“Do you remember me telling you about my best friends from the university?”
She nodded. “The Italian guy and the French guy. Both were rich noblemen like you.”
“Basically, yes. Giorgio—George—is the prince of Vinciguerra, a tiny country in the north of Italy. Jacques, who still goes by Jack, is a count, with his holdings in Provence, the south of France.”
“And you, the Duke of Aguas Santas in Portugal.”
“Yes.” It wasn’t any secret in the Azores who he was considering he owned a small island there. But the islanders were easygoing and not inclined to give him the paparazzi treatment. He was sure they gossiped about him, but friendly gossip was a national Portuguese pastime.
“Is one of them getting married?”
“Not exactly. Jack just got married last summer to an American travel writer named Lily, and Giorgio and his fiancée haven’t set a date yet. It’s for Giorgio’s younger sister, Stefania, who lived with us in New York. She is marrying a German football star.”
“Soccer.” She lifted her chin. “Germans play soccer, not football.”
He remembered Julia had been a star soccer player in high school and college. “No, football,” he teased. “In Europe, we play football. And Stefania is getting married in the cathedral at home. Between the royal-watchers and the football fans, they will have very little privacy in their everyday lives, but Stefania and Dieter would like a private honeymoon. The villa is very private and romantic.” At least that was how he’d remembered it when he and Julia had stayed there.
“Of course,” she murmured, maybe remembering the same thing? “And that’s why your assistant went off to pick paint colors.”
Frank grimaced. “Benedito isn’t exactly an interior designer. We’ll have to see.”
The waiter arrived with their entrees. Julia leaned over her bowl and eagerly inhaled the steam rising from the chouriço. She found a piece of the sausage with her fork and picked it up, waiting in anticipation before she moved it to her mouth. As she chewed, her expression was delighted and wistful in turns, as if she had been deprived of something important for so long, that the acquiring of it was almost bittersweet.
What else had Julia deprived herself of?
Frank watched her as long as he dared, then busied himself with his salt cod stew when she turned her attention back to him. Bacalhoada, or salt cod stew, was a Portuguese staple. The basics were the same everywhere, but it always tasted a bit different. Salt cod was dried and preserved with salt. To prepare it, you had to soak it overnight to rehydrate it, and then cook like any other fish. This dish was more of a casserole, with chunks of cod and chouriço, olive oil, potatoes and sliced tomatoes cooked along with them. Topping the dish were wedges of hardboiled eggs and black olives.
If Julia hadn’t gone to any Portuguese places, it was unlikely she’d had bacalhoada either. He broke off a chunk of potato and salt cod with his fork, swirling it through the olive oil. “Here, try this.” He offered her a taste, wondering if she’d accept.
She looked at him cautiously with her big sherry-colored eyes. He smiled as meekly as he could manage, when all he wanted to do was toss their bowls aside and drag her into his arms.
But none of that must have shown on his face because she delicately took the bite from his fork, chewing thoughtfully. “Um, very fishy.”
He had to laugh. “Preserving the cod with salt concentrates its flavor.”
“No, it’s good. You know I like seafood.”
“Yes, you do.” They were both children of the ocean. She had made her mother’s New England clam chowder for him once, and he had practically finished the stockpot in one sitting.
Julia ate steadily for a few minutes before speaking. “The villa doesn’t need much work, does it? I mean, you probably use it several times a year.”
“My mother and my sisters do. My nieces and nephews love fishing and exploring the island.” Frank speared an egg wedge. Probably laid fresh this morning in the family henhouse.
“But you don’t stay there.”
“Once in a while.” He’d tried to vacation there a few times, but seeing Julia’s shadow in every room had made his visits short and far between. “There are a couple rooms that need to be painted, some garden work done and a thorough cleaning and airing. Oh, and I bought a beautiful new outdoor whirlpool tub that was just installed yesterday.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a wonderful place for your friend’s sister and her husband.”
“Stefania is a real sweetheart. Hard to believe she’s already twenty-four when I remember how little she was when she came to New York. Poor girl, losing both her parents at once.” Stefania had been inconsolable. Her grandmother, fearing for her granddaughter’s mental health, had sent Stefania to live with George, Jack and Frank. After hiring a housekeeper, the three nineteen-year-old guys raised Stefania through her preteen and teenage years. Frank shuddered at some of those memories.
“What was that shiver for?” Julia was eating heartily now, wiping her bowl with some bread. He was glad to see that since she looked a bit thin.
“Stefania always has been a handful. She once chained herself and her electronic bullhorn to a lamppost outside a certain foreign consulate whose country was not particularly kind to its women and children.”
Julia burst out laughing.
“She called every media outlet in New York, drew a crowd of several hundred enthusiastic supporters and wound up on the national nightly news. When one reporter tried to take her to task for being the product of an outdated patriarchal monarchy, she told her how her own country had granted women the vote twenty years before America and how her outdated patriarchal monarchy had a female literacy rate of one hundred percent compared to that consulate’s country’s dismal rate of fourteen percent.”
“Good for Stefania. Blasted them with facts. And what does she do now?”
“She’s finishing her master’s degree in international politics and will probably stay in New York since George is running their own country very well. She’d let him know if he weren’t.”
“You have to keep politicians on their toes.”
“She also will be selling a commemorative perfume made from lavender at Jack’s French estate. Proceeds go to her women’s and children’s charity.”
“What an accomplished young woman. Give her my best wishes if you get the chance.” Julia sipped her water and pushed her bowl away. “That is so filling. I can’t believe I ate all of that.”
“Our food is comfort food. Nothing low carb or low fat about it.” Frank finished his own helping. “And now for dessert.”
“No, Frank,” she groaned. “I may pop.”
He didn’t want her to go yet, but forcefeeding her was probably not the way to spend more time with her. Maybe bribing her with food? “How about we take a couple pastries with us? We can go for a walk, pick up some coffee and then you can try one.”
She
