by Rachel Hauck
She inhaled and started to let go, but then glanced back at him. “You know this is ridiculous.”
“I know nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary, this is most antiridiculous. So crack on. Let’s hear it.” He folded his arms, hobbling, balancing on one foot, his heart beating in two directions.
Did he want to merely laugh at what will be her weak declaration of rugby’s superiority? Or take her in his arms and kiss her?
“This will make you feel better?” She asked, glancing at him through the threads of approaching headlights, her tiara sparkling.
“I think so, yes. But you see, it’s the matter of the bet.” He slapped his hand against the base of the statue. Like King Stephen I, King Leopold II rescued Brighton from a Russian conquest in the Great Northern War.
Stephen glanced up at the marble image of his great warrior ancestor. Another man like King Stephen I who fought for Brighton’s freedom with might and courage.
“It’s late. We best get on home. Come down from there. You don’t have to do this.”
“What? Why?” Corina snatched his arm, jerking him round among the shadows. “What about the bet?”
“What do you want me to say? Yelling some trite words about rugby will truly undo the damage that’s been done between us? Why bother?”
“Because some things are worth fighting for. Stephen, since when did you give up so easily? If you want something to change about these last years,” she gripped his arms, shaking him, “do something about it. Come back to me. Let’s work this out.”
“Impossible.” He withdrew from her. “If you only knew.” He stepped off the curb, watching the traffic, Thomas aligning on his right.
“Then tell me!” She lived in a world of subtle secrets between Adelaide and Stephen. It was starting to get on her nerves.
“Corina, to the limo.” Thomas broached no room for protest.
A growl came from her, so low, so vicious, Thomas actually stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare. “I’m so sick of the secrets. So sick of the cloaked meanings and shaded answers. What in tarnation happened in Afghanistan?”
Stephen turned back toward the roundabout. “Please, let’s go.”
Arms stiff by her side, tucked against her shimmering skirt, Corina tipped back her head. “Go Georgia Bulldogs! Go Georgia Bulldogs! Go Georgia Bulldogs! G-E-O-R-G-I-A! Go Dawgs! Sic ’em! Woof, woof, woof!”
Thomas snorted, then breathed deep, swallowing his laugh.
“Corina,” Stephen hobbled back up on the roundabout, “no, no, no!” He clapped his hands, gaining her attention. “That’s what you were planning all along, weren’t you? Not ‘Rugby is the most superior sport in the world.’ ”
Still stiff, and slightly trembling, she belted again into the night. “American football is the most amazing sport in the world.” A few of the motors slowed, honking their horns.
“You do not follow directions well at all, do you?” Stephen said, which, truly, he found was one of her most endearing qualities.
She leaned into him. “Go Dawgs. Sic ’em. Woof, woof, woof.”
“Did you just woof at me?”
“Woof!”
“You’re a welsher. That’s what you are . . . a first-class welsher.”
She exhaled, pushing against him. “Me? A welsher? Look who’s talking. I think you made a promise to love, honor, and cherish—”
Impulse. The spark of his existence drove him to grip her to him, tightening his hand around her waist.
In the ghostly light of traffic, his lips captured hers, the familiar curves of her body beneath his hands. The heat of her skin soaked into every pore.
Her reaction was stiff and cold upon first touch, but after a long breath, she let the tension go and swooned against him, wrapping her hand about his neck, her lips softening, warming.
He was at once home. In the very intimate, enveloping world of her love. And he wondered if he’d be able to escape this time.
What are you doing?
He broke away, the tooting of car horns startling him into reality. Stepping back, he corralled his need to kiss her again with a big gulp of air. He felt buzzed, stunned, encountered by a true force.
“W–why did you do that?” Her breathless question came without guile.
“We best get on, Corina.” He released her and started for the limo. That force? Of a loved woman? Was one he could not combat. He’d tasted it and even the nightmares of hell were not strong enough to resist it. “It’s late.”
But resist he must.
What right had he to enjoy life, make love to his wife, rear children, holiday on the shore, while the families of the men who died for him tottered on, trying to rebuild their lives? Sons and daughters being raised without their fathers. All because of him.
No, he was not worthy of the happiness of her kiss. And that was his burden to bear.
NINETEEN
The butterflies from his kiss lingered with Corina all night, fluttering down to her toes as she dreamed. His kiss was the kiss of a man who had feelings for her. Who perhaps still loved her.
Kicking back her covers with a good Tuesday morning stretch, Corina crawled out of bed and opened the curtains. Perching on the window seat, cradling a small velvet and fringe pillow, she watched a muted dawn gently wake up Cathedral City. Adelaide was right; this was one of the greatest cities on earth.
She exhaled a contented sigh, wrapping her arms around her raised knees. His kiss . . . She’d always have that kiss.
Their honeymoon month had been filled with such kisses and the passions of young lovers—mind, body, and soul.
Stephen was her one and only. Then and now. There would be no one else for her. He’d pledged the same love and devotion to her when they danced to their own symphony atop the Braithwaite. Did he really change, fall out of love with her those silent weeks toward the end of his tour? Did the explosion hurt him that much?
Corina tossed the pillow to the seat, a slow revelation dawning. But of course . . .
He came to Florida with the annulment papers when he could’ve just mailed them with a note. Perhaps adding a phone call for propriety’s sake.
Wait, she had to think about this, process. She paced from the window to her bed and back again, her pale pink pajama bottoms sagging at her hips.
Why, why, did he refuse her? Deny his feelings? Hide the truth?
Carlos. His name seemed to be at the core of things. No matter what Stephen’s intentions when he arrived in Florida, she had set the conditions. Once she threw down the gauntlet of wanting information, it gave Stephen a way out of the annulment.
He wasn’t forthcoming about Carlos because if he gave her what she wanted, she’d sign the papers. She’d promised. So he’d withhold and they’d remain married. He must still love her. That’s why he flew to Florida. To see her and test his feelings. To test hers.
But Corina’s reasoning had weak spots. What if she’d signed right away? Then what would Stephen have done? Or what if she were remarried or engaged?
Okay, good questions. She shoved her hair away from her face. The tiara came off smoothly once she arrived at the Manor, and it waited in its box for Adelaide.
He probably already knew she wasn’t married or in a relationship. “You’re not exactly hiding.”
Corina pressed her hand over her heart, smiling. His words said annulment but his actions said, “I love you.”
A laugh bubbled in her chest. Stephen didn’t want those papers signed any more than she did.
However, proving that provided a set of complications.
For now, she’d have to trust her husband. And whatever intention the Lord of all had on his own heart when he told her to “love well.”
Corina propped one knee on the window seat and leaned against the sill. Brighton was her home away from home. Cathedral City, her city. The sapphire shores of Brighton Kingdom made a beautiful contrast to her Georgia red-clay roots.
For the rest of her time here, she’d hel
p Stephen remember how good they were together. Their love was full of possibilities. Forget wars and disappointments, annulment papers and wounds of the heart. She had to hang on to her man, play the full four quarters, make her own goal line stance.
Corina set her hand on her hip where his rested, and she felt the heat of his touch. Though when he dropped her off last night, he was rather out of sorts and mentioned nothing of seeing her again.
Lord, are you praying for me? You have to show me the way.
Rain clouds darkened the dawn, and the first hint of a morning shower pattered against the pane as Corina loosened the corset strings of her heart and breathed in each tender emotion she held for her husband.
Her musings were interrupted by the hard ring of her phone. Gigi’s ringtone.
“Well, how was it?”
“Wonderful.” Corina lowered her phone and cleared her throat. There was too much emotion in her voice.
“Wonderful?” Gigi echoed, hard and concrete. “Are we talking about the movie premier or something else?”
Corina ran her hand through her hair. Wake up, wake up. Focus. “Of course the movie premier. It’s late at home. Are you waiting for first editions of the European papers to be posted to the Internet?”
“You know I always do. So, you were just referencing the premier? For a moment it sounded like you were talking about a kiss.”
“A kiss? Who kissed someone?” Corina sobered. No way could Gigi know about the roundabout. “I, however, was talking about the premier. It was wonderful.” She put some of the breath back in her speech. “It was a night of movie stars, evening gowns, champagne. Clive Boston.”
“And royal princes?”
“Yes, right, of course Prince Stephen was there for the family.”
“Tell me, how’d you end up in his limousine? Wearing a tiara, no less?”
“Someone loaned it to me. You saw a picture? In which paper?”
She laughed. “All of them. Where did the tiara come from?”
“A friend of mine, from here, loaned it to me.” Corina pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Amateur. She should’ve remembered the morning papers. She’d been away from the news game too long and become naive about the world’s digital eye. Not to mention she’d been too distracted with Stephen to remember Gigi.
“The Liberty Press claims you were his date.”
“Not exactly. We’re old friends from uni.” There, she’d clung to the party line.
“Is he the man who came to see you? That night in the parking lot?”
“Gigi, seriously, you’re still on that parking lot thing? Almost two weeks ago and in the dark of night? Please, it was nothing. Listen, it’s still early here. I just woke up. Can I call you—”
“You can run, but you can’t hide, darling.” Gigi’s snide laugh pierced every one of Corina’s love bubbles. “I know about your tweet to the Madeline & Hyacinth Live! show.”
“Fine, I tweeted. He was a friend of my brother’s. We used to argue rugby versus football.”
“So he just happened to call, inviting you to the movie premier with him? Is that why you decided to go to Brighton?”
“No. He didn’t invite me until after I arrived Really, Gigi, you’re making way too much out of this.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”
Corina changed the subject. “You’ll be glad to know my interview with Clive is at two today. He’s really looking forward to it.”
“He’s looking forward to flirting with a beautiful woman who just happened to be the date of Prince Stephen.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Fine, but tell me, is he as delicious as he looks?”
Positively. Corina cleared her voice of all romantic intonations. “He’s okay.”
“Well, then don’t succumb to Clive’s charms, Corina.”
“Why not?” That’ll get her off Corina’s scent. “He is yummy, and he’s rich—”
“So are you.”
“Gorgeous. Charming.”
“Is there a point? You cannot convince me you are remotely interested in a two-bit, blockbuster, thriller actor when you have Prince Stephen on the hook.”
“Gigi, I do not, repeat, do not have Prince Stephen on the hook. He’s an acquaintance. If you print anything about us—”
“Darling girl, you best pick up the morning papers in your part of the world, because ‘us’ has already been printed.”
Hanging up, Corina tossed her phone into the mound of ruffled bedcovers and opened her laptop, hands shaking.
One by one, she brought up Brighton’s papers. She and Stephen made the front banner of the LibP.
AT LAST A PRINCESS FOR OUR PRINCE?
Were they serious? One puny outing and they speculated marriage? She surfed over to the Sun Tattler.
SHE COMES WITH HER OWN TIARA
“Who writes this stuff?”
The Informant posted the most salacious headline.
FINALLY! THE PRINCE HAS A LOVER
“A lovely image of you, Corina.”
Corina swung around to find Adelaide bent over her shoulder. “You scared me.”
“Sorry, sweets, your door was unlocked. Yes, you and the prince make a loverly couple.” She leaned closer to inspect Corina’s Mac. “Aren’t those newfangled computers something?”
“They’re something, all right.” But Adelaide’s sweet voice comforted Corina’s ruffled soul. “What was I thinking going to the premier with him? What was he thinking? I should’ve just gone on my own. And without that blasted tiara. Look, it just raised everyone’s suspicions.”
“’Tis not easy to love well, dear one.” Adelaide’s honeyed, granny gaze bloomed into a beacon, steady and strong. “You can play it safe if you choose, but it’s the brave, those who face their fears, who tame the world, who win the day. Walk on waves.” She started straightening the bed covers, shrinking back into sweet innocence.
“Where did you hear ‘love well’?” Corina got up and tripped alongside her. “And where are the other guests? Am I the only one?”
Adelaide tugged on the damask bellpull. “Brill will bring your breakfast.” She smoothed the quilt and plumped the pillows. “Yes, you are the only guest.”
“This is the only room?”
“If there’s only one guest, there is need for only one room.”
“Adelaide, do you know the lady in white who sent me here?”
“She was to help you find your way. You are never alone. We are the keepers. The watchers.” To the window, Adelaide shoved the curtains the full way open and straightened the window seat pillows.
“Keepers of . . .”
Brill, the old bear, appeared in the room with a tray of tea, eggs, bacon, and toasted muffins. It smelled divine.
“Set it there, Brill.” Adelaide pointed to the table beside the chaise lounge. “She’s a busy day ahead.”
“Does she now?” The old man winked at Corina with a nod toward Adelaide. “Don’t mind her. She can be a bit bossy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me ears. I can hear you.” Adelaide brushed her hand over the desk and lamp, then inspected her hand for the nonexistent dust. “Corina, if you spend time fretting over what was, you’ll lose passion for what is meant to be, to see what God has written on your heart. You’ll walk limp, like the prince, and never arrive at your position of authority. Hear me?”
How did she switch from demure to commanding in less than a breath? “I hear you.”
“The path to life and love is pressing forward to what lies ahead. Not dwelling on what lies behind. That tiara is a sign to you. Accept it or deny it, but do not fret about it.”
“Don’t you see, the past is my future? If I don’t reckon with it, how can I go forward?”
“He called you to walk the waves and you stepped out. Don’t stare limpid-eyed at the shore, now.” Steel. Each word, like a sword, trimming the fat of Corina’s bravado.
“And if I fail?”
“You fight. You win the day. Just like King Stephen I and Queen Magdalena. And because of their love, they loved others. Well.”
Corina laughed, sinking down to her bed. “But I’m not the only one involved here, Adelaide. What about Stephen?”
Adelaide stood by the door, one step from leaving. “This isn’t about two but one. You. Your heart.”
“But I can’t love him if he doesn’t love me.”
“Think on it. Love is vast, rich, textured. If you limit yourself to only romantic love, you will never love well.”
“You mean love as friends?” The notion settled disappointment on Corina. She wanted to be more than friends with Stephen. Truth was, she couldn’t imagine life without him.
“This is your journey.” Adelaide returned to the interior of the room, her eyes a portal of power and fire. “I’m only here to help you see.” Then she was gone.
Corina brushed the chill from her arms as a light rain splattered against the window and her spirit churned.
She prayed for a long moment before settling down to her breakfast. Sipping her tea, she thought of Stephen. And her crazy journey.
What was he doing this cozy, rainy morning? Was he thinking of her? It rained every day the first week of their marriage, and they used the time well, cuddled up with the intentions of young lovers.
Corina finished her breakfast, thinking, praying. Then put aside her musings, gathered herself, wrote and filed her premier piece, then prepared for an afternoon with the incomparable Clive Boston.
The rain had stopped by the time she arrived at the café a few minutes before two and stepped out of a taxi, the wind catching up the full pleats and thick hem of her red-and-gold sundress.
Clive wolf-called from just under the café awning. “Gorgeous legs, darling,” he said.
Corina grimaced, holding down her skirt, letting the ends of her ponytail flutter across her face as she adjusted the strap of her messenger bag. Ignore him.
“How does it feel?” she said, air kissing his cheek. “To be the star of another hit movie?”