she had wondered if it had all been a plot to cast doubt on the Sebastianis—if Rashid Kamal had set it all up, the unexpected meeting, the surprised passion, and then his disappearance, so that the Sebastianis would be suspected in his disappearance just as the Kamals were suspected in the loss of her brother, Lucas. Other times she had despaired, sure that he was dead and that her son would all his life bear the stigma of belonging to a family suspected of killing his father.
He must know by now that she was pregnant. She wondered if he accepted that he was the father of her child. There was so much accusation and counter-accusation between the Kamals and the Sebastianis that it would hardly be surprising if he did not.
Julia and Prince Rashid to Marry!
A Montebello Messenger World Exclusive!
Crown Prince Rashid of Tamir and Princess Julia will marry “as soon as it can be arranged,” the Montebello Messenger has learned. In an exclusive interview with this reporter, the heir to the throne of Tamir, whose family has maintained a long-standing and well-publicized feud with Montebello’s own royal family, said that he felt the ill feeling between the two families was “a thing of the past” which should be forgotten.
“A man and woman cannot carry on an ancient feud when they are about to have a child together,” he said. “My interest is not in the past, but in the future. It is time to look ahead, to a time of peace between our two countries.”
The prince confirmed unequivocally that he is the father of Princess Julia’s child, a question about which there has been intense media speculation since his unexpected return from the dead early this week.
The palace here in Montebello has not so far responded to Rashid’s claims that a wedding between the Crown Prince and Princess Julia is in the offing.
“Damn you! Damn you!” Julia flung the Montebello Messenger to the floor with a cry of disbelief.
“Ma—madame?” a voice trembled behind her.
In the mirror her hairdresser’s face looked startled and wary.
“Oh—Micheline! Not you! Sorry!” she said, forcing a smile. She had never felt less like smiling in her life.
The paper landed with the front page up, and Rashid’s beard-shadowed face grinned at her, black grease smudged on his cheekbone and forehead. His eyes seemed to mock her even from a distance of ten feet. Behind him was a military helicopter. In one hand he held an assault rifle.
The hairdresser’s eyes followed hers. “’E is veree ’andsome, madame,” she said shyly.
Until this moment, none of her staff had had the nerve to mention in her presence the one subject that was on everyone’s mind, though Julia knew it was about all they discussed behind her back.
“Who is?” the princess snapped, in her mother’s best we-are-not-amused tone.
But Micheline was just too thrilled by this latest turn of events in the months-long drama the world had been following with such excitement. Who could have kept silent now?
“But the prince, madame!” she supplied breathlessly. “Et quel héros! Si brave!” She slipped into her native French, English being insufficient for her feelings. “To conquer those terrorists, madame! To risk his life to save us from the anthrax…” She sighed luxuriously. “I am sure you are very happy, madame. Who would not be, with such a man to love her?”
Julia pressed her lips together and made no reply. She might almost have been fooled by the romance of it herself, if she hadn’t known better. She couldn’t understand what game he was playing. But that it was a game was certain.
“Everyone is so happy, madame, to know that you will be happy at last!”
Julia’s jaw clenched. Whatever this latest move meant, it boded no happiness for her. Happy? With a man whose family was still manipulating a painful, century-old tragedy into a totally unjustified claim on Sebastiani land?
“So, madame, what do you think?” Micheline prompted, unabashed. It was a moment before Julia realized that she was being urged to admire her own hair.
Julia no longer wore the smooth pleat that had once almost been her trademark. This morning her long, dark hair had been loosely caught back, with soft curling tendrils escaping all around her head.
The style emphasized the fine bones of her face, very prominent now because of the weight she had lost over the past year, the porcelain skin, the wide blue eyes. She was starting to gain the weight back now, with the pregnancy, but she was still much thinner than she had been in those days when her marriage had seemed storybook perfect from the outside.
“Perfect, Micheline, thank you,” the princess said, her smile reflected in the deep blue eyes in a way that ensured that most of her staff would walk across burning coals if she asked them to. She got to her feet just as her chief private secretary came through the door, a sheaf of papers in one arm, an extremely odd look on her face.
“Valerie,” said Julia, as Micheline brushed her down, “have you seen that?” She indicated the newspaper on the floor, and Valerie stopped short and bent to pick it up.
A stupid question at nearly 9:00 am. The entire island had read or heard the story by now.
“Uh—yes,” Valerie replied blankly.
“Will you tell Bertrand I want to talk to him? Immediately, please, if he can make it.”
“I’m sure he’s waiting to talk to you,” Valerie said, pulling out her phone.
Micheline handed Julia into her jacket. The soft dusty rose suit had a pencil skirt—she could still wear those—but the boxy jacket hung low over her hips, disguising the first signs of her pregnancy. Underneath she wore a neat white bodysuit with a low scooped neck. She slipped on gold medallion earrings as Micheline passed them to her. On her wrist she wore the bracelet of gold and diamonds she called her lucky bracelet.
“Thanks, Micheline,” Julia said, with another smile.
Valerie meanwhile was talking to Bertrand, passing on her message. She disconnected as Julia took the newspaper from her hand.
“He’ll meet us,” Valerie said, and the two women left the room to stride down the hall together.
Although obviously consumed with curiosity, Valerie calmly began her usual briefing. “You’ve got the Arts Council representatives due at nine-thirty. I’ll put them in the Blue Room. They’ll be asking…”
Julia tried to concentrate, but the world seemed to be behind a veil. It was happening more and more lately—no doubt it was pregnancy hormones. She just didn’t seem to have the attack, or the cool nerves, she was known for.
Or maybe it was because she was preoccupied with what Rashid Kamal had said to the media. What game was he playing? Everyone knew a Sebastiani could never marry a Kamal, baby on the way or not. Even if she wanted to.
Which Julia certainly did not. Marry a Kamal? Not if he was the last man standing.
Bertrand, in a smart blue suit and collarless shirt, was waiting in the anteroom of Julia’s private offices, one hand in his pocket, looking rather irritated. They all moved through to the inner office.
Julia
