by Rachel Hauck
“The crown belongs to the Manor.”
“What? H–how is that possible?”
“Because I am the keeper of the Manor.” Her eyes twinkled. “When you entered the land, so did we. Therefore, the tiara.”
“We? Who’s we?” Corina’s spirit churned as if on fire.
“Well, Brill and me.” Adelaide adjusted the tiara one last time with careful precision, her pink tongue tucked against the side of her mouth. “There now . . . Beautiful. A true princess crown. As beautiful as Magdalena, I say.”
Corina’s eyes met Adelaide’s, the moment sublime but ever so real. “How many have worn this tiara?” The light beaming through the diamonds nearly mesmerized Corina. In this moment, she was a princess.
“One.” Adelaide brushed her hand over Corina’s skirt, then gazed into her eyes. “And now you. Do you have your pouch, or whatever you young women call it today?”
“Pouch?” Corina laughed, feeling free, rather regal under the tiara. “Do you mean clutch?” Corina held up the beaded purse.
“Clutch, yes.” Adelaide pressed her hand to her forehead. “I can never remember.” Leading the way down the stairs, the proprietress waved Corina out the door along with Brill, who stood stiff and formal, chin tucked to his chest, all the while smiling.
“Have a good time, miss.”
“I will. Thank you for everything.” Corina paused at the door and pointed at her crown. “Are you sure this tiara works?”
“Love, indeed. The tiara works.”
Stephen stepped out of the limousine, gazing over the rough-hewn inn tucked between the iconic, legendary department stores.
The Manor.
Last night when he rode in the car with Corina back to the Manor, she’d been proven right.
There was an establishment tucked between the twin department stores. There was no missing it. Though the royal chauffeur drove right past, three times, claiming he saw nothing but an alleyway. Stephen recommended he see an eye physician at once.
But he had no more time to ponder. Corina came through the door into the evening light. Stephen drew up straight, gobsmacked by her beauty. A force he’d never deny she possessed.
All day he debated this outing. Even after he texted her. His intent was not to draw near to her but to end their relationship. Yet whenever she was around, she chipped away at his resolve. He became weak and double-minded.
Her power over him drove him to his knees that June evening on top of the Braithwaite. She was his kryptonite, and he feared spending more time than necessary with her would break him. It was enough that he survived the tropical storm evening in her flat.
Steady on. Remain focused. Stephen conjured up an image of her brother and Bird. Dead. Live with that reality, mate.
Once he’d sorted his perspective, put it back in order, he approached her, buttoning his tuxedo jacket. “Good evening.”
She nodded with a slight curtsy. “Good evening. You look nice.”
He swallowed. “As do you.” His gaze rose to the sparkling diamond tiara. “Corina, what’s on your head?”
“A tiara.” She touched her hand to the jeweled circlet. “The woman who runs this place gave it to me.”
“A tiara? Are you quite serious? You cannot wear that to a movie premier with me.”
“Why not?” Corina shot him with a dagger of defiance. “I didn’t ask for it. She gifted it to me. You can hardly see it with my updo.”
“Hardly see it? Perhaps if one were blind. The diamonds are shooting prisms all the way to the park.” He gestured with attitude toward Maritime Park. “I must ask you to remove it. Royal protocol prohibits non-peerage females to wear a tiara around princes or kings. I’m sorry, it’s old fashioned but it is still in effect. The media will be lit up with wonder.”
Her countenance flared. A look he knew well. It’s on now. “Too late now. If I take it off my hair will be ruined.”
“Then ruin it. What’s a bit of muss? Isn’t that the popular look today?” A push of panic and he stood before her. “Did you tell the proprietress? Does she know?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
At the curb, the limousine motor hummed, waiting. A sprinkle of an evening rain breezed over their heads. Then faded.
“The media will be all over us. They’re going to want to know who you are and why you’re wearing a tiara.”
“Pardon me, Your Highness, but I don’t need you for people to know who I am. I have my own reputation. The Del Rey name is not unknown in the world. If people ask, I can tell them it’s from my ancestors who, if you go back far enough, were Castilian royalty.” In the haloing streetlight, he could see her trembling. “If anything, the press might just want to know why a Del Rey is attending a movie premier with a rugby player.”
He stared. She stared back. He broke first, laughing. “Get in.”
“Are you sure?” She took a wide berth around him. “Can you risk being seen with me?”
“Fine. You’ve made your point. Just slip inside, Corina.” He bowed, swinging his arm toward the opened limo door. “Please. The air-conditioning is getting away.”
She hesitated, and Stephen realized he’d tapped her stubborn streak. If she didn’t get in soon, he should expect she’d turn on her heel and start down the avenue.
“Are you going to walk?” he said after a moment.
“Yes, I didn’t come all this way for you to insult me.”
He leaned toward her. “Then just why did you come all this way?”
She walked toward the curb and raised her hand. “Taxi!”
Stephen stepped in front of her. “You came looking for me, didn’t you?”
She sighed and her warm, sweet breath filled his chest. “See you at the premier. Taxi!” But the red city cab zipped on past.
Laughing, Stephen pressed his hand to the back of his neck. The woman drove him mad. But he deserved this. Fair and square. Yet how could he keep his heart at bay, remembering why he couldn’t be with her, when she crawled under his skin and remained there.
“Corina, please, get in the limo.”
“Go on, you’ll be late. Taxi!” Another passing motor didn’t even see her.
“Get in.” He stepped up behind her.
She turned to him, reaching up for the tiara, tugging it. But the piece remained in place. She frowned, gave up, and tapped her finger against his chest.
“You want to know why I came here? Because I realized I was still married and I don’t know, call me crazy, I wondered if maybe there was still something between us. That maybe God—”
“God? What does he have to do with our marriage? I have little business with the Lord.”
“But he probably has business with you. You’re the freaking Prince of Brighton. Or you’re supposed to be. Have you had your coronation yet? No! I wish you’d get your head out of your rugby kit long enough to realize how much more there is for you to do on this earth.” She pulled on the tiara again, but it still remained in place. “What is with this thing?”
“How did this turn into a lecture on my life? Playing rugby is my mission on earth.” This was way out of her jurisdiction. “Have you been talking to my brother?”
“No, but I read, observe. That’s why I know there are secrets beneath your bone and muscle.” She stepped into the street, stumbling after another speeding cab, nearly getting run over.
“Corina.”
“Stephen.”
“For Pete’s sake.” He lowered his shoulder and, with ease, wrapped her in his arms and cradled her against him.
“Stephen, what are you doing?” She pushed her hand against his hard chest, kicking her legs.
“I’m taking you to a premier.” He peered at her, their faces so close . . . He could steal a kiss if he wanted. And oh, he wanted.
“You’re a brute.” Her accusation melted into a laugh.
Thomas jumped out of the back. “Sir, what are you doing?”
“Step aside, mate. Wild lass coming through.
”
Bending carefully, Stephen settled Corina into the back of the limo and slipped in next to her.
“You’re crazy,” she said, moving to the center of the seat, smoothing her skirt and patting the side of her hair. “Did the tiara stay in place?” She snatched a small compact from her bag and inspected her hair. “Though I suppose you’d like for it to fall off.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Stephen collected himself, smoothing his tie and straightening his jacket. He tapped the driver’s window. “Crack on.” With a peek at Corina, he felt a smile stretching across his heart. “You said it was romantic the last time I picked you up.”
She snapped the compact shut. “Good, the tiara is still in place. Not even a rambunctious prince can remove my crown.”
Thomas spit a laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were an old married couple.”
“Never you mind, chap.” Stephen shot him a warning glance. “Corina, did you hear me?”
“I heard you.” She reached to tap Thomas on his knee. “You look nice.”
“Thank you, Corina. As do you.”
“Even with the tiara?”
“Yes, it’s very . . . you. Beautiful.”
“At least one man in this car thinks so.” Corina flipped her hand at Stephen. “See how to be nice?”
“Fine, I apologize if I was not nice. But showing up at a premier with a prince wearing a tiara is not a good idea. Royal protocol and all that.”
The conversation idled as the limo moved through the downtown traffic toward the theatre district. But Stephen felt himself swirling down, aching to sweep Corina into his arms again.
Seeing her tonight, regal and elegant in her gown, wearing the tiara as if she’d been born to do so, only awakened the reality that everything he’d whispered to his heart about the end of their marriage was nothing but his own deluding fears.
SEVENTEEN
Ravenous. The paparazzi hounds hovered around the limousine as the driver pulled up to the Royal Theatre’s gold carpet.
Corina leaned to see through the window as red-vested attendants carved their way toward them. She clutched her bag to her adrenaline-pulsing heart.
While this wasn’t her first movie premier, it was the first time she’d stepped out of a limousine with a prince. Her prince. Try as she might, her body throbbed with the reality that she was his wife.
“Ready?” Stephen glanced back at her, tugging on his shirtsleeves, adjusting his collar. “Let the fun commence.”
“Oh, we haven’t started having fun yet? I thought it began when you swooped me up in your arms.”
He glanced back at her with his swoon-enticing smile. “That fun was for you. Now mine is about to start.”
“Ha! Very funny. Such a witty boy.”
“Are you sure you want to get out wearing that tiara?”
Corina touched the delicate piece. “And leave it in the limo?” She gave it a light tug. Holy smokes, it was like, glued, to her head.
“The driver and the car are in the palace’s employ. The tiara will be fine in here.”
She ran her finger along the headband, trying to lift the piece from her hair. “I’m a Del Rey. No one should be surprised if a multimillionaire’s daughter wears a tiara.” The band didn’t slip or lift from her head. “Stephen, I couldn’t get it off even if I wanted.”
“What?”
“It’s stuck.”
“How can it be stuck?” Stephen pinched the top with his finger and thumb, giving a light pull.
“Ouch.” She shoved Stephen’s hand away as his door opened. “Never mind.”
Thomas got out first, addressing the security team already on site. “The prince will exit the motor first . . .”
“Thomas was right. It looks good on you.” Stephen’s blue eyes searched hers for a moment. Was he going to say something? Bring up the last time he carried her again? On the night they were married. “Remember, if anyone asks, we’re merely old friends.” He slid to the edge of the seat and stepped into the blaze of camera flashes and choir of voices.
“Naturally,” she said to his back. “What did you think I would say?”
Corina followed him out, emerging into the electric excitement of the media and the fans, blinded by the camera flashes.
“Prince Stephen, over here.”
“Your Royal Highness, what do you think of a movie about your ancestors?”
“Sir, will you be back on the pitch this fall?”
“You, miss, over here. How do you know the prince?”
Corina looked toward the sound of the voice and a flash exploded in her face.
“Are you Corina Del Rey?”
“Corina, come,” Thomas said, shoving the crowd aside for Corina.
Once she cleared the initial stand of photographers, he cut ahead to be with Stephen, and the crowd wanting access to the prince swarmed and pushed her aside.
Darn it. She elbowed her way back in, charging forward to the white press line where Stephen had stopped to talk to reporters.
“I’m looking forward to the film. Jeremiah Gonda is one of my favorite directors. And who doesn’t love an Aaron Heinly script?”
“Do you think the film will accurately portray King Stephen I?”
“It’s a movie, lads. Let’s not make too much of it.” The remark sparked a hearty laugh. “But yes, I think it will capture the heart of our liberator, a warrior and king. Would Clive Boston play any other kind of character? He’s always the swashbuckling hero.”
Corina jammed her shoulder against a wide-bodied photographer and shot him her Miss Georgia pearly whites. “Pardon me.”
Still, she couldn’t make her way to Stephen. He was barricaded by three protection officers. Thomas roamed, checking the crowd. When he saw her, he smiled, giving her a slight nod.
“Prince Stephen, is that your date behind you? Corina Del Rey?” Deanna Robertson from the Informant. Corina knew her from her time at Knoxton. And Gigi knew her. She was probably one of her minions.
Stephen glanced back, and in that moment, his expression, the light in his eyes, deposited something in her. She was one with him. Neither time nor distance, nor the threat of annulment, could change the truth.
And he was part of her.
He held his arm out toward her. “This is Corina Del Rey, an old mate from university. She’s reporting on the premier for the Beaumont Post, but most of you are familiar with the Del Rey family. American entrepreneurs and philanthropists.”
Thomas moved her forward and into another blast of flashes and voices.
“Are you the one who tweeted on the Madeline & Hyacinth Live! show?” Deanna asked.
“Yes, I—”
“—was pulling a prank.” Stephen answered for her, chucking his arm around her shoulder, giving her a buddy-ole-pal squeeze. “We like to quarrel over the merits of that crazy American football.”
“Sounds like a lover’s quarrel.” Deanna was just digging for a bone to chew, wasn’t she? Or did Gigi have her up to something?
“Deanna, quite funny. We’re merely friends,” Stephen said.
“And football is far superior to rugby, of course,” Corina said with a slight curl to her lip.
Stephen laughed, shoving her slightly aside. “Your audacity is both foolish and brave. You speak such things on Brighton Eagles territory?”
“Speaking of rugby, Your Highness . . .”
Stephen fielded a few rugby questions, showing them his ankle without the walking boot, assuring them he’d be playing by the fall.
But Corina witnessed a fault in his confidence. And when he started for the theatre, she caught the slight hitch in his walk.
She hurried to catch up to him, but the protection detail closed in like a steel door and locked her out.
“Hey, wait for me.” But her voice only blended with the shouts and cries already peppering the theatre.
“Here you are, miss.” A tuxedoed attendant held the door for her. “Are you with the
prince?”
“Technically.”
The air inside the two-hundred-year-old theatre was cool and crisp, the atmosphere vibrant with music, voices, and clinking glasses.
The walls were propped with faux Greek columns from which carved lion heads watched over them. Corina squeezed and wove her way to Stephen, keeping a keen eye out for Clive. She was to meet him here before the film started. But the scoundrel never responded to her text today.
When she found Stephen, he was surrounded by women. She nudged him with her elbow. “What’s the big idea?”
“I don’t know, what is the big idea?”
“You just left me back there.”
“I thought you were with me.”
“Pretty hard to be when the protection detail boxes me out.” She fumed. Hurt. But not wanting to be. “Just tell them to look out for me, please.”
“Sorry, I thought Thomas was on it.” Stephen turned to his small gathering. “Corina, may I introduce the woman who plays lady-in-waiting, Gillian—”
“Laura Gonda. We know each other.” Corina leaned toward Laura, the director’s wife, and kissed her cheek.
“How are you? I was so sorry to hear about Carlos.” Laura held on to Corina’s hand. “He always made me laugh. Such a waste.”
“We miss him every day.” Beside her, Stephen stepped back, fixed on swirling the champagne in his glass but never drinking. It was this business with Carlos. Every time it came up, he changed ever so slightly.
“How do you know one another?” he said after a moment.
“Laura starred in a movie Daddy coproduced.”
“A fantastic movie and experience,” Laura said, sipping her champagne. “Love the tiara, Corina.” The actress tiptoed up for a better look. “A family heirloom? I remember your mother speaking of crown jewels from Castile, right?”
Corina made a face at Stephen. Ha! “Yes, but this one is not one of ours. It’s on loan from a friend.”
“I’m so jealous. I wanted to wear one, but Jeremiah wouldn’t let me. Something about royal protocol.” She snorted a laugh. “But really I think he’s afraid I might start to act like I’m princess because of this movie.”
