Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,5
How in the world are you?” Her tone had enough sugar to frost a wedding cake. Light and friendly, light and friendly, she decided.
He didn’t cooperate with her game plan and reply in an equally frothy manner, saying, What brings you back to the Azores? Or Gee, Julia, how many years has it been? Instead, he stood silently staring at her. Almost as if she were a ghost popping up through the floor.
“Frank?” She touched his forearm and he jumped as if she’d shocked him. She was shocked too and jerked her hand back.
Oh, no. Why that futile spark of attraction, after all these years? She looked away desperately.
“Julia. Your husband is here with you?” He casually scanned the crowd but his question was far from casual.
“My husband?” She wasn’t thinking clearly, all the warning bells in her head distracting her, telling her to run away before she got hurt again. “No.”
“No, he is not here, or no, you have no husband?”
“Oh, Franco,” she whispered. He no longer fit his boyish nickname.
“Tell me, Julia. Which is it?”
“I have no husband.”
Triumph flared in his eyes, quickly banked into a neutral expression. She resented it. As if she were a prize horse unexpectedly put up for auction.
“What about you? Any wife?” She meant it for turn-about, but he took it for interest, his mouth curling into a victorious smile.
Maybe it was interest. Oh, of course it was. She was dying to know if there was a Duchess Mrs. Franco Duarte, or whatever they were called in Portugal these days. She’d never quite picked up the naming system that could leave a person with four last names.
“No wife. Yet. I am here on business with Benedito.” As if summoned by his name like Rumpelstiltskin, the wizened old man popped up at Frank’s elbow.
“Bom dia, senhorina.” He bowed at the waist, his eyes sparkling with unabashed curiosity. Julia could well imagine why. She was probably pale as a ghost and Frank looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.
“Hello.” Someone had to act with normalcy, so she extended her hand to the elderly Portuguese, who bowed over it almost as if she were a princess.
“Senhorina.”
“Senhorina Julia Cooper, may I present Senhor Benedito Henriques Oliveira. Benedito, this is Senhorina Julia Cooper, whom I met here a long time ago.”
The old man’s eyes sharpened as he gazed between them. “A long time ago?”
“When we were younger,” Frank answered evasively.
“Then you must talk!” Benedito practically shoved Frank at her. “Go to lunch! Don Franco, I will pick out those paint colors you wanted and have them mixed.” He ducked away into the crowd as Frank let out a yelp of dismay.
“Paint colors?” Julia asked.
Frank gave up trying to spot his assistant and sighed. “We are here to fix up the villa.”
“The villa.” She was swept back in time again, to the stone building overlooking the sea on Frank’s private island. “Why?” She immediately regretted showing any interest. It was his own business, even if he were setting it up for a bachelor pad.
“A honeymoon.” He watched her closely.
“Ah.” Of course Frank would have moved on. It wasn’t as if he’d pined for her all these years. “And when is the happy event?”
“Two months, roughly. The wedding is in June.”
Oh, the bitter irony. Over ten years since their separation and then she arrived two months before his wedding. “Well. May I congratulate you and the future duchess?”
He gave her a slow smile. “The wedding isn’t mine.”
FRANK DIDN’T FEEL THE slightest bit guilty about taking advantage of Julia’s state of confusion to guide her into a cozy back table at a local café. She’d tried to hide her shock and then relief at finding out he wasn’t the lucky groom, but Frank could still read her emotions, even after all these years.
“Would you like some wine?” He held the bottle over her glass, ready to pour. It was a variety they used to drink together.
She held up a hand. “Just water, please.”
“All right.” He ordered a bottle for her and filled her glass when it arrived. She drank eagerly, as if her throat were dry, then twirled the stem between her fingers. She looked all around the café—anywhere but at him.
“Julia,” he began, not sure what to say. Why did you leave me when we were college students? sounded more than a bit whiny and pathetic. “How have you been?”
“Fine.” She gave him a polite smile.
He tried again. “You finished your nursing degree?”
“Yes, and after a couple years, I