Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,21

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.

6

JULIA PUSHED AWAY FROM THE lunch table and groaned. The café had outdone itself again with a pork stew, spiced beef and garlicky roasted potatoes. She’d allowed herself a glass of Frank’s own red wine but had sipped on it through several courses along with mineral water so she wouldn’t get a headache.

“More dessert?” He offered her a cream-filled pastry, but she shook her head.

“No. I’m so full, thanks.” She stood, enjoying the slight dizziness that came with good food and wine, not head injuries.

Frank jumped to his feet, as well. He may have been the descendant of autocratic peasant-repressers, but he did have nice manners. She gathered up her plate and he made such a dismayed sound that she nearly dropped it. “What?”

“You are my guest.” He snatched it away from her. “Guests never need to clear their own plates. I’ll take care of this.” He shooed her away and Julia realized she did need to use the facilities. Unfortunately that meant the pumpkin-pistachio powder room of horrors, but she hadn’t drunk enough that it made her physically ill. Just visually.

She finished and washed