know.

“Frank?” Julia called, a funny tone in her voice.

“Are you all right?” He stopped worrying about dishes and trotted down the hallway to the powder room. She stood in the doorway, a pained expression on her face.

“I’m all right, but your bathroom is coming down with something.”

“What?” He stuck his head in the door. “What!” Wide swathes of violent acid green and pumpkin orange striped the walls.

“So this isn’t your redecoration attempt?”

He shoved his hands into his hair and gripped his scalp. “Benedito! Oh, my God, why would he do this?”

“He’s testing the paint colors to see which looks better.” Julia tried fighting back a laugh and gave up. She laughed so hard that she bent at the waist, gripping the sink to hold herself upright.

“Testing the paint colors?” Frank stared at the wall in horror. “Look better?”

Julia started to cough from laughing. “Oh, Frank, this is the worst…” She broke into giggles again.

“He actually bought these colors.” He was in that state of shocked amazement where it wasn’t quite sinking in.

She hauled herself upright. “You better check the rest of the villa.”

His jaw dropped. “Oh, dear God.” He bolted into the living room. Fortunately Benedito had left the exposed stone and white plaster alone. He thumped upstairs to the master suite, which was the other focus of the re-do.

“Red?” he howled. The bubblegum pink had been bad enough, but Benedito had taken the opportunity while Frank was busy outside to try out three different shades of red on the wall next to the bathroom. It looked as if they had been slaughtering livestock, only messier, thanks to the drops that had run down the wall.

Julia came up behind him. “Trying for the romantic look?”

“Probably reminded him of a brothel in Lisbon from his bachelor days,” he said without thinking.

She burst out laughing again. “Oh, Frank, what were you thinking to let him pick colors?”

“Let him? Let him? I’ve been trying to get him to the eye doctor for the past year to check his cataracts! He told me after the fact that he had bought paint so I could have more time with you.”

“Aww.” Julia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s sweet.”

“Sweet? I have to paint over this and get new paint. Do you know how much primer that will take?”

“For a second I thought I was back in the E.R.” She made a face. “What color were you going to paint this room?”

He made a helpless gesture. “Off-white? I thought I was bad with decorating, but…”

“We’ll figure this out,” she announced. “I decorated my own condo a few years back—no problem.” Her stomach growled. “Is lunch ready?”

“I’ll need to open another bottle of wine.” He shook his head and followed her downstairs. What a mess. On the other hand, Julia had offered to help him, so that meant more time with her. Maybe Benedito had this in mind the whole time. If so, he’d pull a bottle of the 1958 sherry out of the fazenda’s cellar and give it to the old man with a big, fat kiss.