Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,16

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.

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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