How to Catch a Prince

by Rachel Hauck

  Their gazes locked for a moment, and Stephen’s resolve wavered ever so slightly. Breaking from her visual hold, he moved inside and set his water on the kitchen table, retrieving the documents from his messenger bag. “Just need you to sign these.” He spread the papers on the table.

  She didn’t move, just stared. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing. I’d planned to send a card, but . . .” She picked at the paper label on her water bottle.

  “Don’t mention it. I–I understand.” Stephen slid the papers toward her, sweat beading under his arms and down his back. He ignored the pressure mounting in his ankle. He could sit when he returned to his beachside condo. But for now . . . “We all miss him.”

  “I miss Carlos.” Her unexpected honesty ignited an inferno in Stephen, charring his personal rules of engagement for this exchange. To be businesslike, frank, saying nothing intimate or personal. Just tend to the task.

  Her hazel gaze swept across his face, inspiring sweat beads on top of sweat beads. He twisted the top from his water bottle and gulped a long, undignified swig. The cold did little to cool his hot sand soul.

  “You’ll see the papers are all here.” He pushed the annulment documents nearer to the table’s edge. She wanted a response, didn’t she? But blimey, he could never bring himself to speak of her brother in her presence. “Read them over. See if you have questions.”

  He smiled as if to convince her this was going rather well. Wasn’t it? But she didn’t move toward him, the table, or the papers. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight, breathed through the twinge in his foot. “Have you lived here long?” Mundane, superficial, but he yielded to the temptation to chip away at some of her ice.

  “Six months.” Corina tipped her water bottle to her lips. “But you didn’t fly four thousand miles to chitchat.” Moving to the kitchen table, she snapped on a nearby lamp and glanced at the documents. Stephen waited. What was going on behind her amber and green eyes? She gave no real clues. A moment later, she glanced up. “If you want me to sign these, I’m going to need something from you.”

  He lowered his arms. Stiffened his back. How did he not anticipate a counterplay? He was a sportsman, running offense and defense. You’re losing your wits, chap. Pay attention.

  “So, state your request. But I make no guarantees.” She couldn’t want money. The Del Reys most likely had more wealth than the Strattons. In fact, he was sure of it. He’d not given her a ring, nor any other gifts of worth, so she’d not ask to keep anything. Did she want a princess title? He bristled at the idea. Nathaniel would heartily object.

  “Find out what really happened to my brother.”

  “Pardon?” But he’d heard her. The room darkened, and in Stephen’s ear he heard the mocking of his demons. His blood flowed like molten lava, burning him from the inside out. His ankle shot shards of pain through his leg. “You give me more credit than I’m due, Corina. I–I’ve no access to your brother’s records. He was in a different unit, which deployed six weeks before mine. How am I to find out? I’m but a lowly prince.” He could not control the tremor in his voice.

  “A lowly prince?” Her expression matched her sharp tone. “You’re the Prince of Brighton, or you’re supposed to be. You have access to the Defense Ministry, to top clearance.”

  “You mistake me for my brother.”

  “Then ask your brother.” She stepped away from the table, her eyes blazing. “My twin, Stephen. My best friend, my Carlos, went to war and never returned. The only answer we got from the Pentagon is that he was under the command of the Joint International Coalition out of Cathedral City, and if we wanted answers, we had to inquire with your Defense Ministry.”

  “Then inquire. Surely your father has connections.”

  “He meets with silence and steel doors. He can’t get answers. We’re told only that he died in a firefight. A hero, they say, but we’ve no medals. No accolades. No honor ceremony.”

  The drumming in his ears muted her words. Corina . . . What are you asking of me? “Believe me, I’m limited in my executive privileges.”

  “Then find a way. Speak to Nathaniel. Hire a private investigator, a skilled thief who can break into the Defense Ministry, I don’t care. Just find out what happened. Nothing has been the same since he died. I lost everything. My family. You.” She bit her lower lip and fell silent.

  Stephen wanted to pace, but his ankle revolted. He pulled out a chair and sat down hard, his thoughts churning, his heart raging. Tell her. Just tell her. But he could not. His confession lay so deep, not even the earthquake of her request could raise it to the surface.

  After a moment, he peered up at her. “And if I can’t find out what happened to him? Are you going to just leave the papers unsigned? Surely you want to move on with your life, marry again.”

  Her laugh pierced his soul, inspiring a mocking chortle from his demons. You fool. You’re not worthy. “My l ife s topped the d ay Carlos died. My parents still grieve. They’ve had no closure. Our house, once alive with laughter, is weighted with sorrow. My father can’t stay in the house for more than five minutes. My mother can’t leave. They weep for Carlos as if we’d just covered his grave with fresh dirt. For the past five and a half years I’ve straddled my heart between the two of them, trying to be a bridge, to create some sort of happiness, trying to be the family we used to be. But they are not healing, Stephen. They want to know what happened to their beautiful boy, their star, the heir to the Del Rey name and dynasty.”

  Corina leaned toward him, placing her hands on the arms of the chair, boxing him in. “If it means I stay married to you in an effort to help my parents, then I’ll pay the price. The question is, do you want to pay that price? No truth, no signature.”

  Oh, didn’t she seem puffed up and pleased with herself. “You must be joking.” He fired back, mounting his own resolve.

  “Am I laughing?”

  “Corina, our relationship has nothing to do with your brother’s death. We can’t remain in limbo—”

  “Sure we can. In fact, we’ve been in limbo for five and a half years. We just didn’t know it.” She squinted at him with a curled lip, and his heart trembled. “Since the day I saw you after you returned from Afghanistan, bruised and cut up, silent and sullen, I knew something was up. Something you were not telling. And I can’t figure what or why. But you know things and I think you can find out about my brother.”

  “I told you. After the explosion I realized I couldn’t put the House of Stratton at risk. I would’ve had to give up my rights to the throne if our marriage had gone public. I was wrong to marry you in secret, breaking Brighton law and risking the Crown. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “So you were madly in love with me during your entire deployment until . . . when? I hear nothing from you after Carlos was killed. I was worried sick, wondering if something had happened to you too. I called and called, flew back to Brighton. I was about to go to the King’s Office when I found you in my flat that New Year’s Day.”

  He knew all of this. Why did she feel compelled to recap it? “Corina, there’s no need—”

  “Oh, there’s a need. I want to see if I have my facts straight.” She paced around the kitchen and then into the living room before going on. “I fly over to Brighton, my heart in my hands, seeking the solace and comfort of my husband after losing my brother, hoping and praying you are all right, wanting to comfort you and be with you. But what greets me? A man of steel, and not of the Superman variety. Cold, hard eyes like polished blue stones. I go to kiss you and you push me away.”

  The details dug into his dry, fallow ground. He’d wanted to take her in his arms that day. Hold her, make love to her, feel alive again. But all he saw was blood and death. “Corina—” Stephen shoved to his feet, the past all too present.

  “I asked what was wrong, what happened in Torkham. You said an explosion. I touched the cuts on your face, on your hands, your arms, but you pulled away, telling me without any warning that we wer
e through. The whole marriage had been a mistake.” She gripped his shoulders and shook him. Hard. “I was madly in love with you. I gave you my heart, my soul, my body. And you crushed me without reason.”

  Crushed. Nathaniel’s word. He trembled at her confession, avoiding her eyes, drawing his rugby-trained shoulders back and breaking free of her. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed his confession. “But it must be this way.”

  “Why?” She leaned to see his face, but he’d had enough.

  “Because, Corina . . .” His voice boomed through the expansive loft, “I said so. Enough. Will you sign the annulment papers or not?” He braced himself with a hand on the table.

  “You know my stipulation.”

  “I don’t accept your stipulation.”

  “Too bad. You can’t have everything your way, Stephen. I’ve had too much time to think about this. No news, no signature. Find out what happened to Carlos and you’re a free man.”

  FIVE

  Her condo echoed with their argument long after Stephen left. Weak with ebbing adrenaline, Corina shut off all the lights except the ones glowing from her glass-front kitchen cabinets.

  In her bedroom, she shoved open the balcony doors and stepped into the night, into the stiff breeze off the brackish river and the song of crickets. Long angles of light fell over the waters from the homes and businesses across the way on the barrier island. Draped in a strand of Christmas lights, a small sailboat drifted toward the high, arching causeway.

  Stephen. He’d come to see her. But not to claim her as his own, to confess his love, but to reject her all over again. Corina leaned on the rail and dropped her head, vivid emotions churning through her, tears sailing down her cheeks.

  Her marriage. Carlos. Her family life. So much loss. When she’d arrived home after Stephen’s parking-lot confrontation, she was determined to sign the papers. After all, wasn’t the move to Melbourne about starting over, carving out a life for herself?

  How could she do it if she were chained to him? She prayed for courage as she waited for him to knock on her door. But when he walked in, the idea about Carlos sparked and she couldn’t let it go.

  Wiping her cheeks with the edge of her top, she had no regrets over her request. Her little speech to Stephen flowed straight from her heart, and it felt good to cleanse herself of her burden.

  She didn’t need Stephen’s mercy. He needed hers. So what if her demand hitched her wagon to his for the next few weeks, months, or even years? Her family would finally have closure. Peace. The chance to be the Del Reys again. Always together, always laughing.

  Corina eased down into the wooden Adirondack chair. In moments like these, she missed her brother’s wise, albeit saucy counsel. She missed his robust confidence. His booming laugh.

  But tonight she also missed what should have been with Stephen. Carlos had always been her best friend. She never imagined anyone could take Carlos’s place. Until she met Stephen.

  His bold, brash confidence won her over . . . Well, eventually. Corina smiled at the picture of Stephen sitting behind her in a postgraduate leadership class, leaning over her, whispering his questions in her ear. As if he sincerely needed her help. But he was a flirt. An unabashed, charming flirt.

  When she relented to his persistent chase and agreed to a date, she lost a piece of herself to him. He became her soul mate, her true love. More than a best friend.

  But life decided to have its way with her.

  Corina pushed up from the Adirondack, leaving her thoughts on the balcony, and headed inside. Snatching her phone from her handbag, she dialed Daisy, her best friend since junior high, married with two gorgeous little girls.

  But she hung up before the first ring. She didn’t feel much like talking. And conversations with Daisy were peppered with dialogue to her daughters.

  Tossing her phone onto the bed, Corina walked over to her wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom, cutting through a mysterious, lingering scent of Stephen’s cologne. Or was her imagination playing tricks on her? When he was deployed, she’d keep his pillow case unwashed so she could breathe him in as she drifted off to sleep.

  But that was a long time ago. A story from the fairy tales. Corina faced the antique wardrobe that had once belonged to her great-great-grandmother Thurman on her mama’s side, purchased in France in 1910.

  Turning on the corner lamp, Corina opened the carved oak doors and shoved aside her sweaters, finding the iron ring on the back panel that let her into a secret compartment. Didn’t she put something in here after her last trip to Brighton? When Stephen had rejected her?

  In the muted light, she found the envelope. The one she’d stuffed in there when she came home from Brighton that fateful January over five years ago.

  A month before she’d been so happy, anticipating a joyous, happy Christmas at home, her secret of being a married woman adding a bit of private fun to the season.

  Presents had been shipped to Carlos in plenty of time. And Corina’s private gifts had gone out to Stephen.

  She was to Skype with him in the early hours of Christmas morning. Oh, how buoyant and warm she was with the treasure of their secret. A lovers’ dream.

  But the Skype call went unanswered. As well as the family’s call to Carlos.

  What seemed perhaps an innocuous, minor thing—after all, they’d missed calls before—became a heinous nightmare from which Corina thought she’d never wake up.

  Reaching in, she took the envelope from the compartment and headed to the balcony, thinking she should throw the darn thing in the river. Never mind the water’s edge was about a quarter mile away. The toss would be symbolic. A metaphor for removing the last bit of Stephen from her heart and head.

  She drew back her hand, wondering how far she could fling the lightweight envelope. Just her luck, it would get caught in the wind and fall to Mrs. Davenport’s balcony below.

  Corina returned to her bed and dumped out the contents.

  One greeting card. One newspaper clipping. One soda bottle cap. And one thin, silky red ribbon.

  Corina picked up the card, tracing the image of a beautiful, demure 1900s bride wearing a gown with a high neck collar and a long, flowing veil. Her burnished ringlets curled about her porcelain cheek as she smiled at her dazzling, dark-haired groom with blue eyes.

  And she slipped into the memory.

  “He looks like me.” Stephen said, plucking the card from the rack.

  “Yes, but she doesn’t look like me.”

  “Perfect, this card is for you. To remember me.” He gathered her to himself and kissed her, passionate and loving, not caring one whit that the shop owner looked on. “I’ll have my own memories of you.” His wicked grin told her exactly what kind of memories he’d treasure, and she blushed.

  “Stephen, shhh . . .”

  “What? You’re my wife. My memories will carry me through my tour. I love that they’ll be mine, all mine. No one knows to ask, ‘Ow’s the missus?’ When I get a goofy grin on my face, they’ll just think I ate too much succotash.”

  “My, my, such high praise. I equate with your love of succotash.” Corina popped his shoulder gently, laughing, blushing. “I’ll have my own private memories too. But I’ll take the card. It’s so lovely. And a souvenir from our Hessenberg wedding night.”

  “Sorry we can’t do more, love,” Stephen said. “But when I’m back from my tour, we’ll sort our marriage out with Dad and the Parliament. You’ll select a ring from the royal jewels. Then we’ll have a proper party. Fit for a prince and his princess.”

  “Stephen, I don’t care. You know that, don’t you? As long as I’m yours.” She kissed him with ardent love. “Is it real? You’re all mine?”

  “Very real. You’ve captured my heart, love, and we’ve our whole lives to make memories.” He blessed her temple with a brush of his lips. “But until then, you have this as a reminder.” Stephen held up the card, walking toward the sales counter.

  If the shop owner recognized him, he said not a
word. Now Corina opened the card, tears pooling in her eyes as she read the simple verse.

  To say I love you is more than mere words.

  ’Tis a truth in my heart.

  I love you, my darling, and you’ve married me.

  And we will never be apart.

  Beneath the rhyme, they each signed the card. Their signatures represented their final pledge to one another.

  Corina tossed the card across the bed. What a crock. It was all a lie. Stephen only loved when it was fun, easy, and convenient. When some mysterious obstacle arose? Bam, he was gone.

  She reached for the ribbon and roped it around her ring finger. Since they didn’t exchange wedding rings, Archbishop Caldwell offered Stephen the ribbon to tie around Corina’s finger as he repeated his vows.

  Stephen was so apologetic he’d not planned more thoroughly for his proposal. “But I promise . . . any jewel you want when I return.” He’d held her face in his hands and kissed her over and over.

  Truth was Corina had her own family heirlooms to bring to their union. Her great-grandmother Del Rey’s diamond engagement ring had once been on display at the Smithsonian. But how Corina loved the ribbon and the tender, sweet, romantic moment it represented. She held up her hand and listened . . .

  “I pledge to you my love and fidelity, my honor and trust, to cherish you until death parts us.”

  The heiress and the prince. They were meant to be. In love. Forever. They were going to make it, defeat the odds of wealth and power pulling a modern couple apart.

  Both of their parents had a loving relationship. Well, hers did until Carlos died.

  Corina tucked the ribbon back in the envelope. How could she have been so fooled by him?

  The third memento rested inside the envelope. A large color photo of them at the Military Ball, the night of Stephen’s proposal. One of Corina’s friends had taken the shot with her iPhone and texted it to her. “Save to show your grandchildren. The night you danced with a prince.” Oh, little did she know . . .