by Rachel Hauck
“We’ll play one round for bragging rights. The rest for fun,” Nathaniel said. “Mum and Henry will be discrepancy judges. Henry, remember I’m your king and this close to approving your new young businessmen project.”
“Oh my word . . . blackmail?” Susanna huffed, roping an arm of solidarity around Corina. “Never mind. We’ll win anyway.”
“Susanna, please.” Corina verged on begging. “You overestimate me.”
But the game was under way and Corina was to bowl first. Stephen crouched along the side of the court. “Get as close as you can to the jack. Give it a little hook when you—”
She paused with a sigh, glancing over at him. “Will you shut up? You’re making me nervous.”
Nathaniel muffled his laugh, pressing his fist to his lip.
Stephen rocked back on his haunches. “Fine, then, show us what you got, Del Rey.”
Her roll barely made it halfway, but Susanna more than made up for it, bowling within centimeters of the jack. She would be tough to beat.
Corina cheered and slapped her partner a high five.
But Nathaniel’s roll knocked Susanna out of play. “Oh, Stratton, you are going to pay for that one.”
“Bring it, Stratton.” Nathaniel snatched Susanna for a kiss and Stephen glanced away, hiding his envy.
Stephen hadn’t easily warmed to Susanna’s American flavor—she reminded him too much of Corina and what he’d lost—but now he couldn’t imagine the family without her. He glanced round to Corina, catching her eye, smiling.
“Stephen, you’re up, little brother. Show them how it’s done.”
The competition rocked between Nathaniel, Stephen, and Susanna—who was single-handedly defeating the men. With ten balls played, two remaining, Corina crouched for her final turn, spinning the ball in her palm.
“Just like walking the runway . . . it’s a beauty pageant . . . a beauty pageant. Going to sing a song . . . easy-peasy.” She released the ball, gently, and with a slight spin.
The metal piece rolled down the lane at the perfect speed, curved around Nathaniel’s ball, and lightly kissed the jack. Then stopped.
“I did it!” Corina jumped, screaming, gaping at Susanna, who wrapped her in a celebratory hug.
“The beauty pageant queen brought her A game.”
“Love, you did it.” Stephen said, wishing he were free to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her. “I knew you could.”
She tipped her head back, arms wide. “I love boules.”
“Stephen, come on, mate. You’re up.” Nathaniel slapped his back. “We’re still in this. For all the bragging rights.”
“R–right.” But he didn’t want bragging rights. He wanted to see the expression on Corina’s face when the girls won.
As he bent to roll his ball, a comfort he’d not felt in five and a half years coursed through him. He was coming home. The rest of the way around the bend.
Corina knelt on the ground, singing. “Miss it, miss it, now you have to kiss it.”
Susanna laughed. “Oh my gosh, I’ve not heard that in years.”
“It’s the only talent I can bring to this game.”
Stephen peeked at her. Oh, he’d kiss it all right.
Mum stood with Susanna near midcourt, watching, while Henry came alongside Nathaniel, cheering. “Come on, lad. For the gents.”
“Don’t you dare go easy on her,” Nathaniel said.
“Never you fear.” Balancing on his good foot, Stephen aimed and rolled his ball with gentle perfection. If he calculated right, his roll should bump Corina’s and stop just shy of the jack.
“Come on, come on.” Nathaniel paced alongside the court with the ball. “For all the bragging rights.”
Stephen watched Corina, yelling at the ball, tussling with Nathaniel, laughing, singing at the ball, “Miss it, miss it.”
She had to win. Stephen sent his own wishes toward the boule. Come on, stop!
The air over the lawn dropped to a whisper. Motions slowed. Sounds were muted. Colors bleached.
Then it happened. Stephen’s boule stopped just shy of Corina’s. He exhaled, falling off his heels onto his back, stretching out on the grass.
Susanna and Corina erupted with shrills and shouts, launching into some sort of wild winning ritual dance—must be an American thing—that had the Queen of Brighton bumping hips with her daughter-in-law. No, her daughters-in-law.
Nathaniel stood over Stephen, offering his hand. “We gave it our best, say, little brother?”
“Absolutely, our very best.” Stephen stood, his gaze, his heart, every sense in his body fixed on Corina. He had to tell her. Everything. He was sick of hiding, fearing, living for her in his own head. If she hated him, then she hated him.
At least they’d both know the reason why.
TWENTY-THREE
One moment she’d been celebrating. The next, trailing off with Stephen, his hand gripping hers.
“Where are we going?”
“Just come.” Stephen strode ahead of her toward one of the motor carts. When she slipped in next to him, he started down the lawn, away from the family, leaving behind comfort and driving toward the unknown.
Corina peered at him. An end-of-day beard shadowed his jaw, and from under his dark lashes his blue eyes glowed with a reflection she did not recognize.
A dozen questions fired through her mind as Stephen steered the cart over the grounds, creating a path in the thick grass, but she kept them to herself. He’d talk when he was ready.
For now, it was enough to be with him, to hear the song of the night birds on the breeze.
Up a slight incline, Stephen urged the cart to the top of a knoll, through a stand of trees, and popped into a small clearing where a cultivated, low stone garden sat under six royal oaks.
He parked next to the wall and cut the motor, resting his hand on the steering wheel. “Besides me, the gardener is the only person who ever comes to this place.”
“Stephen, it’s beautiful.” Corina stepped out her side of the cart. Heather and a deep pink foxglove grew near the wall, along with purple and yellow blooms she did not know. Between two of the trees, toward the back, sat an iron-and-wood-slat bench.
“I come here on Remembrance Day.” Stephen stood beside her. “And December twentieth.”
“W–what is this place? A memorial?” She glanced at him, hand to her heart, noticing the granite stones under each tree.
“Mine. Yes.” Stephen reached into the cart for a torch and motioned for her to walk through the gate. “One year the team was playing in Australia, and I flew home to lay a wreath at these markers for Remembrance Day. I’m off the pitch that day. Don’t care what’s at stake.”
Corina started down the path between a row of hedges. “You built this?”
“I needed a place to go, to remember what the lads did without the world watching.” He aimed the torch beam over one grave marker, then another. “The bodies aren’t here, but . . .” His voice faded as a slight shudder moved over his shoulders. “Their spirits are. At least to me. When I come here, the voices, the explosions, the turmoil stops. Peace. This place, along with rugby, keeps me going.”
“A peace you couldn’t find with me?” Why couldn’t he just say it? He didn’t love her enough to find peace with her.
He aimed the flashlight on her face. “It’s not as straightforward as all that, Corina.” Then he moved on, the torch shining on a brass plate attached to the bench. “Memento semper. Always remember.” His voice was husky and deep. “Here lie my brothers. The six men on my crew.”
She looked at him with an eye of revelation. “They died saving you, didn’t they?”
“Yes.” He took her by the arm and led her to the first granite stone on the right-hand side of the bench. “Here’s what lies between us, Corina.”
She bent to read a very familiar name.
LIEUTENANT CARLOS DEL REY
JOINT COALITION, INTELLIGENCE SECURITY
SON, BROTHER, FR
IEND
“Carlos.” She dropped to her knees, flattening her palm over her brother’s cold name. “W–why is he here? I don’t understand.”
“The garden is a monument to the lads who died because someone else wanted me dead.” Stephen walked to the next stone. “Carlos and Bird actually saved my life.”
She jumped up, weary of this game. “These drips and drabs are killing me. Carlos saved your life?”
Stephen lowered the flashlight until it created a spot at his feet. Overhead, the blue edge of twilight covered them.
“The joint security forces faced some intense fighting in Torkham a few months after we were deployed. We lost our tactical specialist, so I recommended Carlos. He was one of the best. That’s how he ended up in Torkham.”
“We never heard.”
“His transfer was still being processed when he was killed. He’d only been on base two days, Corina.”
“He wasn’t killed in a firefight was he?” Corina’s heart drew pictures with Stephen’s words, filling in the dark, sketchy shadows of her brother’s death, of Stephen’s radical change, and the end of it all.
Stephen sat down on the edge of the bench. “Things were quiet right after Carlos transferred in. We were planning a Deliberate Op, but there was some downtime from the chaos. Carlos was Carlos, making fast friends with the crew, offering insight from his time in Peshawar. I’d planned to tell him about you and me on his second night, figured I’d start letting the news out slowly.”
With a sense of the surreal, Corina sat with her back to the gravestone, listening.
“The first mission started at zero hundred the next day and the camp was quiet, everyone trying for some shut-eye. But we were too keyed up to sleep. Carlos had just challenged several of us to a game of Nintendo when Asif entered.”
“Asif?”
“Our interpreter. A Pakistani chap raised on Brighton’s northern shore, a friend from uni, actually. He joined our unit after I recommended him to the joint council.” Stephen carried a detached tone in his voice as he told the story. “I got up for something . . . I can’t even remember what.” It haunted him. “I told Asif to pull up, join us, but something was wrong. He looked sick. Stoned.”
“Oh my gosh . . . Stephen.” He drew her toward truth, unfurling his story. “He was suiciding.”
“Yes.” He fired up from the bench, agitated.
“How did Brighton military allow such a man to be on base? Don’t you run intel on enlistees or civilian employees?”
“He checked out, Corina. There was no reason for suspicion. Nothing popped on his background. He’d gone to graduate school in Pakistan, then returned to Brighton, took a job, and lived a life like every other Brightonian.”
“Apparently not.”
“He’d been influenced by an underground radical sect of insurgents. No one knew. It took us four months to find them and root them out after the suicide. Asif returned to Brighton with a vow to kill members of the royal family for war crimes against his people. All he needed was opportunity.”
“And you gave it to him.” She shivered as the long-awaited details took form on a grassy knoll under the coming of night.
“Asif came to kill me.” The words hit like stones and sank into her. “I knew it the moment I saw him . . . when I realized he was stoned. But I hesitated. I should’ve moved, told the men to get out. Carlos and Lt. Mitchell Bird, noticed something amiss the moment I did.” Stephen ran his hand over his face. “Asif shouted that I had to die and opened his shirt to show he was loaded with explosives. He could barely stand, he was so canned. Whilst I hesitated, Carlos and Bird did not.” He sank slowly to the ground in the middle of the garden. “I don’t know why I hesitated. Why I froze.”
Corina remained where she sat, staring at the last drape of daylight.
“Carlos tackled him while the words were still in his mouth. Bird ran for me, covering me with his big body as Asif detonated himself. We were blown out the back of the mess, hit the concrete, and next thing I remember is waking up in a field hospital. The other four lads were seriously injured and died hours later. I was swept away in secret, and until Command knew what happened, the entire squadron went on communication silence.”
“It’s taken you five and a half years to tell me this?”
“You do realize I’m breaking national security here?”
“Why? Why is it of national security? Why couldn’t Daddy find out anything? Something?”
Stephen shot the flashlight beam at the trees. “Once we sorted out the event, Brighton Special Forces went into action. Eliminated Asif’s little insurgent group. At that point, the biggest concern was copycats. Others of like mind making bold approaches to the palace, the King’s Office, or our homes. The Defense Ministry and the Joint Coalition purposefully held the information, not releasing any details, not even to the families of the deceased, because we couldn’t risk leaks or slips. They sealed the event under Top Secret National Security, with extreme security measures. Just a hint that it was possible to get close enough to a prince to blow him up, we’d all be in danger. I’ll be in grave trouble if anyone finds out I told you.”
“The last five and a half years finally make some sense to me.”
“The security measure taken made it possible for me to play for the Eagles.” He shoved up from the ground and walked among the markers, dragging his fingers over the smooth stones. “I’m glad it makes some sense to you, Corina, because it still doesn’t to me. Men gave their lives for me, and how could I, a mere man, be worth another’s life?”
“What do you think war is about, Stephen? Men laying down their lives for another.”
“For the weak and oppressed, not for the wealthy and privileged. Not for a prince. One, whom when the war was over, would return to opulence and abundance, living a life of splendor, even pursuing his rugby dreams.”
“So the likes of you and I don’t deserve to have our freedoms preserved? We are not worth dying for?” She met him on the edge of the garden, the only light between them from the torch.
“We can buy our freedoms, Corina.” His disdain surprised and tainted her.
“Not always. Nearly every royal house of Europe fell after the First World War. The czar and his family were summarily rounded up and murdered. Freedom is for everyone, not just the weak and oppressed. Carlos, one of the wealthy and privileged, by the way, gave his life to save yours. What does that say about you? About him?”
“Carlos was . . .” He glanced over at her, a small smile cresting his lips. “A very special chap. Never knew a more selfless bloke.”
Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he was moved to your unit?”
“I’d planned to . . . It all happened so fast. His transfer papers hadn’t even finished processing.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and joined him on the bench. “So, you just lied to me? Pushed me away when you came home and I flew back here to be with you?”
“I was in a bad way when I returned to Brighton. I wanted nothing to do with anyone, not even my own family. The moment I saw you, I was in that tent again, the detonation exploding in my ears, in my chest, in my mind. Your brother . . .”
“You didn’t kill him, Stephen.”
“Not directly, no, but when I see you, I see him. I can’t be with you, Corina.”
“Don’t I get a say in our relationship? You married me because I said ‘Yes.’ How is it you get to leave without my ‘Yes’ ”?
“I brought you here so you would understand. When you see me, you’ll know I live because your brother died.”
“You cannot decide my feelings for me. What I see, how I’ll respond.”
“Nor can you decide for me. When I see you, I see him.” He gazed down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. She nearly melted into him. “I can’t forget if I’m married to a reminder. I’m right and you know it.”
“But I don’t know it, Stephen. You say one th
ing but behave completely different when we’re alone. Monday night, when you kissed me . . . are you saying it meant nothing?” She must remind him of who he was before the war. Kind, funny, sincere, wholehearted, wonderfully romantic.
“What does it matter? At the end of it all, when life takes hold and the romance of it all is gone, you will wake up every day next to a man stained with your brother’s blood. Please don’t make me say it again.”
“I’m not making you say anything. You’re choosing to say it.”
From his pocket, Stephen’s mobile rang. “It’s Nathaniel.” When he answered, she walked off, collecting her thoughts, sorting a blend of relief and revived sorrow. She felt as if he wanted her to be angry at him. Hate him.
“He wondered if we wanted to be back for late tea and a movie.”
“I don’t know. I suppose.” Corina returned to the bench, scanning the other graves. “What of these others? Do their families know?”
“No one knows outside the Joint Coalition leadership except Nathaniel and top personnel in the Defense Ministry. Now you.”
“I think the other families would like to come here.”
“Nathaniel wants to proceed with my coronation as Prince of Brighton, and in doing so I’ll be patron of the War Memorial, but . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t want to wear the uniform.”
“Think of what you could do for these men’s families.”
“I don’t have to be patron of a War Memorial to do something for them.”
“Have you done anything for them?”
“Not yet.” He stood, but she remained seated. “Shall we go in?”
“I’m not sure I can watch a movie right now. I think I’ll just sit out here.”
He exhaled and joined her again on the bench, tucked his phone in his pocket, and turned off the flashlight.
From the trees, an owl hooted and the wind rustled a response. In the dark, Corina let her tears fall without restraint. She caught the drops slipping from her chin with the back of her hand.