by Rachel Hauck
“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 expen
ses—”
“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.”
She dried her hands, but Stephen was already moving toward the doorway, opening the double doors, dragging in the chairs and the wobbly wooden planter with its dying ivy.
“Anything else need tidied?” he said with a glance around.
“That’s it. Thank you, Stephen.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
Their eyes met. It had never been like this between them—formal and awkward. Even when he was flirting and she was ignoring.
Back in the kitchen, she found a cutting knife and commenced slicing up apples, the task giving her a chance for stealth peeks at her prince. She wanted to kiss him. Why do I still love you?
With another fistful of M&Ms, Stephen wandered into the living room and peered out the window, standing in the storm’s grey light. “To answer your question, I rang Nathaniel, Corina. There’s nothing to tell. Your brother died in a firefight.”
“In Torkham? He was stationed in Peshawar.” She drove the knife through the sweet apple. “What was he doing in Torkham?”
“Troops get moved about all the time. There are any number of reasons for him to have been in Torkham. Short-term assignment.”
“But you know exactly why he was in Torkham, don’t you?” She was reaching. Poking. Trying to draw it out of him.
“What do you want?” Stephen crossed the room and leaned against the island counter. “For me to make up something? Construct some grand story that sounds believable? He was in Torkham doing his job. Keeping the peace. The purpose of the Joint Coalition.” He motioned to the roses. “Those are lovely.”
Corina glared at him. “They’re from you.”
“Me?” He slapped his hand to his chest. “I didn’t send them.”
Now he was just being rude. “Then why is the card signed with your name?” Corina snatched the white envelope from amid the blooms and tossed it to him. But Stephen wasn’t one to play games. When he sent her flowers before, he’d call almost hourly until she got them. Though she did find it strange for him to use the initials PS. Prince Stephen.
“Anything new? Interesting?”
“No, just working on a story.”
“Ring if anything, you know, happens.”
“Like what?”
“Like anything at all, love. Just ring.”
He held up the card, making a show of reading the text. “I treasure our memories. Love, PS.” With a scoff, he peered at her. “I treasure our memories? PS? Does that even sound like me? First of all, the initials would be SS. Second of all, I’d say something like, ‘Be well, love.’ ”
Corina snapped the card from his hand. “Then who sent them?”
“I’ve no idea, I assure you. Perhaps your boyfriend.”
He was flirting “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“So you’ve not dated since you—”
“Got kicked to the curb by you?” Corina brought the knife hard through another apple. “Yes, a few times. I thought I was single.”
“How’d you get on?”
“Well enough.” Not like you and me. “He was an old friend from college. But he lives in New York. Every now and then he had business in Atlanta.” Why was she telling him this? “He’d call and I’d meet him for dinner.”
On those nights she’d shed her mourning clothes and pretend life was full of splendor and opportunity. Death and heartache were a million miles away. She’d always be grateful for those nights of reprieve.
“What happened?”
She sliced the quartered apples into pieces. “Why do you care?”
“Making conversation.” Stephen reached for an apple slice, then opened the caramel cup and dipped in his slice.
“He lives in New York and I live here.”
Stephen slipped a quick blue gaze past her. “I know this business between us is not pleasant, Corina.”
“Not pleasant?” She rammed the knife through another crisp apple. Not pleasant was a speck in her rearview. “Not pleasant is a toothache, a paper cut, losing your iPhone. This between us is horrid. I wanted to hate you, you know. By the way, whoever sent the roses, shouldn’t have. Gigi Beaumont hovered over my desk like a hungry hawk all morning, wondering who sent them.”
“Tell her they’re from your ole chap.”
“I’m not going to lie to her. And I’m not going to give her one tiny wink into my life. Who do you think sent them?”
“I’ve no idea. But believe me, I’ll inquire when I return home. It could’ve only been one of a very few people.”
“When do you leave?”
“Sunday.”
His answer hung between them.
“My condition still stands,” she said.
“As does my answer. I don’t understand why you can’t see reason—”
“Reason? Nothing in the past five
and a half years has made a lick of sense. Not you leaving me, not my parents falling apart. In some ways, Carlos’s death is the only thing that does make sense. He went to war and men die in war. But how he died? That doesn’t make sense. Why the secrecy? And this dealie between you and me? It’s my only bargaining chip. The only way to understand why I found myself so very alone.”
He swallowed and turned away, saying nothing.
“Someday I want to drive home to Marietta and say, ‘Mama, Daddy, your son didn’t die in vain.’ ” Corina stared at the bowl of apples, her eyes welling up, the moaning wind driving the storm’s first raindrops against the windows.
They’d never eat all of these slices. She tugged open a drawer and took out a baggie.
Stephen pointed to his foot. “I should elevate my ankle.”
“Do you need ice?”
“No, thanks. Just elevation.”
She pointed to one of the recliners. “Help yourself.”
“Corina,” he said slowly, hesitating, debating his thoughts. “Your brother died a hero.”
She peered at Stephen for a long moment, choosing her words, ready to demand more details, insisting he knew more than he claimed. She felt in her gut that he did. But instead of demanding more, a confession rose from her heart. “Do you know what I think about?”
He shook his head, still standing between the kitchen and living room, his dark hair flying all over, his eyes set, his jaw taut.
“Did I love him well?”
“Love him well?” Stephen said. “What do you mean? I never knew two more devoted, adoring siblings. I’d say you loved him well.”
The conversation stirred Corina’s hidden, deeper emotions. “But did I really?”
The notion of loving well first came to Corina as she wept on the floor of an old chapel outside Marietta, right after Carlos’s funeral, right after she’d called Stephen for the umpteenth time with no answer and her shattered heart feared she’d lost him too.
Lord, how can I live without them?
“There was a night, right before he shipped out,” she began, intentional, weighing her words, barely opening the door of her heart to the prince. “Carlos came by my apartment. You were at the base, doing something. We weren’t married yet, of course, but in love.” She cleared her throat, breathed back the tears. “I was dying to tell him about us, that we’d gotten serious. Carlos and I never kept secrets from each other. Plus, you two were friends, so I thought, why not bring him in on it? You were my first real love.
