Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,67
spot is as good as reserved,” Dad informed her. The twinkle in his eye made her wonder if he had purposely goaded both of them.
“And you’re paying for her plane ticket!” Mother announced. “And mine, too, because she and I are going shopping—in London.”
JULIA CLUTCHED HER INVITATION as she stood in the guest line at the massive Vinciguerran cathedral. The facade was a warm ivory color with a huge stained glass circular window over the wide doors. A spire climbed upward, and Julia could see tiny figures moving around in its bell tower. They were probably preparing to ring the bells after the ceremony.
Most of the guests around her were obviously the rich and wealthy from all over Europe. But there were a few regular people like her wearing wide-eyed expressions of excitement mixed with terror at being so far out of their usual setting. She wondered if they were friends of the family or maybe former nannies or teachers.
Julia didn’t feel any more comfortable, but at least she looked the part. Her mother had taken her to Harrod’s and several other boutiques in London to find just the right outfit. She had fallen in love with a peach-colored hat with a slightly rounded crown and turned up brim. For decoration, it had a lighter-peach satin ribbon band and satin roses on one side. They had found a matching peach-colored suit with a low-cut V-neck and a skirt that hit right above her knees. Her mother had suggested in front of the saleslady that Julia might want to wear a lace camisole underneath, but had received such a look of horror from the clerk that she had immediately dropped the idea.
Julia wasn’t interested in covering anything up. She wanted to rub Frank’s nose in what he was missing. The peach color made her lightly tanned complexion glow and aside from feeling desperately miserable at not being with him, she looked great.
She was next in line, and got wanded by the security guard, her purse searched and discreetly sniffed by the police dog. Once that was done, she was directed to the cathedral entrance.
She climbed the white marble steps and blinked as she entered the church. Once her eyes adjusted to the lower light, her jaw dropped. Fairy-tale wedding didn’t even come close—this was heavenly. The altar was pure ivory marble with large golden candelabras. Big swags of cream and yellow roses draped over every available surface, with smaller bundles of blooms attached to each pew.
“Bride or groom?” Julia looked up into the face of a Germanic god—not Odin, one that had both his eyes. This guy was blond, blue-eyed perfection and didn’t even make her stomach quiver one teensy bit. She sighed and told him she was there for the bride. He checked her name and his eyes widened.
He extended his arm and she took the impressive appendage. Again, nothing. She didn’t even wonder about any other appendages he might have as they walked down the aisle.
She hummed the bridal march under her breath and he gave her a mischievous look.
“Ah, the march from Lohengrin.”
“Good job.” Of course, he would know Wagner’s greatest operatic hits.
“I’ll see you at the reception?” His blue gaze traveled to her un-camisoled neckline.
“Me and nineteen hundred other people.” She was just weary, too weary to even flirt with Handsome Hans.
He stopped at a pew close to the front and ushered her in. “Until then.”
“Thank you.” She sank into the gold cushioned seat next to a middle-aged couple that was practically quivering with joy. “Exciting day, isn’t it?” It was time to get over herself and stop being such a hermit.
“But of course!” the man said. He was wearing what looked like a brand-new suit, his plump, pretty wife in a beautiful dress that had to be of French design. “We ’ave known the bride since she was small. I am Jean-Claude and this is my wife Marthe-Louise. How do you know Stefania?”
“I’m, um, actually a friend of Frank. The bride’s Portuguese friend.”
He translated for his wife, who’d suddenly become quite animated. “My wife, she says François is a wonderful man and is a brother to Stefania, her brother Giorgio and our own Jacques.”
“Frank, George and Jack,” Julia murmured to herself.
“Ah, oui!” Jean-Claude let out a laugh. “And Steevee, too.”
She had been put in the family pew.
Then she saw him. He was walking down the aisle with an elderly woman wearing a tiara and perfectly draped silver silk formal gown that matched her hair.
He matched his