Royally Claimed

chapter 9

JULIA STOOD UP AND SET DOWN the paint roller, noting the smears on her fingers. The downstairs bathroom was mercifully a sandy taupe color now, covering Benedito’s unfortunate experiments in interior design. Along with Julia’s help, Frank had ordered sets of pretty aqua and off-white towels and rugs as well as some pale blue-green bottles made of bubbly glass. Although Frank was a typical guy and not interested in scented candles, she’d also convinced him to order several creamy vanilla pillar candles of varying heights and widths. He could understand the need for emergency lighting, but explaining tea-lights to him just resulted in incredulity that anyone would want such a useless, tiny candle.

The vanity was a rich, dark mahogany with a marble top, solid marble, not laminated to look like marble, or even cultured marble. Frank had mentioned casually that the quarry in Italy had sent him pictures of various slabs until he saw one that he liked.

Julia could see why he liked it. It probably would have made a nice statue for some church somewhere, because the stone was almost flawless, a beautiful creamy color that would look wonderful for years.

She decided not to wash the paint off her hands and brushes in the zillion-dollar sink and went into the kitchen.

Frank was doing the same, washing grime off his hands. She nudged him aside playfully, dunking her hands under the running water. He dumped soap on her and started scrubbing her hands with his.

His hands were such a contrast to hers—dark and tough, but with a gentle touch. Her hands were pale with long fingers, well-suited to stitching up lacerations and inserting IV lines into patients. Once, she even got to deliver a baby—not by choice, of course, since the mother had been in her car in the emergency room driveway. The paperwork afterward had been horrendous, but she got a secret thrill from seeing her name on the baby’s birth certificate.

“I delivered a baby once,” she blurted.

“You did?” His hands tightened for a second on hers. “Whose?”

“A patient who was having her fifth baby. They got caught at a train crossing and by the time they pulled into the emergency room driveway, the baby was coming. All the docs were tied up so I pulled on my gloves as I ran and got there just in time.”

“That’s amazing, Julia. You must have been so proud.” He dried his hands and gave her the towel.

“It was special.” She sighed, hanging up the towel on a hook near the stove. “Maybe I should have been a midwife. It’s a happier profession than patching up sick and injured people all the time.” But she knew why she hadn’t gone into midwifery—for several years after breaking up with Frank, she had a hard time looking at babies without imagining a dark-haired, dark-eyed laughing baby that looked suspiciously like him. Now that she was thirty and her biological clock had started making ominous noises, she didn’t think that situation would change any.

“You could always retrain for a different specialty or get a different job. The emergency room sounds almost as dangerous for the staff as it is for the patients.”

He didn’t know the half of it, but she shook her head and pulled a couple of bottles of orange soda from the fridge, giving one to Frank. It had a distinctly different taste than American orange sodas, more tangy like real oranges. “I’ve never spent much time around babies aside from my training.”

He thanked her for the soda and took a deep drink. “That hits the spot. It’s getting warm outdoors. As for babies, right now I have five nieces and nephews, all under six years old or so. Two of my sisters married right out of university and have been having babies every year, it seems.” He smiled fondly. “They are quite adorable, and besides, it takes my mother’s attention off me, at least temporarily.”

Because his mother wanted him to settle down and have a baby? Of course she did. Frank was the only son of a family that relied on the ancient custom of primogeniture—where the oldest son inherited everything. He would need a son of his own to keep up the tradition and not splinter the family holdings. Now that he had passed his thirtieth birthday, maybe his biological clock was ticking, too.

But she didn’t ask. She was afraid to bring up the question, afraid to hear the answer. For all she knew, his mother had picked out a suitable upper-class Portuguese maiden for a potential bride. Maybe she was even a virgin. Was that a requirement to marry a duke? Virginity—at least for the women—had been a requirement to marry into royalty for hundreds of years, petering out only in the last couple decades.

Curiosity overcame her. It wasn’t as if she were still a virgin, although that was in fact his fault in the first place. If he hadn’t been so darn sexy at twenty and she hadn’t been so crazy about him…well, as the saying went, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. She’d eagerly participated in the Azorean version of the droit de seigneur, the largely legendary custom of the lord of the manor to get first dibs at the local virgins. “Are you seeing anyone at home?”

He looked shocked and then guilty. Guilty?

“Frank, did you forget to mention something? Or someone?”

“Julia, it is not what you think.”

Her stomach knotted, the orange soda suddenly making her queasy. She forced herself to speak calmly. “Why don’t you tell me what is going on?” After all, she didn’t have any claim on him—not anymore.

He set his bottle down on the counter. “My sister has a friend—her name is Paulinha and we’ve known each other for years.” He sighed. “Paulinha has never made it much of a secret that she considers me more than a brotherly figure. But me, I didn’t feel the same. On the other hand, I always thought that I would be married with a family by now. Paulinha is a soft-spoken woman, shy and good-natured.”

Julia blinked her eyes hard. Her own escapades at work would definitely not qualify as soft-spoken and shy. Although she was fairly good-natured, wasn’t she? Maybe not, especially to the crazy patient who’d cracked her in the head. But that was his fault, not hers, and she tried not to feel guilty for getting herself out of that mess.

Undoubtedly Princess Paulinha would have screamed or swooned like a proper upper-class Portuguese senhorinha. Julia had swooned, sure, but she had the concussion to blame. Even then it was only a temporary swoon before she’d done what she had to do.

“And you see Paulinha as a possibility in the marriage and family department?” Julia fiddled with the soda label, peeling the corner down with her thumbnail. Was it weird or what, discussing eligible women with the man she’d desperately loved so many years ago? How sophisticated they both were.

“No.” His reply was short and immediate. “Not anymore. I was considering spending more time with her to find out if there could be sparks between us, but the ever-practical Benedito pointed out that I was fifteen hundred kilometers away from her and it didn’t seem to bother me.”

“And Benedito could tell you weren’t pining away for her?” she asked skeptically.

“Oh, yes. Benedito knows pining when he sees it.” He gave her a crooked smile. “His rural yokel facade hides a master observer of human nature. Besides, he has known me since I was a baby.”

“Did you pine for me, Frank?” Was that why Benedito had practically shoved them together at the farmer’s market?

“What do you think?” He set his bottle down on the counter with a harsh clink. “I never wanted you to go in the first place.”

She bit her lip. “And I missed you, too.”

“We were both young and stupid,” he said bluntly. “I try to think that everything happened for a reason, but it was difficult for me for a long time.”

“But now we’re both here and having a good time together, right?” Emotions from the past and present were threatening to overwhelm her, so she strove for a light, happy tone.

“Right. A good time,” Frank echoed, a faraway look in his eyes. He gave a quick shake of his head and came back to the present. “Speaking of a good time, I made plans for us to go to São Miguel for the day. The bathrooms are both finished, so we deserve a break before tackling that red abomination in the bedroom.”

“Great!” Julia could use a good distraction. Standing around painting and talking to Frank about heavy topics was bringing up more than she bargained for. “Let’s get some groceries, as well. We’re almost out of coffee.”

He gasped. “No, not the last of the coffee! There’s no way I can lift a paintbrush without my caffeine.”

“So running out of food is acceptable, but not coffee?”

“Exactly.”

“A man after my own heart.”

He finished the last of his soda and rinsed the bottle. “I am indeed.”

Julia gave him a wary look, wondering if he meant that literally, as well.

“I can have the boat ready in ten minutes. Do you need to stop by your parents’ apartment for anything?”

She nodded. “Water the plants, check the mail, that sort of thing.” She had only been gone a few days, but her parents were relying on her to make sure their place was still in one piece.

“Sure. We’ll get some lunch and then shop for groceries right before we come back.” He kissed her lightly before striding out the door. God, he looked as good from the back as he did from the front.

Julia disposed of her own soda bottle, determined to stop agonizing and mooning over everything. She had agreed to stay with him on a temporary, spring-fling basis, not for deep heart-to-heart, soul-baring conversations.

Maybe it was the fact they were the only two people on his island, an island heavy with meaning and memories. A trip to cheerful, relatively crowded São Miguel would lighten her mood. It was difficult to keep her focus on the present—her heart wanted to go back to the past and her mind wouldn’t stop thinking about the future.



FRANK EASILY DOCKED AND secured the boat at the marina on the island of São Miguel. He helped Julia down the ramp. “How is your head feeling today?”

She blinked. Come to think of it, her head had been fine the past several days. Maybe fantastic regular sex released some of those natural endorphin painkillers. “I’m doing really well, Frank. No problems.”

“You sure?” He stared at her. “Because if you’re feeling up for it, I thought we could take a side trip to one of the smaller villages here. You haven’t seen much besides the main town here and my island, which doesn’t have anything interesting to look at.”

She squeezed his hand, letting her breast rub against his arm. “It has you.”

“Well, that is…” He cleared his throat, a ruddy flush creeping under his olive skin. “Anyway, you have to tell me if it’s too much for you.”

“I’m a sturdy girl, Frank. I’ll let you know if you’re too much for me.” She could tell he was about ready to pitch her back on the boat and return to their island, or at least far enough out to sea to have some privacy. But she tugged him along the dock to the sidewalk. Nothing wrong with a little anticipation. “Where to?”

“There.” He pointed to the motorcycle rental shop next to the marina.

She grinned. “I haven’t been on one of those in years. Can we get the blue one?”

“Sure.” He rented the blue motorcycle along with a couple helmets and went over a quick safety lesson with the shop owner. Julia fastened the smaller helmet onto her head and Frank double-checked the strap. “No point in giving you another headache.” He fastened a backpack to the rack behind her.

This probably wasn’t what her doctor had in mind, but she didn’t care and hopped behind Frank. He took off and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

After a couple minutes, she got used to leaning with him as he went around corners, holding on tight as he braked for the occasional pedestrian or farm animal. They were pretty much at the same pace. In fact, Julia thought she could jog faster than they were riding.

She pinched his hard stomach to get his attention and he jumped, turning his head slightly. “Are you okay? Do you want me to slow down?”

“No, Frank. Go faster.”

“What?” He pulled up to a stop sign leading into a more rural, hilly area and flipped up his visor.

She flipped up hers as well so he could see her. “Look at me—I’m doing fine. I don’t want to take a spill, but I’m not made of glass, either. It’s a perfect day to be out here on a motorcycle—let’s take advantage of it.”

His white smile sparkled against his skin. “Get ready.” He flipped down the visor and she did the same. Checking for cross-traffic, he gunned the machine along. Finally, the wind was whipping past her face, the air clear and fresh as it rolled in from the Atlantic. The road curved and dipped through green hills and rocky black soil. She spotted small settlements with low-slung white houses, sheep and cattle dotting the hills to graze.

She settled her cheek on Frank’s back and sighed in happiness, her cares and worries flying away like unsecured cargo. And good riddance. She didn’t want any of them back, especially those heavy memories that gripped her mind as the headaches had gripped her skull.

He patted her hand resting on his middle, as if he picked up on her thoughts. He was so sweet. He’d always been that way, even when his sweetness—and stubbornness—had caused their previous breakup. Of course it couldn’t have been her own legendary stubbornness that contributed to it, not at all. Her motto back then should have been My way, or the highway.

She’d just been scared and upset. Instead of choosing to cling to him during their rough times, she’d shoved him away. Even after returning to the States, she thought about calling him a hundred times, a thousand times. He would have been easy to find at the university, and maybe they could have patched their relationship back together. She could have called his estate in Portugal and passed along a message. But she hadn’t—and neither had he. Why was that? Was he as scared as she was? It was hard to imagine strong, brawny Frank being afraid of anything. She wanted to ask him but couldn’t shout such a deep question like that as they rocketed along the highway.

She’d had over a decade to think and had come to the conclusion that the highway was no fun unless you had someone riding along with you. Like today.

Julia hugged him and kissed his shoulder. He straightened in surprise and the bike bobbled a second. “Stop distracting me,” he turned his head to shout. “Or I’ll crawl along at twenty kilometers per hour.”

“Fine,” she shouted back, hiding her smile in his back. “I want to go faster than that cow I just saw.”

He picked up the speed again, and the ocean breeze began to take on a peculiar smell as they went around a corner, the vista opening onto a larger town nestled between a mountain and the ocean. The view was beautiful, but the air had sort of a sulfuric, rotten-eggs smell. Rather interesting combination, the whole fire-and-brimstone smell coming from a picturesque village.

The wind changed and blew away the eggs-gone-bad odor. Frank eased off the throttle as they approached the town. She was glad this time because she could see the houses and people better.

“This is Furnas,” he announced, unstrapping his helmet and helping her do the same.

“Furnace? Is that why it smells like that?” Her hair immediately sprang into its normal fluff. Not even the heavy helmet could make it behave. She shook it and fingercombed it down anyway.

“Spelled a little different in Portuguese, but the same idea. That,” he said, pointing at the mountain ahead of them, “is an active volcano.”

She was taken aback as she gazed up at the rounded mountain. Visions of rivers of lava and clouds of ash raining down as innocent Azorean islanders fled with screams of terror came to mind. Although on an island, there was only so far you could flee before you got to the ocean.

“Don’t worry, the last big eruption of this volcano was in the 1600s.”

“Isn’t another overdue, then?” she asked.

“No, no,” he assured her. “There are underwater eruptions quite frequently. They probably help vent the pressure here on dry land.”

She rolled her eyes. Not the most reassuring geological theory she’d ever heard. Frank was a farmer and rancher, not a volcanologist. However, no ominous puffs of smoke were issuing from the top, and the local people were going about their daily lives, shopping and visiting without any particular look of panic.

“Come on, let’s enjoy the town.” He steadied the motorcycle as she climbed off, the pull of muscles in her inner thighs and butt making her walk bowlegged for a minute.

He watched her with an avid gleam in his eye and she shook her finger at him. “Behave yourself, you miscreant.”

“Miscreant? How very strict and old-fashioned you sound. I like it.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She grabbed his shirtfront to pull him close. “Don’t make me punish you, Franco.”

His black gaze threw golden sparks. “What if I want you to?”

“No promises.” She kissed him quickly but thoroughly, pushing him away at the end.

“The punishment starts,” he groaned, lifting the backpack onto his shoulders.

Julia laughed and took his hand. “Hey, Frank, do you have any water in that backpack?” The trip had dried out her mouth.

“No, but we’ll get some around the corner.”

A minute later, Julia was looking at the Cro-Magnon version of a drinking fountain. “And people drink this?” she whispered, not wanting to offend anyone.

“Furnas is famous for its hot springs and spa waters. This spring is called Agua Santa, holy water.” A spigot came out of a stone wall, the water spilling into an iron-stained basin below.

“Like your estate in Portugal.”

He smiled down at her. “Yes, my land is named after a spring as well, but a cold artesian spring instead of a hot spring.”

“I wonder which tastes better.”

“You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

She blinked. This was the first time he’d mentioned visiting his family estate on the mainland—at least this time. Eleven years previously, he’d invited her there and discussed the land and people in great detail. They all seemed perfectly pleasant, but his duties outside of the estate were something different.

One event had been particularly frightening to her. Frank, having turned eighteen, had been invited to the Spanish royal palace for a state dinner with the king and queen of Spain. He of course thought nothing of meeting royalty since he was pretty close to royalty himself. He mentioned the king and queen fondly and personally, if not by first name. It had stayed with her ever since.

And, of course, his estate regularly hosted the aristocracy and upper crust of Europe. Frank’s mother, the Dowager Duchess, enjoyed high-society life and threw extended house parties at the huge manor house. Frank had described the formal dinners with seven courses, bottomless wineglasses and enough silverware to support a small nation. Julia could get through dinner without blowing her nose into her napkin or scratching her scalp with a salad fork, but had to admit a real sense of intimidation.

Oh, sure, she would have been a real hit hosting those parties if she’d married Frank—the nineteen-year-old college-drop-out duchess who couldn’t even speak Portuguese.

She wondered if that had partially spooked her from keeping up a relationship with him. “Have you seen the king and queen of Spain recently?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Not since the baptism of one of their grandchildren a few years back. Why?”

“I was wondering if they’d ever tasted your spring water. Maybe they could give it their royal seal of approval.”

He shook his head and turned away—maybe in disappointment? She touched his arm in apology. “I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean to be flip. The springs sound really nice.”

He smiled at her—all was forgiven. He paid a nearby vendor for the loan of a pair of sturdy glasses. He handed her one. “You have to fill your own cup. Otherwise, it doesn’t work as well.”

“What is it supposed to do?” She bent and twisted open the faucet, an ominous-smelling liquid spilling into her cup.

He followed and did the same. “It does what you need it to do. If you are sick, it makes you well. If you are weak, it makes you strong. If you have a heavy burden, it lightens you.”

Julia stared at the water. “That’s a lot for a cup of water to do.”

He swirled his around, almost up to the rim. “That’s why they call it ‘holy water.’ Because it can perform miracles. What miracle do you want, Julia?”

Him. She wanted him. But she was still a mess, and he deserved someone who wasn’t banged and bruised up, mentally and physically. “I would like for my headaches to go away for good.”

His eyes darkened in concern. “They haven’t been bothering you today, have they? Otherwise, I can call a cab to take us back to the boat.”

“No, my head feels okay. I haven’t really had a bad headache since the day we met at the farmer’s market.”

“That was a shock for me, too. But a good one,” he hastily added. He lifted his glass. “To good surprises.”

“And miracles.” Julia clinked her rim against his. She took a deep breath and drank. “Aack!” she sputtered. The water lived up to its iron-colored promise, so rich with minerals that it almost had a gritty texture as it battled its way down her throat.

Frank drained his glass without a wince and even smacked his lips.

“Well, I won’t need to worry about my iron intake for the day.” She smacked her lips as well, mostly to get the taste off them. “Like medicine—it has to taste bad to work well.”

“Good things come with a price.” Frank took her glass and drank the rest of her water before handing both glasses back to the nearby vendor.

Wasn’t that the truth. Unfortunately, she’d paid a high price for stupid things, too. “What’s next?” she asked brightly, not wanting to dwell on the negative on such an interesting, if smelly, day.

Frank took her hand and they wandered through the town, the natives obviously very proud of literally living on the edge of the volcano. Little shops full of bottled spring water and T-shirts aimed for the tourist trade while the usual cafés, delis and bakeries were there for the local population. “Here we go.” Frank stopped at a gate marked with a large sign written several times in various alarming fonts and colors.

“Hot danger?” she asked.

“Thank you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I’ve never been called that before.”

“Not you.” She squeezed his hand and he spun her around so her back was against the iron fence.

“You don’t think I’m hot and dangerous?” He ran his fingers up her arm next to the heavy curve of her breast. He brushed the side where no one could see, and her nipples hardened instantly against the cotton of her shirt. “I’ll have to work harder to convince you of that.” He swiveled his hips so his pants’ zipper rested on her hip. Even through the thick fabric, she could practically feel every inch of him. Even at rest, so to speak, he was firm and long, ready to spring up at her slightest touch.

“I think you’re very hot and dangerous.” Her voice was breathy.

“Good.” He leaned in, innocently kissing her cheek and then not-so-innocently flicking her earlobe with his tongue.

She let out a little moan and he pulled back, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “But, unfortunately, we are only here to see the hot, dangerous springs.”

“Fine.” Her lips pulled into a little pout, but she couldn’t very well go mauling Frank in public. He was a big fish in the small pond of the Azores, and everybody knew who he was. Many of them knew him personally, as well. She supposed he was expected to kiss women in public and generally show off his macho side—not that she minded. She loved being the recipient of a certain aspect of his macho side. And his sweet side. And even his grouchy side when the coffee was still brewing.

“Shall we go inside, meu bem?”

The endearment sent warm fuzzy feelings through her. “Let’s see if the smell lives up to the hype.”

They wandered through a setting that reminded her of a park—if a park had dirty brown boiling mud pits that looked as if some primordial monster was forming from the dangerous ooze. Occasionally large gunky bubbles would rise to the surface and then pop, wafting that lovely sulfur odor toward her. As a nurse, she was unfortunately reminded of certain rough evenings in the emergency department with patients who must have eaten a buffet of cabbage, broccoli and beans before arriving for care.

Fortunately, they turned a corner and came to clear, or rather clearer, water. Here the water probably had more of a calcium or salt content, because it left a crystal-white coating that looked like snow or icicles depending on where it dripped. A pool of water lay below the walkway they traveled, and Julia was careful to watch her step and stay well back from the railing.

An older woman with short black hair shot with gray sat nearby with husked corn on the cob and small brown potatoes in a basket on the path just past the walkway. Frank asked her a question in Portuguese and she replied, pointing at the water.

He grinned and handed her a few euros. “She says it’s almost ready.”

Julia knew what was coming when the woman hauled on a rope to pull up a steaming hot mesh bag from the spring itself. The vendor carefully drained most of the water and opened the bag into a battered metal colander. Cobs and potatoes tumbled out, and the woman tossed one of each into two rectangular carry-out trays. “Bom appetito.”

“Thank you.” They walked along the path for a few minutes. Julia blew on the golden corn cob and debated how to eat the potato without any utensils. The corn cooled faster, and she decided to try that first, nibbling along it.

Frank took a bite of his, as well. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, once they were done chewing.

“It does taste different—but not bad. Almost pre-salted.” She ate another row, getting used to the different flavor. The corn grown here probably tasted different in the first place due to the volcanic soil, a huge contrast from the sandy and sometimes swampy Massachusetts ground.

He picked up his potato and bit into it like an apple. “Needs butter,” he mumbled, the unadorned root vegetable starch obviously a challenge for him.

“Want me to find some water for you to wash that down?” she asked sweetly, guessing that any taps here in the park were probably just as odiferous as the first one.

He gave her a sidelong glance that promised retribution later and finally swallowed. “No, thank you.”

Julia laughed and finished her corn. It actually was quite flavorful and juicy. The spring probably cooked it quickly. Frank abandoned his potato and switched to the corn. She consented to taking a small bite of potato just for the flavor experience but he was right—it did need butter.

“Lunch will be much more flavorful, I promise.” Frank took the paper trays and pitched the remnants into a garbage can.

“More of that chunky fish stew?” He had cooked that for her a few days ago, and it had been delicious.

“Not today.” He took her hand. “Benedito’s cousin lives nearby, and they are having us to lunch today for the local specialty—cozido.”

“I’ve never heard of that dish.”

He grinned as if holding a big secret. “It’s very local. You can’t find it anywhere else in the world.”

Julia grimaced slightly. She was always leery of claims like that, especially on islands where truly odd bits of seafood or meat could be claimed as delicacies. “We’re not eating cod brains or pig’s private parts, are we?”

He roared in laughter. “If you’ve lived around the world like I have, you’d be worried, too,” she retorted. “My father is a very adventurous eater and my mother is always hovering over him to make sure he hasn’t caught some rare parasite.”

He caught her hand and they walked along the path. The trees were green and lush, and she had the same disjointed feeling she’d always had in the Azores. Portuguese, but not Mediterranean. Atlantic seacoast, but not American. Tropical oranges, pineapples, even tea plantations, but not hot and sunny.

“My French friend Jack worked in all sorts of bad conditions, and he finally got sick last year. I had worried about that for years, but you can’t tell a doctor anything.”

She snickered in agreement, knowing many more doctors than Frank. “Is he okay now? What did he catch?”

“Dysentery.”

“Oh.” Julia groaned. She’d only seen a couple cases of that but knew it was a nasty, possibly fatal disease if not treated properly.

“He’s okay now, but he needed several months to recover. In a fortunate twist of fate, he met Lily, an American travel writer, as he was traveling home to Provence. He was planning to sit in the sun to recuperate but instead wound up falling in love. He and Lily just got married last summer and now they are having a baby.” His smile was heartfelt, but maybe a bit wistful.

“How exciting! Oh, look at that hot spring. The water looks almost silver.” Julia hastily changed the subject. Frank came from a big family and probably still wanted lots of little Portuguese babies running around. A young, fertile wife in her early twenties would be the best for that. Funny to think that many women Julia’s age spent their twenties trying to avoid pregnancy and their thirties chasing it.

“There is one pair of taps nearby that has two different springs. One tap has silvery residue and the other is iron.” Frank seemed to shake off his tinge of melancholy and checked the time on his phone. “Almost time to get lunch. Let’s hop on the bike and go up to the caldera.”

“What’s the caldera?” They went around a turn and Julia saw they were close to the entrance.

He winked. “The rim of the volcano.”