Claiming His Secret Royal Heir

She couldn’t help but laugh as a sudden warmth flooded her—it had been a long time since anyone had sounded so protective of her.

Before she could respond further the car came to a halt—and right after that they were mobbed. Or that was what it felt like. Once she had alighted from the car she realised the ‘mob’ actually consisted of four people—a middle-aged couple, a youth and a young girl—all of whom broke into simultaneous speech.

‘The crop has been excellent this year. The olives—they will be the best yet. And last year’s olive oil—the gods have blessed it, Freddy!’

‘It has been too long, Frederick, too long—how can you have not been here for so long? And why didn’t you tell me of this visit earlier? I would have prepared your favourite dishes. Now. Bah... All we have is what I have had time to prepare.’

‘Thanks so much for the links to the bikes. Oil, gears, helmets...’

‘Frederick, I’ve missed you! Why haven’t you visited?’

There was no mistaking the family’s happiness at seeing him, and as Sunita watched Frederick contend with the barrage of comments his smile flashed with a youthful boyishness.

‘Pepita, Juan, Max, Flo—I’d like to introduce you to Sunita...my fiancée.’

For a moment the silence felt

heavy, and Sunita could feel her tummy twist, and then Pepita stepped forward.

‘Welcome, Sunita. It is lovely that Frederick has brought you here. We have all been reading the papers—every article. The little bambino looks adorable.’

As she spoke Pepita swept them forward towards a whitewashed villa. Terracotta tiles gleamed in the sunshine and trees shaded the courtyard outside.

‘Come—lunch is all ready, Alberto, sort out the drinks. Flo, set the table, Max, come and help me serve.’

‘Can I help?’ asked Sunita.

‘No, no, no. You and Frederick go and sit.’

Within minutes, amidst much debate and chat, food appeared. A bottle of wine was opened, tantalising smells laced the air and Pepita beamed.

‘Come and serve yourselves. Frederick, you have lost weight—I want you to eat. They are not your favourite dishes, but they are still good.’

‘Pepita, everything you cook is good.’

Sunita shook her head. ‘Nope. Everything you cook is amazing.’

It truly was. The table was laden with a variety of dishes. Bite-sized skewers that held tangy mozzarella, luscious tomatoes that tasted of sunshine and basil. Deep-fried golden rounds of cheese tortellini. Freshly baked bread with a pesto and vinegar dip that made her tastebuds tingle. Baked asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. And of course bowls of olives with a real depth of zing.

But what was truly amazing was the interplay between Frederick and the family—to see him set aside his role of ruler, to see him morph back to the man he had been before tragedy had intervened and changed his life path.

There was conversation and laughter, the clatter of cutlery, the taste of light red wine, the dapple of sunshine through the leaves causing a dance of sunbeams on the wooden slats of the table.

Until finally everyone was replete and this time Sunita insisted. ‘I’ll help clear.’

Frederick rose as well, but Pepita waved him down. ‘Stay. Drink more wine. I want to talk to your fiancée alone.’

A hint of wariness crossed his face, but clearly he didn’t feel equal to the task of intervention. So, plates in hand, Sunita followed Pepita to a whitewashed kitchen, scented by the fresh herbs that grew on the windowsill. Garlic hung from the rafters, alongside copper pots and pans.

‘It is good to see Frederick here,’ Pepita ventured with a sideways glance. ‘And now he is a father.’

‘Yes.’ Sunita placed the plates down and turned to face the older woman. ‘I know you must be angry at what I did, but—’

‘It is not my place to be angry—this is a matter for you to sort out with Frederick...a matter between husband and wife. I want to tell you that I am worried about him. Since his brother’s death we have barely seen him—all he does now is work. I know that he avoids us. There is a demon that drives him and you need to get rid of it.’

‘I... Our marriage isn’t going to be like that, Pepita...’

‘Bah! You plan to spend your lives together, yes? Then that is your job.’