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“We have a few other stops to make, but I will personally call you when the princess makes up her mind,” Jasmine said.
Amelia thanked them and walked them out the door.
“Did you love the dress?” Jasmine asked. “A bride has to fall in love with her dress. They say as soon as she puts the right one on, she knows. Did you know?”
“Well, I did like it.”
“But you didn’t love it?”
Portia got into the front seat of Jasmine’s car. “No, I didn’t love it.”
Luckily, no one had followed her to the dress shop. Jasmine got into the driver’s seat and glanced around. “Did you hear? Rick Manning just got engaged to the daughter of a United States senator. It’s all over the news. They claim to be crazy about each other.”
Rick Manning, an A-list movie star, was dubbed the man least likely to ever marry. Handsome and charming and very much a ladies’ man. “Yes, it was all over the news this morning. I’ve met Eliza Bennington. She’s a nice person.”
“Well, you can thank them both. Luckily, the tabloids have dropped you like a hot potato. At least, until more royal wedding news is announced. The dogs are on a different scent right now.”
“I don’t envy them. It’s no fun having your every move analyzed.”
“I hear you,” Jasmine said, and pulled out of the parking spot. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. Let’s have lunch.”
“Okay, but afterward, the great wedding dress search goes on.”
Portia agreed to that plan and looked out the window. Jasmine was taking her maid of honor duties seriously. The truth was, Portia had a hundred loose ends to tie up before the wedding, and she missed Juan Carlos like crazy. They spoke at least twice a day since she’d left him at the airport in Alma.
“You are perfect for me, Princess. Always remember that,” were his last words to her as she boarded his private airplane.
It was after six in the evening when Jasmine dropped her off at home. She climbed the few steps of her one-level Brentwood condo, knowing she had another hunt on her hands. She’d promised Juan Carlos she’d look up royal wedding protocols from Samforstand. She’d been too busy with rescheduling her work appointments and dress shopping to dig into her old files until now.
She dropped her purse on the couch and then strode to the fridge and grabbed a Coke. Sipping from the can, she walked into her bedroom and pulled out the old cedar trunk from the back of her walk-in closet. The trunk held the few remaining things she had left of her parents.
Unlatching the lid, she found a massive amount of papers, deeds, bank account records and folders upon folders of news clippings about her parents when they were a young royal couple in exile. She lifted out an article written about them from the New York Times, just days before the tragic car accident that claimed their lives. Her eyes misted as she looked at a picture of the loving couple that accompanied the article. Her father was decked out in royal regalia with her mother by his side. They were young and happy and it hurt her heart still to look at them and think about all they had lost.
Her mother’s wedding ring was in its original sapphire-blue velvet box, her father’s tie clips and a gold wedding band were stored in a polished walnut case. She assumed most of their other possessions were sold to keep her comfortable and pay for her expenses. She’d been raised by her grandmother Joanna. But now all she had was her great-aunt, Margreta, who was a little senile. Portia paid for her care in a nursing home and visited her whenever she could.
As the evening wore on, she pored over every piece of paper in the trunk. She read every article and viewed every picture taken. Yet nowhere could she find any research that dated back to her great-grandparents’ era of rule before they’d migrated to the United States after World War II. Surely, there had to be something? Having lost her parents early in life, she had only a fragmentary account of her heritage from her grandmother. Grandma Joanna hadn’t liked to talk about the old days. It was too painful, a past wrought with the loss of her only son. Portia’s questions about her parents were met with hushed tones and sadness and she’d never really learned much about them. She did remember her mother’s bright smile and her father’s light blue eyes. But even now, she wondered if those were true memories, or just recollections of the pictures she’d seen.
Her cell phone rang and a name popped up on the screen. She answered before the second ring. “Juan Carlos.” She sighed.
