seafood and vegetable dishes such as the country’s versions of cataplana, a seafood stew, and cazuela, a vegetable meat and potatoes stew made from locally-grown produce, along with specialties from the town of Citrine a few miles away as well as local dishes from the village of Morada.
Since this was no formal wedding, seating was flexible and the newly-married couple enjoyed a table to themselves close to Sara’s father, her aunt and the groom’s parents. Most of the people Sara grew up with had either moved to Santangelo or to nearby France or Spain so the other guests were mostly Amaia’s friends and her new brother-in-law’s relatives and friends.
“Hola mia!”
Holding her plate, Sara turned to see the familiar face of Danilo Pedrayes, a childhood friend who approached and kissed her on both cheeks.
While the rest of Moradonia was heavily influenced by French culture, the Morada village boasted its own cultural identity that had always been heavily influenced by Spain. It’s been said only the true Moradonians were Moradonians at heart—neither French nor Spanish but a brand all their own.
“Are you back from Madrid?” Sara asked as she slipped into a chair at a small unoccupied table and Danilo sat across from her.
“Only for the wedding then I have to head back,” Danilo said. “Qué bueno verte, mia,” he said, addressing her with a typical term of endearment for girls and young women used in the Moradonian countryside. His dark eyes bore into her and she lowered her eyes, flushed by his regard of her. When they were in their teens, they formed a friendship that turned awkward when Danilo had unabashedly admitted his romantic feelings toward her. To her relief, Sara left for university at Santangelo as she had not reconciled her true feelings for Danilo; she had wished the relationship to remain platonic. His dashing good looks—olive skin, dark hair and eyes—could have easily distracted her from her goal of leaving town to attend college and, as much as she loved this provincial life in Morada, Sara longed to travel and felt she had a brighter future ahead of her.
“It’s good seeing you again,” she said, alternating between eyeing her plate and Danilo.
“How are things over there at the palace? We all heard about your ‘gig.’ Everyone knows,” he said, appraising the guests gathered.
Of course, it’s a small town, word gets around.
“Is the princess as nice as she looks?” Danilo threw a wicked grin at her.
Sara smiled. “She’s exquisitely beautiful in person and yes, the princess is a lovely person to work for. More down-to-earth than most people think.”
Danilo nodded. “Probably from all those years spent in America incognito—attending public schools and working, doing things for herself.”
Although Sara wasn’t one of the ladies-in-waiting who accompanied Princess Chantalise to America, having only been in her employment for nearly two years, she heard stories about the “ordinary” lifestyle the princess led abroad.
Danilo eyed her plate. “Mmmm. That all looks good. I’m famished. Why don’t you start eating while I go get my food? You don’t have to wait for me.”
With that he was off and Sara was left raking her food with her fork observing the guests mingling. While she was back home where she had grown up, she somehow felt a bit of an outsider now. She hadn’t lived in her hometown since before college and so much had changed in her life. Her eyes rested on her sister and new husband as they gazed into each other’s eyes while they talked. While she and Amaia had been close growing up, when Sara left for university then to Africa, the sisters kept in touch but didn’t always confide in one another as they had before; she couldn’t quite recall where her sister had met Gael. And it was still a mystery as to why Lord Arlen was present at the wedding.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Detecting a teasing tone to that voice, Sara glanced up and to her surprise, a pair of blue eyes seared into hers.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Lord Arlen”—as she continued referring to him if only to herself—stood smiling, a plate of food in his hands. Observing their surroundings and noticing that his classic blonde lady friend was nowhere in sight, she managed to say, “Yes, of course, my lord.”
He sat down across from her and immediately she felt the heat of his gaze as she diverted her eyes, preferring to focus on her food.
“Well, if we’re to dine together in this idyllic setting, let’s just get one thing straight,” he said. “I would prefer that you call me Arlen. None of this ‘my lord’ stuff.” He plunged his fork into a cherry tomato wedge of his salad and, to her surprise, playfully waved it like a wand at her. “Deal?”
While Sara had attended university, spent two years teaching English in Africa, then trained in royal protocol to become a lady-in-waiting, nowhere did the manual say anything about what to do when a member of British nobility waves a tomato-impaled fork at you. After she smiled and nodded, he popped the tiny tomato in his mouth.
“You have a lovely family,” Arlen said, between bites of food.
“Thank you.” Sara lowered her head; her curiosity overcame her timidity. “So you know the groom then—my new brother-in-law?”
Her eyes focused on Arlen’s pink lips as he wiped them with a napkin and nodded. “Gael was my valet for a few years. When I opened hotels in Madrid and Buenos Aires, he became my tutor in Spanish.”
Chewing her food thoughtfully, Sara blinked in understanding. All she knew about her new brother-in-law was that while his family was originally from her hometown, Gael had lived abroad for work and recently got hired to be a Spanish language tutor and art instructor at the newly-resurrected arts academy in Santangelo.
“Mia.”
Danilo’s voice made her jump as she noticed her childhood friend standing by their table. Arlen raised his eyes and the two men took time sizing each other up.
“Danilo, this is…”
“Arlen,” he said, between chews, an act that Sara found endearing. Swallowing his food, the viscount extended his hand which Danilo took with his free hand, the other hand balancing his food plate. “Won’t you join us?”
Sara’s eyes darted from Arlen then to Danilo and back again. “Yes, please do.” She watched as the two men ever so subtly continued to scrutinize each other.
“So you are Sara’s relative, I presume?”
“I am her friend,” Danilo said, intensely regarding Sara as he sat down. “A very dear friend.”
“I see.” Arlen sliced his leafy greens eyeing Sara then Danilo.
“And you are?” Danilo, who had yet to touch his food, held onto his wine glass.
Arlen and Sara’s eyes met before Sara faced Danilo. “I met Arlen through Princess Chantalise.”
If Danilo noticed she hadn’t formally addressed the viscount as “Lord Rydelthorpe,” she hoped he wouldn’t mention it. Instead, Danilo sat back and sipped his wine. Then, as if a light went on in his head, he smiled.
“Ah
