Royally Claimed (5 page)

“Ah, not so good.” He lowered his voice. “I tried to tell her that illness is a good sign that the hormones are strong and working well, but all she did was call me bad names. In French, no less. She picked it up from the farm workers—I'll have to take my manager to task for allowing such vulgarity.” But he sounded giddy and not about to punish anybody.

“Renata and I are going to have a baby,” George announced.

“What?” they chorused.

“No, not now. As soon as Renata and I are married. I cannot have the next Prince of Vinciguerra born less than nine months after our wedding. Just my luck he would be a ten-pound baby and nobody would believe he was early.”

Frank nodded. “Don't want any doubt about succession to the throne.”

“Exactly,” George agreed. “But enough about babies—at least for now, Jack. Do keep us posted.”

“But of course. How is your lovely island, Frank?”

“About to get lovelier at one o'clock tomorrow.” He took a deep breath. “I don't know if you remember, but many, many years ago, I stayed the summer here.”

“Yes?” they answered cautiously, remembering the
terrible autumn that had followed when Frank had become a mess, a zombie unable to function without Julia.

“I don't know if it is fate or luck, but I am here—and so is she.”

“She? You mean Julia?” George knew that name well, having listened to Frank cry in his beer for weeks.

“But how can that be? Did you find her and invite her?” Jack sounded confused.

“Her parents live here now and she was visiting them. They are back in the States with elderly relatives, and I have her all to myself.”

“Oh.” George paused for a couple seconds. “And how is Julia?” he asked politely.

“Single and more beautiful than ever.”

“Please, Frank, just be careful,” Jack urged him. “People do change after all these years. You are different. She will be different. You cannot expect to pick up where you left off.”

“Why would I want to do that? We left off with her leaving me, Jack.” Frank was getting irritated. His best friends had found the loves of their lives, and Jack was having a baby, as well.

“I think Jack is just concerned for you, Frank,” George added, ever the diplomat. “Obviously you are a grown man now, with more experience in matters of the heart. But sometimes you see things with rose-colored glasses, as the American phrase goes. Take a good look at the situation with as much clarity as you can.”

“Like you two did with Renata and Lily?” he asked pointedly.

There was silence and then two voices breaking into
guilty laughter. “Do as we say, not as we do, Frank,” Jack said.

“Ah, yes, we did not listen to our own advice, did we, Jack?”

“Not at all. But it all turned out well in the end.”

“And maybe it will for me and Julia, too.”

“If that is your wish, we certainly hope so,” Jack said.

“I don't know,” Frank said thoughtfully. “I was a wreck when she left me the first time. Should I risk it?”

George sighed. “Life is full of risk.” His own parents had not lived past their mid-forties. “All we can do is live for the moment and hope for the best.”

“Very true. Fate can be cruel,” Jack agreed, having seen plenty of tragedies as a disaster-relief physician. Frank didn't even want to imagine what he had witnessed over his years of work.

Frank congratulated Jack on his baby-to-be and wrote down some important wedding dates from George before hanging up. He had just enough time to finish at the villa before he needed to check in at the estates and then go to the wedding in Vinciguerra.

But as he worked on more estate business, he thought about what George and Jack had said about the vagaries of fate.

Frank didn't want any risk. He was a farmer and rancher. Uncertainty was dangerous. The seasons turned, the crops were planted and harvested, animals were born and grew. The Dukes of Aguas Santas were born and grew. And died, like his own father twenty years before.

But Frank was the last and only Duke. Without him, there were only his sisters, who were uninterested and
unprepared to run the estate. And to maintain everything until their children were old enough? Almost impossible. Without proper management, his estates would decline and be sold, the title of Duke of Aguas Santas a title in name only for his oldest nephew.

He drummed his fingers on the table. Until meeting Julia again, he had planned to court his sister's friend, Paulinha. Now that plan was on the scrap heap. Julia was the only woman who made him feel, made him alive. But as his friends had so unwelcomely pointed out, people changed. Maybe he and Julia had changed enough that they could stay together this time.

Fashionista Magazine: The Royal Review:

J
ULIA 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.