Andres headed in the opposite direction of the staircase that led to his apartment on the second floor. Frowning to himself, he wondered what could be so important that his grandfather couldn’t wait a few minutes for him.
His footsteps echoed on the Italian tile and he nodded at staff that he encountered on the long walk to his grandfather’s office.
The three-story palace had been originally built as a fortress on a hill to keep out enemy states but had gone through a series of renovations that modernized the interior. The high ceilings of yesteryear were painted with historic scenes that served as a reminder of the turbulent history the House of Vasquez had experienced throughout the years.
The sparkling blue Atlantic Ocean outside the arched windows made him long for the next time he’d see Angela again. So far they’d managed to see each other every two to three weeks and spent a lot of time on the phone when they couldn’t.
Andres entered the office. “Hello, Grandfather. You wanted to see me?”
Felipe turned away from the window and the busy harbor where ferries shuttled residents and visitors back and forth to mainland Europe.
“Yes, I did. Care to sit?” He inclined his head toward one of the chairs.
“I’d rather stand,” Andres said, somehow certain he should remain on his feet for this conversation.
Felipe studied his hands for a moment, and Andres remained silently waiting for him to explain why he’d been summoned.
“I’m not getting any younger,” Felipe began, looking up at Andres. “I have made a decision. In one year I will abdicate the throne.”
“Abdicate?” Andres repeated in shock. He’d fully expected his grandfather to continue as the country’s ruler for years to come, despite his age.
“Yes, and I want you to succeed me on the throne.”
What! This decision was completely unexpected.
“There is no one better suited than you. Over the past few years, you’ve handled every task I’ve handed you with the finesse and skill our people expect from a future ruler.”
Shocked, Andres remained silent.
Perhaps he’d done too well, because he hadn’t expected his grandfather to appoint him as the next head of state. His father should have been the next in line, but because he was unfit and exiled, Felipe had the right to appoint his successor, and Andres had thought for sure his grandfather would choose an older member of the family.
“What about your nephew, Juan the Viscount of Guzman? He would be better suited than me.” While he had reservations about his cousin’s preparedness for the role, he’d expected his grandfather to choose him. He’d served the country faithfully for years and could surely become an excellent ruler with good support and the passage of time. If not him, then another family member.
Felipe shook his head gravely. “He is not suitable, in my opinion. His decision-making is lacking, and he has no charisma. Since your father, my own son, is out of the question…” He grimaced. “I choose you.” His blue eyes, dulled with age as his vision declined, brightened somewhat as he stared directly at Andres.
Andres shook his head. “No, Grandfather. I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You are as ready as you will ever be. In October you will be thirty years old, two years older than I was when I took the throne. I have every confidence in you.”
Silence fell in the room as Andres rummaged through his mind for more excuses that would get him out of the responsibility that loomed in the near future.
His stomach became as tight as a ball of yarn. “Grandfather…” he started, unsure of his argument but certain he must lodge one.
“The weekend of your thirtieth birthday celebration, I will make the announcement that you will succeed me to the throne and let our citizens know the date I will abdicate in July of next year. Then we will simply have to get the endorsement of the National Council, which I fully expect we will once the members vote.”
“This is so sudden.”
“We don’t have any choice. Nature, it seems, has chosen to be unkind to me in my old age.” Felipe slowly shook his head, and Andres waited on tenterhooks for him to continue. “My doctors have informed me that I’m in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”
All the air left the room. Felipe’s grave face wrenched at Andres’s heart. That diagnosis explained so much—the forgetfulness, the odd behavior.
“They have given me a year, maybe two if I’m lucky, before my condition becomes more noticeable. It’s already progressed past my comfort level. I lose things. The other day I couldn’t do simple arithmetic. My condition will only get worse, so there’s no point in delay. You know what that means, of course. You must choose a wife, a woman of noble birth who can bear you the children that will continue our lineage. Not a woman with whom you have a fling that will lead nowhere.”
Andres felt his stomach churn. He was speaking about Angela.
His grandfather had never approved of their relationship, one that had lasted longer than any of his most recent ones. She was American and a commoner. Felipe would have much preferred that he get serious about someone from Europe, from the long list of eligible nobility across the continent. A princess, a countess. Anyone else but a woman who didn’t have the right background and hadn’t been through the training and grooming necessary to become the mother of future princes and princesses.
Felipe had no doubt expected their relationship to last only a short time, but there was no end in sight. Until today. Until he had essentially given Andres notice that he should end their affair to pick a bride and prepare for his role as ruler of Estoria.
“There is no law that says I have to marry a woman of noble birth.”
His grandfather looked at him askance. “It is best. Are you thinking about the woman you’re seeing? I hope not, because she is not prepared.”
“Then I will prepare her.”
“You know as well as I do that she wants no part of this.” He waved his hand at the room. “You told me so yourself. She is the one who has insisted that you keep your relationship secret. She is an independent and career-driven woman. Do you really think she would give up her lifestyle for you? For the limitations you must live under and the protocol you must succumb to as the reigning monarch?”
Andres ran a hand over his head and stepped away, unable to meet his gaze and accept the lash of his words.
“Choose a woman from Spain or the United Kingdom or Sweden. Such an alliance would be beneficial for us. She won’t be accepted. You know she won’t fit in.”
The hairs on the back of Andres’s neck rose. What did that vague comment mean? Was he referring to her biracial heritage?
He swung around. “And what the hell does that mean?”
“Watch your tone.” Felipe’s stooped shoulders straightened fractionally. “This is not up for debate. It is time for you to end your affair with this woman—”
“Her name is Angela,” Andres said through clenched teeth. He regretted ever sharing his strong feelings for her with his grandfather.
“Think about our future. You know what happens if you do not marry.”
Public and political unrest would ensue.
Despite their valiant efforts, Estoria had been annexed by the Portuguese for decades in the early years of its founding. They’d finally gotten their freedom by paying a handsome sum to the Portuguese monarchy and allying themselves with bigger, more powerful countries ruled by a king or queen. As such, they’d called their own rulers princes and princesses, thus making them a principality.
Their freedom did not come without a catch, however. According to the agreement they had signed, any ruler who ascends the throne must be married and produce a hereditary, legitimate heir to the throne within two years. If not, a re-annexation would result, dissolving Estoria’s monarchy and returning the country and all its assets to Portugal.
“You know what you must do. Do it.” Felipe returned his attention to the scene outside the window, ending the conversation.
Andres couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a hug from his grandfather. Felipe was not an affectionate man, yet Andres knew he loved him and understood that love went beyond mere physical touch. One’s actions conveyed love, and his grandfather had demonstrated many times how much Andres meant to him.
He’d cast out his own son and raised Andres as his own. He’d educated him in the ways of royal protocol, sent him to the best schools, and given him the type of worldly advice that should have come from his own father. Now, he was asking him to continue the name of the House of Vasquez—which would have been an honor, had it not come with the burden of losing the woman he loved.
Among the palace staff, there were people who completed the most mundane of tasks, such as fetching a cup of coffee. Or they performed the most dire, unselfish act—like the security guards willing to die for them. In exchange, all he was being asked to do was lead, from a golden throne in a palace on a hill.
But he couldn’t think of anything but Angela and what that announcement would mean for their future.
A haze of misery covered him from head to toe, and he left the office without speaking another word. Prince Felipe had spoken. As his grandfather and prince, he must be obeyed.
18
Angela smiled at the attendant whose firm hand rested beneath hers as he helped her out of the limousine.
“Have a good evening, ma’am,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied.
She made her way to the brightly lit front door of the Smithsonian Castle, where a female attendant welcomed her in with a sweep of her hand.
The fall event by billionaire Damon Steed was well attended every year. Top U.S. political figures and foreign dignitaries were there tonight, all dressed in fine gowns and tuxedos.
Her invite had come through her best friend, Dahlia, but she was there to meet Andres. He’d flown her to DC and also provided the clothes she wore, a shimmering gold dress with a striped shawl that was thrown around her shoulders. The shoes and matching gold clutch were also part of the ensemble that he had forwarded to her.
She had to give it to him, he’d done a good job—or whomever he’d hired to pick out the clothes for this evening. She’d never considered herself the type to have a man tell her what to wear, but she’d found herself willing to do for Andres a lot of things she didn’t normally do. And despite being independent, she appreciated his gifts and desire to spoil her. Her heart beat rapidly in anticipation of seeing him. She couldn’t wait to tell him, in person, that she was willing to move to Europe so they could spend more time together. And maybe, just maybe, she could eventually work up the nerve to be in the spotlight.
Baby steps…
A white-gloved attendant caught her eye and motioned for her to enter the Great Hall where the main festivities were taking place. The Great Hall was an impressive two-story space with tall windows and colossal arched columns.
She stepped in and cast her gaze around. She and Andres were going to pretend they didn’t know each other, but she couldn’t help but search for him.
Finally, she saw him, not too far from where she stood, seated with a group of men around a table. Her gaze took him in, holding court while the other men practically hung on his every word.
His eyes met hers and sent the pulse at the base of her throat into a frenzy.
He was absolutely breathtaking. His black hair was swept away from his face, but later when they made love, that one errant curl would fall out of place across his forehead, and she’d take pleasure in pushing it back into place with the run of her fingers.
She expected some acknowledgement from him. A small lift of the corner of his mouth perhaps, or even letting his gaze sweep down her body in approval the way he often did. Instead, his face remained neutral and his gaze moved away from hers.
He continued his conversation, and for a moment Angela was thrown. They’d agreed to pretend they didn’t know each other, but she still felt dismissed.
Was something wrong? Did he not like what he saw? Did—
She halted the negative thoughts, certain she was reading too much into his lack of reaction, and made her way across the floor. She stopped one of the waiters and took a glass of white wine from him, offering a faint smile as she did so. She should not be drinking on an empty stomach, but she needed something to hold in her hand while amongst all these very important people.
“Hey, stranger,” came a whisper in her ear.
Before Angela turned around, a smile swept across her face at the familiar voice of her best friend.
Immediately, both women enveloped each other in one-armed hugs because they each held a glass in their hand. Angela had known Dahlia since college, and too long had passed since they’d been able to see each other in person. She missed her bestie so much.
Dahlia stepped back and looked her up and down, one eyebrow raised. “You look amazing.” Her voice lowered. “Andres?”
“Of course.” Angela made good money in her career, but not enough to warrant spending the kind of money this one-of-a-kind dress, the accessories, and the diamond jewelry had certainly cost.
“He’s already here. Have you seen him?” Dahlia asked. She sipped a glass of water with a lemon wedge floating inside it.
She looked incredible with her wavy dark hair swept up into a neat style and wore a purple, floor-length gown with a beaded bodice and trumpet sleeves. At five months pregnant with her second child, her belly dominated the front of the dress more than it did around the same time with her first baby. Being pregnant had made her face rounder and given her dark brown skin a healthy glow.
“I saw him when I came in,” Angela replied.
“Come on, let’s go over here. My feet are killing me.” Dahlia led the way to a couple of unoccupied chairs and lowered into one. “Whew, I thought no one would ever get up so I could sit down.”
Crossing her legs, Angela grinned and let the shawl drop to the bend in her elbows. “All you have to do is play the pregnancy card and people will let you sit.”
“I know.” Dahlia shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable. “I just try not to do it if I don’t have to.”
“How is my godson?” Angela asked, referring to Dahlia’s firstborn, Noel.
“Learning a lot, picking up the language, and doing a great job at assimilating. Much better than his mother.”
“Oh, come on. We both know that’s not true. Things may have been difficult in the beginning, but you’ve come a long way in a short time.”
Dahlia smiled gratefully. “It’s been quite the adventure,” she said.
They took a moment to watch the people walking around. Angela spotted a famous actor and the Senate Majority Leader with his wife.
“What about you and Andres?” Dahlia asked lightly.
Angela shrugged. “We’re still going strong.”
Dahlia leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Kofi thinks Andres is crazy about you. He’s never seen him this way over a woman, and he says it’s very unusual that Andres is so willing to make concessions where he comes to you.”
“Well, that’s not the case tonight. I came to him.”
“Only because he’s flying back to Estoria tomorrow. Otherwise, he would have met you in Atlanta.”
Angela couldn’t help but grin. He had been very accommodating ever since they started seeing each other. He’d agreed to keep their relationship quiet, which wasn’t easy. And arriving to events separately and taking the back entrance whenever they dined together had worked so far.
Her mother had told her she was willing to sacrifice to be with her father because he’d changed for her. Andres had clearly changed for Angela and shown how much he cared for her and enjoyed her company.
“I’m lucky, I guess.”
“Lucky, or you have that man wrapped around your finger.”
“I’d hardly say that’s the reason,” Angela said, though the idea excited her, despite his tepid response tonight.
&
nbsp; Kofi, Dahlia’s husband, strolled over in a tuxedo. Strong-jawed with a circle beard and a regal bearing, he was a handsome man who looked every bit the prince he was.
“Angela, good to see you. You look lovely this evening, though not as lovely as my wife,” he added, his unusual accent a mixture of the three languages he spoke—French, English, and his tribal tongue, Mbutu.
“Lucky save. You mean your fat wife?” Dahlia said.
“My beautifully pregnant wife,” he said with a smile. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s someone I need Dahlia to meet. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Angela replied. “In fact, I’ll take this opportunity to do a little mingling, which includes making a beeline for the refreshments table. I didn’t eat before coming here, so I’m a little bit hungry.”
Kofi helped Angela from the chair and then extended his hand to Dahlia and eased her up, as well.
“Duty calls,” Dahlia said, sounding disappointed. “We have to talk before you leave tonight, once we get through with our official business.”
“Definitely.”
They walked away, and Angela sidled over to the refreshments.
Andres struggled not to look in Angela’s direction for the umpteenth time since her arrival and failed miserably. He had practically dropped out of the conversation with his acquaintances, sneaking glances each time the guests parted and he caught a good glimpse of her. The dress fit perfectly, and the color made her tawny skin glimmer like the gold beads sewn into the fabric.
She wore her hair pinned up with a gold clip that he knew from past experience he could easily undo and release her soft hair into his waiting hands. She looked amazing, which would make what he had to do tonight even more difficult. He’d thought talking to her in person was best, but now he wasn’t so sure.
From the moment they met, he’d known she was the one. Yet he hadn’t anticipated this—this crushing squeeze of his heart at the thought of letting her go.
He took a sip of his vodka and then smiled absently when the group of men erupted into laughter. He had no idea what they were talking about or what the joke was.
Princess of Estoria (Royal Brides Book 2) Page 11