Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,4

Aguas in Portugal, will be standing up with the bride.

“These men helped raise me after my parents passed away in their tragic car accident,” said Stefania. “Along with my grandmother, they are the dearest people in the world to me. How could I not acknowledge that special relationship?”

Even the most jaded celebrity reporter has to admit to a certain misty eye at the tender sentiment. And the thought of those handsome men lined up in their formalwear is enough to make the heart go pitter-pat!

JULIA FOUND HERSELF wandering around the town again the next morning. Her parents had arrived safely in Boston and were on their way to the hospital to visit her aunt and uncle. She had rattled around the apartment for a few hours, cleaning things that didn’t need cleaning until sheer boredom ran her out the door.

Boredom and a nagging curiosity about the man who looked so much like Frank. It could just be the familiar surroundings triggering her memory. The summer she and Frank had spent together had been magical, the summer after her first year in college. She attended Boston College but had gotten a cheap ticket to the Azores, a favorite place since her family had been stationed there for a year when she was a kid.

It was a favorite of Franco Duarte das Aguas Santas, especially since she’d found out later that his family owned their own small island there. He’d enjoyed America but was relieved to be home where he could speak Portuguese again after a few years in New York.

Julia heard plenty of Portuguese coming from the town square. She followed the noise and found a farmers’ market full of fruits and vegetables, local honey and wine. The Azoreans didn’t eat vegetables by themselves, either in a salad or cooked. The locals preferred to cook them into a soup filled with mostly meat, if they remembered the vegetables at all. She had discovered this after asking for a salad in the local restaurant and getting a blank stare. And when her neighbor had seen her eating a raw carrot as she sat in the garden, he told her those were either for the soup pot or the donkeys.

Julia had given a loud hee-haw, sending the man into a laughing fit that threatened to topple him.

But the fruit in the market was something more exciting. Baby bananas and golden-fleshed pineapples were on the table every morning. And her mother had made a great marmalade-type topping out of the local sour oranges, tart as lemons.

Julia picked up a packet of locally grown tea, the only tea grown in Europe, if she remembered correctly. And a jar of Azorean honey would sweeten it nicely. She paid a young lady for the tea and honey and wandered to a booth with Azorean wines and aperitifs. Too strong for her right now, although the bottles were beautiful. She declined a free sample but bought a bottle of the Aguardente velha da Graciosa brandy that her father liked and a bottle of passionfruit liqueur for her mother, who liked sweeter drinks.

A masculine laugh, full of joy and amusement rang in her ears. For a second, she thought she had fallen into the past again. But there it was again.

Not daring to breathe, she turned slowly, almost hoping she was just imagining it. She looked across the tables and saw him. The apple fell from her hand and clunked into the bin.

Frank stood across from her. She put her hand to her throat in shock. His raw masculinity at age twenty had matured into solid manhood, his shoulders broader, his arms thicker. His dark hair curled over his ears, one wave falling over his forehead. His face had hardened but his dark eyes crinkled with amusement.

Frank was leaning on a vegetable stand, listening to an older man who was obviously telling a funny story, thanks to the amused faces of the surrounding shoppers. Frank clapped the older man on the back and turned away, a smile on his face.

He saw her. The smile vanished, leaving a stunned expression to match hers. Instead of freezing, he moved. Toward her.

She panicked. What could she say to him? What would he say to her? She took a step backward, automatically searching for an escape.

But Frank was coming, cutting around the customers and tables with the grace she remembered. He stopped next to her. “Julia?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief. Good, so she wasn’t the only one.

“Frank, well, my goodness!