Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,68
pace to the older woman, so Julia had plenty of time to stare at him and try to keep her heart from beating out of her chest.
All the men were impeccable, but Frank was stunning. He wore what looked like a black military uniform, complete with medals and tons of gold braid. A red-and-white ribbon sash went diagonally from one broad shoulder to his opposite hip, where he wore a ceremonial sword with a jewel-crusted, cross-shaped hilt. His black hair was slicked back from his strong face and he looked solemn and serious, as befitted the occasion. But when he finally guided his charge to the front pew, she said something to him. He patted her hand and smiled, his joyous expression lighting his face.
Julia remembered that expression—saw it almost every night before she fell asleep. More and more, her nightmares were disappearing, replaced by dreams of being with Frank.
He returned to the front of the cathedral and took his place standing next to a tall, chestnut-haired man in equally elaborate regalia—probably his French friend the Count, the one with a baby on the way. She waited for the usual stab of pain, but it was only a slight twinge. Maybe she had been able to put more of that grief behind her than she thought.
A minute later, the handsome blond groom filed out from the side of the church to stand at the front of the aisle, his equally handsome blond groomsman at his side. The bishop and his assistants proceeded from the back of the altar. The bishop was regal in his pointed hat, shepherd’s crook staff and white-and-gold vestments. He murmured briefly to the groom, who gave a nervous smile.
Music boomed from the organ and a pretty blonde flower girl started down the aisle, stopping on the opposite side from the groom.
The organist shifted pedals and started the bridal march. Everyone in the cathedral turned to face the entrance. A pretty, petite brunette smiled up at her brother, Frank’s friend Giorgio. He was dark-haired and handsome, and even from the distance, Julia could tell he was fighting back powerful emotions of love and happiness for his sister.
The bride was so beautiful, Julia wanted to weep. Sure, she had a wonderful ivory-and-gold satin dress and an antique lace veil streaming down her back. But the love in her face as she saw her groom was what made her radiant. The groom was dazzled by her beauty, his eyes wide and his mouth falling slightly open before he broke into a huge grin.
Giorgio safely delivered his sister to her fiancé and kissed her on both cheeks. She cupped his face in her small hands and said something to him that made him blink rapidly and swallow hard.
He nodded and kissed her again before standing next to Frank and their friend Jack.
The wedding was long and ceremonious, with several hymns sung by the local boys’ choir and a hearty sermon from the bishop. Unfortunately, Julia didn’t understand much Italian, but she understood the parts about love and making babies. Jean-Claude grinned and elbowed his wife at that part. Everyone was obviously thrilled about that aspect, looking forward to having babies to spoil.
What if she could have a baby with Frank? Another baby with Frank, she mentally corrected. She’d done her best to push the memory of the first one, the lost one, out of her mind for the past eleven years, but she’d come to see that was futile and unnecessary. She still loved that baby, just as she had always loved Frank.
If she’d learned anything about the human mind, she’d learned it was like a closet. Oh sure, you could cram all sorts of broken and damaged things in its depths, but eventually the closet door wouldn’t close and everything would come bursting out.
She’d needed to stuff her grief into the closet in order to survive at first, but Frank had yanked open the door and insisted she clean it out. And he had grieved, too, poor Frank, with his tender heart and sweet nature.
Someone pressed a soft cloth into her hand, and Julia realized with a start that she was crying, streams of tears running down her cheeks.
The round face of Frank’s friend Marthe-Louise creased in concern as she patted her arm. She seemed to know Julia was crying for more than just a beautiful wedding.
Julia wiped at her tears with the handkerchief. Marthe-Louise wrapped a sturdy arm around Julia’s shoulders and a knot loosened under her sternum