The Royal Doctor's Bride. Jessica Matthews

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      Your Grandmother, Juliana

      “What does she mean, my parents are at the heart of the matter?” she asked.

      “Today’s problems are linked to the government’s decision to withhold approval for your parents’ marriage.”

      Her father had mentioned something about that, but had glossed over the details. “Sounds to me like the government made its own dilemma, so they can fix it.”

      “My family was involved, too.”

      “Then you can do whatever it is you need to do, but count me out.” She stepped closer and tried to reach around him for the doorknob.

      He gripped her arm and didn’t budge. “My aunt gave questionable information to the committee which led them to refuse your father’s petition to marry your mother.”

      “You mean, someone lied, and they believed her?” No wonder her parents hadn’t spoken of those days except in the most general terms. Her dad, especially, must have felt betrayed by his countrymen who’d trusted the testimony of an outsider instead of his own.

      “Unfortunately, yes. Now, after all these years, the truth has come out and tensions are running high. The fate of our nations depends on us.”

      If not for one woman’s pettiness, her entire life might have been different…she might have grown up as a member of a royal family, with doting aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents marking every major event in her life, sharing in her triumphs and failures, and, most importantly, supporting her after her father’s death.

      But even if Ruark’s aunt had been involved, the decision ultimately rested upon the members of Parliament. In her opinion, they were as much at fault as Ruark’s relative, if not more so.

      As she’d already pointed out, it was too late to change the past. Neither was it her responsibility. One thing, however, was certain. She didn’t count gullibility among her faults.

      “Oh, puhleeze,” she scoffed. “Fates of two countries. You can’t be serious.”

      “I am.”

      According to the grim set to his jaw, he was. “Why would I want to help the same government who carelessly changed my family’s life?” she asked.

      “Avelogne is your heritage,” he said simply. “You also hold dual citizenship, which means you have a legal as well as a moral obligation to Avelogne.” He paused. “Do you honestly believe your father wouldn’t want you to help his homeland avert a crisis?”

      Admittedly, her dad had stayed abreast of all the happenings across the Atlantic. Their home had been littered with newspapers and magazines from various cities. In later years, those had given way to Internet news and emails. Arthur Sutton may not have been in close physical proximity to the land of his birth, but his heart had never left.

      “This is quite melodramatic, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, struggling to shore up her wavering resolve. “Avelogne and Marestonia losing centuries-old goodwill over a thirty-year-old incident that most don’t remember.”

      “The past hasn’t been forgotten,” he assured her. “The people of Avelogne lost a favored prince and demand restitution for your parents going into exile. If not, they plan to break off all ties with Marestonia.”

      She crossed her arms. “So?”

      “Each country provides goods and services to the other, which makes them somewhat trade-dependent. This includes everything from agriculture to military technology. If ties are broken, thousands of jobs on both sides of the border will be lost and the economic impact will be huge. It will take years to recover. Meanwhile, people will lose their homes and businesses, farmers won’t have an accessible market for their products, children will go hungry. The list goes on.”

      She’d treated patients who couldn’t scrounge together enough money for bus fare, much less their medication. She’d lost track of the number of families she’d fed, either in the cafeteria or a nearby restaurant. As much as she wanted to help them all, she couldn’t take responsibility for everyone who walked through Belmont’s doors.

      “I sympathize with your situation, but the last time I checked, my credentials were limited to medicine, not détente. You’ll have to ask someone else.”

      “There is no one else to ask. You’re my only option.”

      “I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.” She tried to nudge him aside, but he didn’t budge.

      “You’re a coward.”

      She stared at him, incredulous. “Because I choose not to immerse myself in the politics that sent my father away from the home he loved, I’m a coward?”

      “You don’t even know what we’re asking,” he accused. “The least you can do is listen to the unabridged story before you decide. Refusing to do that is either a show of cowardice or being self-centered. Take your pick.”

      For a terse moment, the silence became so complete, only the distant ringing of a telephone could be heard.

      “I’m sorry Avelogne and Marestonia are suffering a diplomatic crisis,” she said quietly. “But I’m just an average woman on the street, so to speak. I work in a hospital in a relatively bad part of town and deal with drug addicts and gang members on a daily basis. I don’t know what you or my grandmother think I can accomplish. I can’t undo the past and I don’t run in lofty social or political circles of influence, so you’re only wasting your time.”

      “I disagree. You are not an ‘average’ woman. If you reestablished ties with your family, you would enter influential circles,” he pointed out. “You are, after all, a countess.”

      “What if I like my life the way it is? I don’t want to be known as Countess. Anonymity suits me just fine.”

      “You can remain anonymous and still become reacquainted with your family. The point is, life is too short to bear grudges.”

      Thinking of her father, who’d died as much from heartache as heart disease, Gina’s eyes burned with unexpected moisture.

      “Aren’t you the least bit interested in hearing their side of the story?” he coaxed, as if hoping curiosity would sway her.

      “Will it change anything?” she demanded. “Rewrite the past? Restore my father to the family he loved? Take away my mother’s sorrow and guilt for causing him to choose between her and his family? I think not.”

      “I agree those wrongs can’t be undone, but we have to resolve this crisis.”

      “I don’t have to do anything,” she retorted, blinking away her unshed tears. “My father left Avelogne and his family long ago. I don’t intend to get involved with either now.”

      He fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If you don’t want to deal with the royal family, you don’t have to.”

      “I don’t?”

      He shook his head. “The real solution lies between the two of us anyway.”

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