Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,66
Sousa had said the Duke had stopped at the hospital to wish him well before he returned to the mainland.
The Duke hadn’t stopped to wish Julia well. She’d caused enough turmoil in his life—again—that he probably just wanted to get the hell away from her. She really needed to get her head on straight.
And she was supposed to be back in Boston in another week or so—back to the craziness of the emergency room and the boredom of single life.
“What is it?” She padded into the kitchen and saw her mother holding a large ivory envelope.
“For you. The return address says, ‘His Majesty Crown Prince Giorgio of Vinciguerra.’”
Her dad got up from his chair to peer at the envelope through his wire-rimmed reading glasses. “No street address, though. I suppose when you rule a whole country, people know where to send your mail.”
“Why would the Crown Prince of Vinciguerra send you mail?” Her mother held on to the packet with a death grip as she practically fondled the expensive paper.
“Let her open it, Evelyn, and then we’ll all know the answer to that question.”
Julia didn’t want to take the envelope. Prince Giorgio was Frank’s best friend and the brother of the bride. It sure wasn’t an invitation to a royal wedding shower. She couldn’t even afford a cloth napkin off that bridal registry.
Dad tugged it out of Mother’s hands and passed it to her. “Open it before your poor mom passes out from curiosity.”
Julia slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a smaller, but no less exquisite envelope, this one addressed in beautiful calligraphy to “Miss Julia Cooper.”
Inside was an invitation to the wedding of the decade, Princess Stefania to the star German soccer player Dieter Thalberg. And Julia had painted their honeymoon bedroom a nice relaxing taupe color. They could thank her later.
She handed the invitation to her mother, who gasped as she read. “How on earth did you get invited? Have you ever met any of these people?”
“Evelyn, it’s because of that Portuguese boy. The one who turned out to be some upperclass dilettante.”
“Frank is not a dilettante. He is well-educated and a hard worker,” she told her father more sharply than she intended.
He gave her a satisfied half-smile, as if she had confirmed some hypothesis he’d been mulling.
She glared at him for tripping her up.
“Julia, you should go,” her mother announced. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, something you can tell your children about.”
Fat chance of her ever having children. She didn’t even want to look at another man who wasn’t Frank.
“Don’t be silly,” her father scoffed. “Julia, at a royal wedding?”
The women both rounded on him. “What does that mean?” Julia demanded.
“Come on, now. We’re regular people. They’re royalty. All those fancy outfits and us in our T-shirts and shorts. Julia would probably curtsey to the butler—they have several apiece, you know.”
Her mother was turning the color of a pomegranate. “Bob, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You act as if we’re some know-nothings who eat cold pork and beans straight from the can. That we think toilet water swirls around in a bowl. In all your years in the Air Force, did we ever embarrass you at formal functions? Did you ever see me with my skirt tucked into the back of my pantyhose or with my finger up my nose?”
“Now, Evelyn…” He held up his hands in placation.
“Good going, Dad,” she muttered. Of all the things to bait her mother with—her mother came from a poor family and had worked hard to learn proper etiquette for all situations.
“Don’t you ‘now, Evelyn’ me!” She waggled her finger at him. “Julia is going to this royal wedding and she will know exactly how to behave and you—you are treating her to a fabulous dress.”
“But what if I don’t want to go? I have to get back to Boston,” she complained, sounding like a whiny teenager. She was just starting to come to terms with the idea of not seeing Frank again, and now her mother was tossing her at him.
Her mother put her hands on her hips. “Julia, you can just call up the hospital and tell them you’re not ready to come back. You’re still having headaches and you toss and turn at night.”
She didn’t realize her mother knew that. “I’m just tired,” she said feebly.
“A good reason to delay your return to work. After all, you deserve a medal for being wounded in the line of duty. Your