Surely, the old woman was having a senile episode. “But, Auntie, of course Grandmother was queen. She raised me. I would know if she wasn’t.”
Silence.
“Aunt Margreta, please?”
“Yes, you’re right, dear. You would know. Never mind.”
Her aunt’s quick compliance confused her even more. And she started thinking back about her life and how she’d never really seen any official documents regarding the Lindstrom monarchy. They’d been figureheads, holding no great power, yet she’d never known much about her homeland. It wasn’t talked about. It seemed from her recent research the monarchy started to take shape in the United States, just after World War II.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. Her body began to tremble as tears stung her eyes. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? I’m not a princess.”
Her aunt’s eyes softened, dimmed by sorrow. “I’m sorry, Portia dear.”
“But how can I believe that? How can that possibly be true?”
Could she take the word of an elderly senile woman who went in and out of coherency?
“There’s a diary,” her aunt said. “Joanna kept a secret diary.”
“Where?” Now Portia would get to the truth. “Where’s the diary?”
Aunt Margreta pointed to the bookshelf against the far wall overflowing with books. “Behind Agatha Christie.”
Portia strode over to the bookshelf. Her hands were shaking as she parted half a dozen mystery novels. She lifted a weathered, navy blue soft-covered book from the shelf and brought it close to her chest. It had no title on the cover. Her heart racing, she took her seat next to Aunt Margreta and began reading the words that made a lie out of her entire life.
* * *
Portia lay quietly on her sofa, a cool towel on her forehead. She’d cried a river full of tears and every cell in her body was now drained. Princess Portia Lindstrom of Samforstand no longer existed. She never had. She was a fraud, a fake. An imposter. How could her family do this to her? How could they have perpetrated a lie that would affect her entire life?
How cruel.
How unjust.
Damn the circumstances behind their decisions right now. Their bold blatant betrayal was all that mattered to her. How dare they mislead her and let her believe in the fairy tale? She wasn’t the snow queen. Hell, once the truth got out, she’d be deemed the black witch.
She’d been involved in one scandal already and it had taken years to live that down. But this? This was too much. The press would devour her. They’d make her out to be the villain, a lying deceiving bitch out to ensnare a wealthy king.
The humiliation alone would destroy all the positive good Juan Carlos had done for his country.
She muffled another sob. She didn’t have it in her to shed more tears.
Feeling empty, she closed her swollen eyes, unable to rid herself of the thoughts plaguing her. The lies she’d been told, the deceptions perpetrated by her family. What of her career? Most importantly, what would she do about Juan Carlos? He was king, and as king he was pledged to only marry a woman of royal heritage. It was his destiny. It was what the citizens of Alma expected. Juan Carlos was the most dutiful man she’d ever known. This would destroy their relationship.
The towel was removed from her head. “Feeling better yet? Want to get up?” Jasmine asked.
“Nooooo. I don’t want to ever get up.”
Jas sat down on the floor beside the sofa. “Hey, that doesn’t sound like the Portia I know. You’ve been wallowing for two hours.”
“I’m not the Portia you know. I’m not... I don’t know who I am. And I have a right to wallow.”
“Yes, it sucks. But Portia, you are you, no matter if you have the title of princess or not.”
“It’s just...it’s just so darn humiliating. I feel like a fool. I feel, well, I feel like everything’s a lie. My childhood, my upbringing, my friends.”
“Hey, watch it there.”
“You know I don’t mean you.”
Jasmine reached for her hand and squeezed. “I know.”
“All the doors that have opened for me because of my title, Jas... Those people will think the worst of me. They’ll think I deliberately deceived them to get ahead in my career.”
“When in truth, we know, they were using you. They wanted to be associated with a princess. So it was a trade-off. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m ashamed of everything.”
“And angry.”
“Yes, of course. I’m spitting mad at my family.”
“I’m not justifying what they’ve done, honey. But they came to the States after the war destitute, and like so many immigrant families, they didn’t know how they’d survive here. And, well, pretending to be royalty from a tiny country...”
“It’s far-fetched. Yet they got away with it.”
“Yes, your grandmother speaks of it in the diary. How scared they were and how confused things were in Europe and Scandinavia after the war. There was a lot of rebuilding and restructuring and things just fell into place for them. Surprisingly, they weren’t questioned. After all, we didn’t have close ties to the monarchy of Samforstand the way we did England. Your grandmother speaks of Americans having much to deal with after the war. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers were coming home. Work and housing in our country was scarce. Things were chaotic.”
“But others found a way to survive without deception. They worked hard and built honest, decent lives for themselves.” Portia hinged her body up from her prone position and swiveled to plant her feet on the floor. Sitting upright, her head spun a little. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jasmine. Honestly, you’re the only person I can trust with this.”
Jasmine rose from the floor and the sofa cushions dipped as she came to sit next to her. Her friend hung her arm around Portia’s shoulder and they sat there like that for long minutes, quiet.
“I’m scared, Jas.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know who I am. I can’t expect you to understand fully how I’m feeling, but suddenly, I’m confused about everything. My heart is aching so badly right now.”
“That’s why I’m here, Portia. You’re not alone.”
She rested her head on Jasmine’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
The house telephone rang. “Want me to get it?”
“No,” she said to Jasmine. “I can’t talk to anyone right now.”
Jas nodded.
Shortly after that, her cell phone began ringing and she knew both calls were from Juan Carlos.
They spoke every evening before she went to bed. Never fail.
Until tonight.
She couldn’t speak to him and pretend everything was all right. She couldn’t pretend that she was still a princess. She had a lot of thinking to do and she couldn’t burden Jasmine any further in the decisions she’d have to make about her future.
Thoughts of Juan Carlos always squeezed her heart tight in a loving embrace.
This time, though, it was as if her heart was being strangled.
And the pain of losing Juan Carlos wouldn’t go away anytime soon.
* * *
Portia sat in the throne room at the palace in Del Sol, her eyes closed, her heart pumping hard. Yesterday, she’d texted and emailed Juan Carlos one excuse after another as to why she wasn’t answering his calls until she’d realized the only way to break it off with him was to face him in person. She’d flown half the night to get here. To see him one last time.
His family had been through a great deal to once and for all return the true and rightful heir to the Alma throne. There’d been one debacle after another with his cousins, as they attempted to reinstate the monarchy, and the entire process had come under great scrutiny
. All eyes were on Juan Carlos now and he’d made promises, staunch, determined promises to the citizenry that he would take his role seriously. By royal decree from decades ago, he was obligated to marry a woman of royal stature. The last thing he needed was to be made a fool of by marrying an imposter, a woman who hadn’t a drop of royal blood flowing through her veins.
She wasn’t his perfect princess any longer.
A tear dripped down her cheek. She wiped it away and steadied her shaky breathing. She glanced down at the engagement ring she wore. It was magnificent and maybe someday would belong to a woman worthy of wearing it and claiming a place beside Juan Carlos.
Her stomach ached at the notion of Juan Carlos living with and loving another woman. But it would happen one day. Rightfully so. She could only hope getting over him wouldn’t destroy her.
She heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. She rose from her seat and mustered her courage. She’d never been much of an actress, but today she needed to provide an award-winning performance.
The door opened and there he stood, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up—as if he’d been busy at work—and tucked into well-fitting black trousers. A lock of his neatly combed hair swept across his forehead and his tanned face showed a hint of stubble. Some days, when he wasn’t going out in public, he didn’t shave. She preferred him that way...a little rough around the edges. Tall, elegant, gorgeous.
Juan Carlos’s gaze lit upon her and her heart tumbled. Oh, how she’d missed him.
“Portia, sweetheart. You’re here.” His warm winning smile devastated her as he strode across the room. Genuine love entered his eyes. “I’m so glad to see you. You’ve come back to me early.”
“Yes.”
“I was worried when I couldn’t reach you. But now I see, you wanted to surprise me.”
He took her into his arms and heaven help her, she allowed him to kiss her.
His lips were warm, welcoming, filled with passion and beautifully familiar. She’d never been kissed the way Juan Carlos kissed her. She held her back stiff and didn’t partake, but he was too caught up in the moment to notice her reluctance.
“We have much to talk about,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers again.
She stepped back and gazed into his dark gleaming eyes. “Yes, Juan Carlos. It’s the reason I’ve come back to Del Sol so quickly.”
He took her hand, covering it with his. “Come, let’s sit then and catch up.”
He began walking, tugging her along to the king and queen’s thrones, two ornate tall chairs of plush red velvet and gilded carvings.
The irony of sitting upon that chair was too much. “I’d rather stand,” she said.
“Okay.” He looked at her oddly, but then nodded. “Would you like to take a walk? It might feel good to stretch your legs after the long plane ride. We can talk of the progress you’ve made with our wedding.”
“No,” she said. “No, Juan Carlos. I didn’t come here early to discuss our wedding. I came to say that I can’t go through with it.”
“With what, sweetheart?” He blinked and appeared totally confused.
“The wedding. I can’t marry you, Juan Carlos. I went home and really gave our situation some thought.”
“Our situation?” He frowned. “You love me, I love you. That’s our situation. We’re engaged, Portia.”
“No, as of today, we are not.”
She inhaled and twisted the diamond ring off her finger. He was shaking his head, baffled. The gleam in his eyes dimmed. He almost appeared frightened. It killed her to wipe the joy from his face. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“What is all this, Portia?”
She took his hand, spread open his palm and dropped his mother’s wedding ring inside. “It’s too much, Juan Carlos. We...we got caught up in the moment. Finding the art treasures put us both on a crazy romantic high and we took the little fling we had too far.”
“Little fling?” he repeated, his voice hitching.
Oh, God, she’d hurt him. She knew she would, but she almost couldn’t bear seeing that expression on his face. Better a small lie to save him, than the truth, which would make him look the fool in the eyes of his family and country. She loved him enough to suffer his anger and wrath. But the pain she’d inflicted would stay with her a long, long time.
“It happened so fast. You and I, we’re different people. I love my job, Juan Carlos.”
“You wouldn’t have to give it up.”
“Please understand,” she said softly. “It isn’t going to work out. I don’t want to live here. I don’t want to get married or have children right now.”
His eyes snapped to hers. “I never rushed you about children, Portia.”
“You’d expect it one day. And...and I’m afraid I’d disappoint you. I—I... It was a mistake to get engaged.”
She backed up a step, putting distance between them. God should strike her dead for the lies she was telling. But it had to be done. Her sacrifice would make it easier on Juan Carlos in the long run. Yet her heart burned at the thought of leaving him forever.
“You’re having cold feet. I hear it’s common before a wedding.”
“No, being away from here, from you, made it all clear to me, Juan Carlos. It’s not cold feet, it’s reality. I hope you’ll understand and not make this harder on me than it already is.”
He opened his palm to stare at the diamond ring. Then the sound of his deep wobbly sigh reached her ears. He was in pain. God, she hated this. “I love you, Portia,” he said, searching her eyes.
Tears blurred her vision. Her throat constricted. She couldn’t return his love. For his sake, she said nothing.
He gripped her forearms, gently shaking her. As if the impact would somehow clear her head of this nonsense. “Portia, you told me you loved me. You agreed to be my wife.”
“I’m...I’m...” She took a swallow. Could she do this? Could she tell the biggest lie of all? She forced the words out. “I’m fond of you, Juan Carlos.”
He dropped her arms. “Fond?”
She nodded.
“Then why are you crying, sweetheart?”
Her tears now were soaking her dress. She hated herself at the moment. “I don’t like hurting you.”
“Then don’t. Stay and we’ll talk this over. Give us time, Portia.”
“I can’t, Juan Carlos. It won’t do any good. We’re...over.” She sobbed now, unable to hold back any longer. “I’m s-sorry.”
He didn’t reach for her. Thank goodness. If he touched her again, she’d melt into his arms. But he watched her carefully, as if trying to figure her out. Skepticism lingered in his eyes. He didn’t believe her, but there was also resignation there and definite injury. She must have baffled him. He didn’t know what to say to convince her she was wrong.
There wasn’t anything he could say to her to change her mind. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She had to leave, to muster her strength and walk out the door. “I’ll never forget the time I had with you... It was...amazing,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head.
And that was her way out.
She turned her back on him and dashed away, leaving the palace and Juan Carlos and the love they’d shared behind.
Nine
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Your Highness, you could use some sleep. Why not close your eyes while we travel,” Eduardo said.
Juan Carlos sat facing his bodyguard in the reclining lounge chair on the palace’s private plane. Under normal circumstances, Juan Carlos wouldn’t travel so extravagantly; he wanted to be known as the king who flew coach. But it was imperative that this journey be kept secret and away from curious eyes. “Are you saying I look less than kingly, Eduardo?”
His bodyguard straightened in his seat. “No, I, uh, I know how hard this week has been on you, Your Highness.”
“Eduardo, I’m in total agreement with you.” Juan Carlos sighed. “I know I look like hell. I will fix that before we arrive in Los Angeles. The best I can, that is.”
Eduardo’s eyes softened. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Eduardo was quickly becoming his good friend and confidant. “Do you have a girl, Eduardo?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Is it serious?”
Eduardo shook his head. “No, not really.”
“Because of what you do for a living?”
“Yes. I cannot get serious with anyone while I’m away so much of the time. She understands.”
“Ah, an understanding woman. It’s lucky for me, not so fortunate for your girl.”
“Si, that is true. But I am twenty-eight and not ready to settle down.”
“I used to think that way. But sometimes fate steps in and knocks you over the head when a beautiful snow queen enters your path.”
Eduardo chuckled. “Princess Portia.”
“Yes, Princess Portia. And now I’m chasing her all over the globe.”
“She is worth it, I would say, Your Majesty.”
“Si, she is worth it.”
He lifted the tumbler of bourbon he held in his hand and stared into the golden liquid. “I wish you could share a drink with me, Eduardo. We’ll be in the air for five more hours. Surely the effects will have worn off by then.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, but no. I cannot drink while on duty.”
Juan Carlos nodded. “Coffee then and a pastry?”
“I’d never refuse a pastry from Chef Andre, Your Highness. He showed me his creations before packing them up for this trip.”
Juan Carlos pressed the button on the arm of his chair and ordered up coffee and pastries from his personal flight attendant. Then he rested back in his seat and sipped bourbon. Sleep was elusive lately and eating had become a chore. But he could tolerate a shot or two of bourbon when his mind wouldn’t shut down. It helped blur the pain of losing Portia.
A Royal Temptation Page 13
