by Rachel Hauck
“A little.”
Gigi peered over Melissa’s shoulder as she brought up Corina’s Facebook profile.
She had a feeling, a gut instinct, that she was onto something. But what? How big?
Since the day Corina walked into the bull pen, Gigi sensed she hid a story in her heart. A secret. But in the last six months, Corina had been nothing more than a faithful, boring, steady writer and editor.
What good was it to hire one of the wealthiest young women in the world if she wasn’t going to provide any fodder?
Ooh, maybe the man was the boyfriend, or perhaps husband, of one of Corina’s friends? And the roses were a bribe. Gigi was cooking with gas now.
“Nothing,” Melissa said, sitting back, slapping her palm on the top of her desk. “She’s not posted since last week, and then it was just a repost of a Remembrance Day fund in Brighton Kingdom.” Melissa clicked on the link and popped open to a Liberty Press article on a new War Memorial and the defense minister’s plans for a grand Remembrance Day next spring.
“Thank you for trying, Mel. Remind me to give you a raise.” Gigi started toward her office with her scone and latte, her Gucci bag swinging from her arm.
“Didn’t Corina do some postgrad work at Knoxton University? In Brighton?” Melissa said, almost as a by-the-by. Gigi stopped and backed up.
“Indeed she did. When her twin brother, Carlos, was stationed there for military training. She did some freelance work for me back then. Reported on their art show, film festival, fashion week.”
“She has a twin brother?” Melissa peered up at Gigi.
“He was killed in Afghanistan. Apparently in a shroud of mystery.” His death had to be the source of the clouds in Corina’s eyes. The root of her secret.
Was the man from last night connected to Carlos? Perhaps a gay lover? Oh, wouldn’t that be a headline of all headlines? Gigi imagined all the black ink returning to her accounts.
“She never mentioned him to me.” Melissa scrolled farther down the Facebook page. “Seems she has an affection for Cathedral City. She’s posted a picture of King Nathaniel on his wedding day. But that was two years ago. Can you believe he married an American?”
“You’re going somewhere with this? Where? What are you thinking?”
Mel clicked out of Corina’s profile. “Nothing, Gigi. Just that maybe the flowers are from someone in Brighton. I mean, she did live there.”
“But why would someone send her flowers? Are you thinking perhaps an old flame?” Gigi stepped back around to Corina’s desk, set down her latte, and peeked into the roses. Sure enough. A card. Why didn’t she think of that before? Carefully she slipped it from the bouquet. The envelope was white. Plain. With absolutely no intel whatsoever. Not even the name of the floral shop.
“You’re giving this a lot of energy, Gigi. It’s just roses.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, sugar.” Gigi snatched up her latte and started for her office. “Those roses are a statement. And I want to know what they are saying.”
In her office, she closed her door, set her breakfast aside, her blood pulsing with the thrill of a news story, and fired up e-mail.
Deanna Robertson was her girl on the ground in Brighton. She worked at the Informant, but Gigi had launched the woman’s career when she came begging to write for the Post right after college. Deanna was well connected too.
Then there was Madeline Stone. Goodness, how could she forget Maddie? She was the cohost of the popular Madeline & Hyacinth Live! show—Gigi caught an episode on YouTube now and then—but ten years ago, Maddie was a Beaumont Post intern.
If Deanna and Maddie came up empty, Gigi would widen her reach to London and New York, but for now these two carefully selected, well-paid informants would serve nicely. She sent a private e-mail to Deanna, then Madeline, with her clandestine subject line.
Subject: Love this recipe!
On the DL. Corina Del Rey, an international socialite, is also a Beaumont Post staffer. She attended Knoxton University, you may recall, and freelanced for me.
I would love some stories or tidbits about her. Where she lived, who she socialized with, how she got on in the aristocratic world of Cathedral City.
Any ideas, connections, thoughts? I believe there’s a story here. Just can’t get a thread to pull. Your help is greatly valued and will be well compensated.
Sincerely,
GB
SEVEN
Friday morning, Stephen walked the beach, his phone pressed to his ear, waiting for his brother to come on.
He leaned into the stiff breeze and listened to the rumble of waves crashing down on the shore. The storm—Anna, was that it?—was making her way ashore.
He wanted to leave this afternoon, before the storm locked them in, and had Thomas on the telly with the pilot to lay a plan, but he must get Corina’s signature before he left or he feared he’d never get it.
Corina. This jaunt to America was to be simple with a defined task. “Please sign these annulment papers.” But whatever possessed him to believe such a thing would be simple? Without complications?
Careful of his ankle, freed from his walking boot, Stephen’s footsteps sank into the cool wet sand, the wind pressing his Brighton Eagles T-shirt against his chest. Blimey, Nathaniel, did they have to track you to the loo?
“Stephen?” Finally!
“What took you so long?”
“On another call. So how’re you getting on with Corina?”
Stephen ran his hand through his hair, facing the wind. “They’re predicting a tropical storm here.”
“Is that some kind of sign? You’re experiencing a storm with Corina?”
“She won’t sign.”
“She what? Why not?”
“Said she wants me to find out what happened to her brother.” Stephen sank a little deeper as the waves washed the soft sand from under his feet.
Nathaniel whistled. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her I don’t know anything. She argued my brother is the king and I have access to the Defense Ministry, so I can find out.”
“Stephen, the events of that day are sealed. You know what’s at risk. Mum doesn’t even know the details.”
“Don’t preach to me. I’m giving you an update. Besides the details being a matter of national security, and I dare say my future in rugby, I don’t want to tell her. If she hates me now, she’ll despise me with the whole truth.” And rightfully so. He believed that with his whole being.
“Not to mention she’s a member of the media. Didn’t you say she works for Beaumont?”
“She’d not betray us, Nathaniel. She’s not the sort.”
“Perhaps, but we’ve seen trusted reporters and presenters breach trust before. Intentional or otherwise. Be very leery, Stephen. On your best guard. I don’t want to see the palace gone up in smoke and lives lost.”
“We don’t know that will happen, Nathaniel.”
“We never believed it would happen in Torkham, either. One whiff of the whole sordid thing and we’d have more copycats on our hands.”
“So what do I do?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. He needed his brother’s advice and wisdom. “I’m not even hinting at how her brother died. But she won’t sign the annulment without information.”
Over the years, in the quiet hours, Stephen tried to imagine telling Corina the truth, but when he visualized her expression, heard the cry in her voice, saw the disdain in her eyes, he’d cringe, thanking the good Lord the event had been sealed.
It was the only thing he thanked God for these days. Otherwise, he had no understanding of how a good Lord could allow such trials and travesty, such as war, in the world.
“Convince her. You charmed her into marrying you, so you must have some kind of sway with her. Charm her into signing the papers.
“You didn’t see her face, Nathaniel. Resolute. Determined. She’s nothing to lose. She’s already lost it all.” The pulse of the salty breeze drove Stephen’s
confession to the center of his heart.
A lesser woman might have gone mad, crazy with grief. But not Corina. She carried on. For herself, for her parents. He might not be free to love her again, but he admired her.
“Then figure a way. Tell her the Defense Ministry won’t allow you at the records.”
“And for what reason? I was a commissioned officer in the RAC. I’m second in line to the throne. My brother is the king. Why would they not allow me to see the records, to put a grieving family at ease? She’ll see right through it, I tell you. She’s suspicious, Nathaniel. When a man like her father, Donald Del Rey, cannot get answers with his power and wealth, something is amiss. And I can’t stay here forever, wearing her down. My diary is rather full this month.”
“Then find a way round. Talk her into it.”
“I’ll do my best, but, Nathaniel, I must leave on schedule Sunday morning, if not before. Save this storm doesn’t ground us. Besides a full diary, I have to keep up with my physiotherapy.”
“Then get cracking.”
Stephen hung up, shoving the phone into his shorts pocket and facing the churning ocean. The day promised to be warm and stormy. How fitting.
Heading back to their rented condo, Stephen saw Thomas watching and waiting on the balcony.
“What’s going on with this storm?” Stephen said as he entered the cool condo foyer. “High winds, gobs of rain, power outages?”
Brighton, a North Sea island, experienced her share of shore-crashing storms, but Stephen had always lived away from the worst of the turmoil on a Cathedral City hilltop.
Thomas nodded. “Or worse. Some people came round while you were on the phone. We’re to leave the beach and barrier island.”
Stephen squinted up at him, the wind tugging at his shorts. “And go where?”
“You’ve business with Miss Del Rey. Why not there?”
“Blimey, mate, no. Holed up with her for a night might be the death of us all.”
“Or you might get what you came for.”
Stephen made a face, then stared toward the Atlantic, the waters churning. Of all the protection officers, he had to get one with keen insight and a clever barb.
The idea of spending an evening with Corina shook him to the core. He preferred distance. An ocean between them. And five plus years.
Stephen glanced at his ankle and the perfect up and down scar. A faint dialogue played across his mind.
“What do you want to do with your life, Prince Stephen?”
“Play for the Brighton Eagles.” He’d confessed his heart’s secret desire on their first date. When she didn’t laugh at the idea that a prince wanted to play professional rugby, he knew she was special.
“Then you should go for it.”
“With my royal title and expectations, I’ve my time in the RAC to complete.” Voicing his doubts highlighted the shadows and greys of his life.
“Blah, blah, excuses. If you’re scared to try, just say so. No one will blame you.”
“Pardon me, but did you say ‘blah, blah’? And I’m not scared. Please.”
“Well, we know there’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”
He’d laughed, scooping her into his arms, swinging her round. And nearly kissed her. “Americans. You think you’re so wise.”
Her eyes narrowed into a golden, hazel-tipped spear. “Think? My dear Stephen, we know.”
“Stephen.” Thomas came onto the balcony. “I rang Miss Del Rey. She granted permission to stay at her flat.”
“You what?” Was this a conspiracy? “No. Find other accommodations.”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m head of security and I make the calls. Miss Del Rey’s place is secure and private. Her flat is the easiest and safest.”
Stephen sighed. Thomas maintained strict control when they traveled. Even with the team, if Thomas didn’t feel safe, he’d move Stephen to another hotel. Since Torkham, the palace demanded certain security requirements. Stephen could never be “one of the lads.” But he’d made concessions to do what he loved.
He narrowed his gaze at Thomas. “Are you sure she doesn’t mind?”
“I didn’t ask her if she minded. I asked her if there was room for us. How she feels about the situation is second to your security.”
Stephen sighed and started for the stairs. “When do we meet up with her?”
“She’s on her way home now, making a stop along the way. We’ll meet her there in an hour.”
Up the stairs and in the shower, a wave of panic slipped through him, soaking through to his heart as warm water ran down his neck and back.
How could he convince her? He could be a brute about the annulment, make her hate him. But he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to do that. Or if it would break her resolve to find out what happened to her brother.
Regret. He wore it like a winter scarf. If he could go back and change the events leading up to that night, he would. But he couldn’t, and six men had died. For him.
Stephen hammered the shower tile with his fists. He didn’t know. He did not know!
What did it matter what he told her? He’d just make up something. Because whether or not she signed the papers, he’d never be a free man.
And that was the reality he’d live with for the rest of his life.
At her condo building, Corina stepped out of the elevator to the sound of the familiar ping, Publix bags swinging from her fingertips and a vase of red roses cradled in the crook of her arm.
Gigi had just dismissed the staff to take care of their homes and families when Thomas rang, asking for shelter in his kind voice, catching her off guard.
“It’s just that we don’t know anyone else and we do need a secure location.”
“Well, I–I don’t know . . .”
“Please, Corina, you’re our quickest and safest option.”
Sigh. “Only if he behaves.”
Thomas laughed. “You’ve my word.”
But really, what was she to do? Tell Thomas no? “Let the son of a gun get washed out to sea.” Or “Weather it out at the Sea Joy Motel”?
As she pushed her cart through a crowded Publix, she found the silver lining. Spending eighteen or so hours locked in her condo while a storm raged might just get the truth out of Stephen.
As she entered the building lobby, Corina nodded at Captain, the doorman, as Stephen and Thomas came in behind her.
“I hope we’re not imposing.”
She glanced around to see Stephen striding, so confidently, toward her.
Balancing the roses, she adjusted her grip on the plastic bags. “I said yes, didn’t I?” She pushed the elevator button, her heart beating with a thousand emotions.
At her apartment, Corina invited the men in, pointing them toward the bedrooms down the short, dark hall, feeling sure she’d lose the grip on the flowers. “There are fresh towels in the bathroom linen closet.” She exhaled when she set her packages on the kitchen island.
“Corina, the Crown thanks you,” Thomas said, his bass voice resonating sincerity. “We’ll reimburse you for any expenses—”
“Please, expenses.” She dug a bag of peanut M&Ms from a Publix bag. “You mean the whopping five dollars I paid for these?”
“Those are my favorite,” Stephen said with a casual, flip air that didn’t sound at all like him. “I might as well give you five quid now.”
She didn’t laugh. Only because she wasn’t sure what he was doing. Humor? Deflection? Embarrassment?
He glared back at her. “Just a joke, Core.”
Core. He’d used the pet name on their second date. After a semester of enduring Stephen’s flirting three times a week during a leadership course—had there been an inkwell on his desk, her hair would’ve been in it—they were at once friends. Companions. As if they’d grown up as the boy and girl next door. Everything was easy. Conversation. Laughter. Even the moments of silence.
“You can help yourself to anything. For free.” Because that had always been
the Del Rey kitchen policy.
While Stephen and Thomas set up in the guest room, Corina emptied the Publix bags, arranging the Oreos, M&Ms, grapes, cherries, and apples with caramel on the kitchen island. Then she shoved the water and Diet Coke into the refrigerator.
In her bedroom, she changed into shorts and a top. Only now did she realize how subliminal it had been for her to choose peanut M&Ms. Plain were her favorite. But peanut were Stephen’s.
She’d hardly considered her action as she strolled through Publix.
During their honeymoon month, Stephen had eaten peanut M&Ms by the gallon. Or so it seemed.
“I might not get any more until I come home.”
“Darling, I’ll send you a bag every week.”
“Promise?” His kiss tasted like chocolate.
“Promise.”
She kept her promise. Stopping by the sweet shop every week for a large bag of peanut M&Ms, then heading straight to the post office. Her routine became so regular after a while that the post mistress had the shipping box addressed and ready to go before Corina arrived.
She returned to the kitchen–living room the same time as Stephen. A block of wind hammered the penthouse as Corina poured the M&Ms into a crystal dish.
“I remember how you sent me a box of peanut M&Ms every week.”
“Yeah, so I did.”
Stephen tossed a few of the candies in his mouth, seeming lost, uncomfortable. “Oh yes, Thomas is catching a quick wink.”
“He can sleep through the wind hitting the condo?”
“He was Special Forces in Afghanistan. He can sleep through rockets, mortar rounds, explosions. I’ve seen him sleep at attention.”
“Isn’t he blessed.”
Their eyes met, and Stephen’s demeanor was humble and contrite. “Thank you for letting us come.”
“Have you thought more of my request?” She set out a cutting board and rinsed the apples, his presence soaking into her reality.
She was married. At the moment. To him. Where did a girl go after marrying a prince? After saying “I do” to the love of her life?
A bang resounded from the balcony door. Corina leaned away from the sink to see the Adirondack smashed up against the glass. “Rats. I forgot to bring in the balcony furniture.”