Hace 50 años, una joven española se instaló en el corazón de Europa. Nacida para reina cuenta, de la mano de sus amigos y familiares, la historia de Fabiola de Bélgica en el aniversario de su boda con el rey Balduino. El periodista y primer biógrafo de Fabiola hace un retrato certero y cercano de la Reina de los belgas y traza un recorrido por nuestra historia y la vida de esta española que, no siendo de sangre real, accede a un trono europeo. El autor nos desvela la extraordinaria personalidad de una mujer de profundas convicciones religiosas aunque, al mismo tiempo, moderna e independiente, con inquietudes artísticas, capaz de saltar por encima de las convenciones sociales del entorno aristocrático al que pertenecía.
About the Author
Fermín J. Urbiola (Pamplona, 1971) estudió Ciencias de la Información en la Universidad de Navarra. Periodista de múltiples registros, desde una corresponsalía de guerra en Bosnia-Herzogovina hasta la información económica, ha trabajado para la Cadena SER, COPE, Radio Voz, Radio España, Europa Press y Expansión. Desde 1998 dirige su propio gabinete de comunicación, Urbiola Comunicación, en el que asesora a importantes compañías, personas y proyectos de muy diversos sectores a nivel nacional e internacional. Con Espasa ha publicado la obra Nacida para reina. Fabiola, una española entre los belgas, gran éxito de ventas. Anteriormente publicó La sonrisa que cautivó a España, dedicado a la reina doña Sofía con motivo de su setenta cumpleaños. www.ferminjurbiola.com
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Nacida para reina: Fabiola, una española en la corte de los belgas based on 0 ratings. 2 reviews.
Thank you so much!!! The part is perfect!!! Keep going please please please!!!
Once Ois had finished all her afternoon classes she took off running for the buses. The pages of homework given out among the multiple classes would be graded badly; she hadn't paid any attention in class at all that day. Her mind was whirling from the information given to her. She searched around for Asi, seeing her board the bus leaving for Veyerli Place, Base407's wealthiest neighborhood. Ois had driven past there once. The houses were giant, resting on manicured lawns and elaborate gardens. Although Ois figured anyone would want a house that stunning, she preferred her little cottage right next to the ocean. How could one have an amazing childhood without climbing trees, jumping in mud puddles, and playing in the sea? That was what she had done since she could walk. Zaherta, who was nine then and named Zat, showed her how to hunt for edible mushrooms and wild strawberries in the woods of early spring, showed her the path of the deer and the vixen's den, where she could see four tiny red fox pups play. She would come home muddy, with twigs in her hair, burrs on her clothes, her legs crusted with sand, smelling salty. How could Asi do all that on neatly planted gardens and clipped lawns? How could she find mushrooms and strawberries and tracks and fox pups?<p> Ois realized that she had stopped walking while she thought. She realized this a little too late, as a boy with dark hair bumped into her while running and dribbling a basketball.<br> "Oof!"<br> The boy turned. His eyes met hers, and they were blue, the same shade as Asi's green and Ois's purple. Ois felt a connection, like the one Asi had had with her. Could he possibly be the same as her and Asi?<br> "Yo," the boy said warily. "You ok?"<br> "Y-yes..." Ois couldn't take her eyes off him. His hair was a dark chestnut, sleek around his face. He was very good-looking.<br> "Is there something on my face or something?" The boy asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.<br> "No. I mean, um, no, there's nothing on your face."<br> Ois scurried in the direction of the buses. How embarassing! But the boy's eyes... the hue of blue was so bright Ois was sure he was one of them. During lunch break she had gone to the school library, and walking down the dusty aisles, had found a book titled What Type Are You? A Helpful Guide to a Type called "Useless." Ois discovered in the book that emotional types had brighter, deeper tinted eyes. Unless the boy just had blue eyes that happened to be unusual, he had to be a type like hers. Did he have a new name?<p> "Hey! Girl with the hair on fire!" The boy ran after her, his basketball under one arm. "Were you staring at my eyes?"<br> Ois blinked. What could she say?<br> "You were." The boy grinned. One side of his mouth quirked up instead of both. "I know. I get attention like that all the time." He held out his hand. "I'm Zack. First Year."<br> Ois shook it weakly. "Ois. First Year too."<br> "I didn't get a name. My inspector said it was because l was a different, rare type than the others. But l don't understand why l can't get a name..."<br> Ois's heart raced. He had to be one!<br> "I-I'm the same thing," she half-stuttered, half-whispered. "I have a friend who's also that way."<br> Zack looked surprised. "Your friend, huh?" He dribbled his basketball on the pavement. Some girls started to swoon and flirt when they saw Zack. He ignored them, scooping the ball back up. "Anyway, we have to keep this whole thing secret. You can do that, right?"