How to Catch a Prince

by Rachel Hauck

  “You let me know when you open it. My husband sent me a box like that once and it contained a lovely portrait of our daughter.”

  “What a very special gift. I’ll be sure to let you know what it is.” The woman was like a dog with a bone.

  “Why can’t I watch you open the crate?”

  Corina sighed. She felt for Mrs. Putman. Widowed and alone, her children scattered across the country, busy with their own lives. “Tell you what, come for tea tomorrow at ten. You can see what’s in the crate.”

  “Tomorrow at ten?” The woman pinched her expression. “Won’t you be at work?”

  “No, I won’t. I resigned. Tomorrow at ten?”

  “Yes, t–that would be lovely.” Mrs. Putman’s glossy eyes reflected the truth. She was lonely. And she was grateful.

  When the door was shut, Corina faced the box leaning against the foyer wall. It was a painting crate all right. A bit deeper than she’d have thought, but no doubt, Stephen had shipped her the Pissarro.

  How he managed to get it to her so quickly was a feat for princes and kings.

  Worse, why’d he returned it. Her tears surfaced again. Did she want the Pissarro? All those memories hanging on her wall instead of her heart?

  Digging the hammer out of the kitchen junk drawer, Corina laid the box on the floor, questions pounding her heart. Did she want to open it? Was she fortified enough to fall into the imagery and sensation of the Rue du Roi?

  Whispering a prayer, she aimed the hammer, prying open the lid. If nothing else, the Pissarro would remind her of the night atop the Braithwaite when she caught the heart of a prince.

  She’d regale her grandchildren with her story.

  When the lid lifted free, Corina anchored it against the foyer wall. She expected to find a mound of bubble wrap but instead found layers of packing and tissue paper.

  Kneeling beside the crate to discover what lay beneath, she gasped when the white sheen and feathery beauty of the Luciano Diamatia emerged.

  “Oh, Mama.” Corina lifted the gown from the crate, new tears rising. A pink envelope dropped to the floor by her feet. Reaching for it, Corina found a simple note inside.

  Corina, please forgive me. Your loving mama.

  A laugh bubbled over Corina’s tears as she hurried to her room, Diamatia’s voice, with all of his inflections—rolling r’s and slurred s’s—paraded across Corina’s mind.

  At their first meeting, the renowned designer walked around her, musing aloud.

  I see a swan. A glorious swan!

  Standing in front of her bedroom mirror, Corina held the gown against her, aching to try it on.

  Please fit, please fit.

  Mourning and grieving wreaked havoc on a girl’s body.

  Corina spread the gown across her bed, found her phone in her purse, and dialed home. Ida Mae answered with a curt, “I’ll get your mama.” Bless sweet ole Ida Mae.

  “So you received the gown?” Mama said with more emotion in her voice than Corina had heard in years. She drank from her tone as if she pulled a cup of water from a deep well.

  “Thank you so much, Mama. But what made you go after it?”

  “The story, in the Sunday Post . . . about you and the prince.”

  “Oh, I see.” How to tell her the marriage was annulled? “Mama—”

  “Your father told me the rest of the story. I’m sorry, Corina. I truly am. Nevertheless, when I read the article I realized what a lovely, capable woman you are and how lucky any man would be to have you as his wife. Especially Prince Stephen. So, I hunted down the dress and hired a special courier to deliver it to you. Besides, you were right, it wasn’t mine to give away.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Corina stood at her bedroom window, the subtle hues of the fading sun soaking the June evening, a sense of enrichment swelling in her.

  “Say you’ll wear it. And soon.”

  “I married Stephen in that dress.”

  Mama was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “I’m sorry you weren’t there, too, Mama.”

  “But I’m sure it was all terribly romantic.”

  “Terribly.”

  “I’m trying, Corina, I sincerely am.” Mama’s long sigh brushed Corina’s heart. “Be patient with me.”

  “Always, Mama. Always.”

  They said good-bye, and Corina fell back on her bed, lying next to the gown, exhausted and exhilarated.

  Thank you, Lord. Thank you. Being loved well felt rather grand.

  Corina soaked in his presence, feeling his descent the moment she raised the dress from the crate. She didn’t always understand the invisible brushes against her arms or the gentle taps against her forehead that made her blink, but they were him. Her God. Breaking in and reminding her he was there, watching and waiting.

  If one wanted to love well, learn from the Master. Corina understood that life was a journey and if she’d trust him, Jesus would carve out her way through the wilderness. Be her light in the dark.

  Tears streamed down her temples, gathering in her ears. She was a rich princess tonight. Not because of Daddy or Prince Stephen.

  But because Jesus was her King.

  After a moment, a gurgle of joy blipped across her spirit. Corina sat up, wiped her eyes, and brushed her hand over the gown.

  “Let’s see if you still fit.” She shimmied from her shorts and T-shirt and with a trembling inhale, stepped into the silk and glory of the gown.

  Raising the gown over her hips, and fitting the skirt just below her waist, she smiled. It fit. As perfectly as the day Luciano delivered it. The strapless bodice clung to her with satin tenderness and the flowing, feathery skirt flared out from her hips, floating, like a swan on a pond of sunlight that pooled on the bedroom floor. The hem just kissed the tips of her toes.

  Oh, oh, oh, so very glorious!

  Corina turned in a small circle, arms wide, her heart exploding in her chest, freedom firing through her. She’d shed her grave clothes. Gone from death to life.

  She was so grateful to the pain of her journey that brought her to this moment in God.

  I want to love you well, love you well . . .

  When the doorbell chimed, she jumped, hand over her pulsing heart, her healing moment with God interrupted. Who could that be? She didn’t want to leave this place of peace and promise.

  Corina leaned out her bedroom door. “Hello?” She waited, listening. “Mrs. Putman? I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.” She waited another moment. “Okay?”

  The doorbell chimed again. With a bit of attitude this time. Oh for crying out loud. Corina started across the hardwood, her bare feet thudding. a flash image of her lonely neighbor crossing her mind.

  Well, there was no reason they couldn’t have tea tonight. Corina was a bit overdressed . . . She laughed as she reached for the door. She in a rare designer gown, Mrs. Putman in her robe and slippers.

  “Ta-da!” Corina swung the door open. “What do you think—” But it wasn’t nosey ole Mrs. Putman waiting in the corridor. “Stephen.” Her legs buckled with hot, surging adrenaline. “W–what are you doing here?” Her Stephen. Was on her doorstep. His countenance as bright as a full moon.

  Without a word, his gaze fixed on her, he crossed the threshold, scooping her into his arms, kicking the door shut behind him. “I’ve missed you.” His warm, sweet breath brushed her cheek.

  Corina shivered and fell into him, her hand resting on his chest as she drank in his presence. “W–what are you doing, Stephen?”

  “I came for you.” The mischievous glint in his eye beamed ten times brighter than she remembered. She couldn’t look away. “You said something to me that I didn’t respond to properly. I want to do that now, Corina.”

  Tightening his embrace, he cupped his right hand along the curve of her neck, brushing her shoulder with his firm, warm hand. His eyes searched hers.

  Fire coursed through her. “What? Stephen, please . . . What are you doing here?�
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  He bent toward her, his lips whispering past hers with a barely there kiss. Corina moaned and melted into his thundering heart. “I just wanted to tell you—” He swallowed hard to catch his next breath. “To tell you that I, um . . .” He brushed her lips again, a half kiss that drove her past her final fears.

  She gripped his shoulders, holding on, losing herself in the power of his persuasion. She didn’t need to know why he was here, just that she was in his arms and the power of his passion spoke for his heart. She responded in kind. Raising on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his, finishing what he’d started.

  I love you, Stephen!

  He answered, hungry and eager, falling against the foyer wall, bringing her with him.

  When he raised his head for a breath, his blue eyes like the summer sky, his smile brighter than the night stars, he brushed his hand over her hair. She thought he might speak, but he drew a breath and kissed her again with the pleasure of a man satisfied.

  The skirt of her dress swayed, brushing the tops of her toes with delight.

  The kiss thawed into a hug, Stephen cradling his face against her. “I love you, Corina.” His baritone confession was luxurious. “I love you so much.”

  Corina tipped her head back to see his face, brushing her hands over his delicious hair because she’d been aching to do it since he came back into her life. He was hers. All hers. “What happened to you Prince Stephen of Brighton?”

  “You happened to me. I have so much to tell you. Let’s start with this,” he walked through the foyer, pointing to his left ankle. “Healed. Miraculously. Haven’t worn the boot in two days.”

  “You’re healed?”

  “Miraculously.”

  Corina leaned in for another kiss because she could, because she was thirsty for him again. Would she ever fill up?

  “I went to see Archbishop Caldwell and—”

  “And you came to God?” Corina’s heart jumped at the prospect of Stephen being God’s man. All the way. Emptied of his pain and bitterness.

  “No,” he said, kissing her hand. “He came to me.”

  “How? And why did you go to see Archbishop Caldwell?”

  “To ask him why he married us that night.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Stephen chuckled. “I’m not really sure, love, but I found myself on the floor, weeping, repenting, being washed and healed inside and out. My ankle stopped hurting, and all the locks on my heart opened. I fixed to fly here as soon as I could.” There in the foyer, he bent to one knee, pulling a ring from his pocket. “Marry me. Please. Again.”

  A sputter of joy tickled her lips as she knelt in front of him, as he slipped the diamond and platinum ring on her finger. She regarded him for a moment, then kissed him with the kisses of grace and peace. “Yes, I’ll marry you again. And again. The ring is beautiful, Stephen.”

  “A jeweler friend of Nathaniel’s opened his shop yesterday for me. I wanted to ask you more properly this time. And I wanted a ring that was just yours and mine.” Stephen walked her into the living room, falling into the recliner, pulling her along with him.

  “I love it, but babe, aren’t we already married?” Corina draped her legs over the arm of the chair and cuddled against Stephen.

  “I filed the annulment papers.”

  Corina reared back. “Y–you filed them? Then flew all the way here to propose?”

  “I’m serious. I want to do it proper this time round. I want to start over, have an engagement time with parties and press conferences. I want to marry you in a big fat royal wedding with you in a white gown every lass will want to model,” he fanned the feathers of her dress, “and me in my uniform—”

  “You’ll put on your uniform?”

  “Yes, I will. I want the families of the lads in the front row. I want my parents and yours in attendance, our friends and family. What we had before, Corina, got bruised and broken. We need to end that chapter of our lives and start over.” He swept his hand over her cheek. “But this I know, you are the only true love for me and if you give me another chance, I’ll fight every day to put our marriage first and make us the couple God meant us to be.”

  Tears were sometimes the only sufficient answer. Resting her head on his chest, Stephen held her close. So very, very close.

  There was no place more like home than in his arms.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Brighton Kingdom

  October 12

  Once again he found himself standing in the warm wings of the Madeline & Hyacinth Live! show. The still air created a sting of perspiration down his back. He adjusted his collar, then his shirtsleeves.

  But he never let go of her hand.

  “Are you all right?” Corina looked up at him with those amber eyes of hers that made his heart skip a beat.

  “Just a bit stuffy in this spot, don’t you think?” Stephen kissed her forehead, then glanced at Thomas, who shook his head, cocking a sly grin.

  Since his Florida proposal, Stephen felt swept off his feet, by God, by Corina, by the power of love and forgiveness.

  He’d arranged for Agnes and Baby Bird to receive Lt. Mitchell “Bird” O’Connell’s death benefits and set up an education fund for the five-year-old, as well as for the children of the other men who died that day.

  Even Asif’s.

  One weekend a month he ferried down to Hessenberg to spend a night and day with Archbishop Caldwell, learning what he should’ve learned in Sunday school catechism but had not.

  His heart nearly brimmed with the growing reality of a loving King as his Savior.

  When he’d injured his ankle on the pitch that spring day seven months ago, he’d have never believed what kind of life awaited him. He was unworthy. On his own. Jesus made him worthy and that was a sacrifice he could accept.

  Stephen pressed his hand to his chest, to the swirling rise of emotions.

  God, I praise you.

  In the past three months he’d made an open book of his life, confessing to the press about his secret marriage, annulment, and now re-engagement. If that was a word. How he’d gone dark after events in Afghanistan and how God had wooed his wounded heart to him through the love of Corina.

  At one time, Stephen clung to rugby and life on the pitch as his only salvation, afraid to wander away lest he crumble. What he counted as freedom was his prison.

  But now that he knew true salvation, and true freedom, his possibilities were endless. He was free to be Prince Stephen again. And since their engagement, he’d been sleeping like a baby. The night terrors had ended. Such a good, good God.

  The stage manager passed by. “Sixty seconds.”

  The show crew quickly changed the set from bright lights with tall director’s chairs to a living room aura with plush cream-colored love seats facing one another and a faux fireplace.

  Stephen squeezed Corina’s hand. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Madeline and Hyacinth took their positions, standing before the cameras as they came out of the commercial break.

  “Madeline, we’ve had some amazing shows this year,” Hyacinth said, starting things off. “But this afternoon we have probably one of the best shows we’ve ever done, or will do.”

  “I’m so excited about our next guests,” Madeline said, reading the cue card. “We surprised you with him before, so we’re surprising you with him again, along with his fabulous fiancée. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Prince of Brighton, Prince Stephen, and his fiancée, Corina Del Rey.”

  Stephen led Corina into the wall of applause, their strides together and even. The former beauty queen was perfect for him. The limelight neither frightened nor fascinated her.

  After a round of cordial hugs with the show’s hostesses, Stephen and Corina sat together on one couch, Madeline and Hyacinth on the other. As if friends sharing tea.

  “Let me start off by saying congratulations,” Madeline said. “We are so grateful to have you on the show.”

  “We�
��re pleased to be here,” Stephen said with a glance at Corina, who glowed.

  “We have a lot to talk about, but first things first. Corina, we’ve heard a lot about your Diamatia gown these past few months, but nothing on your wedding dress.” Hyacinth wrinkled her nose at the future princess. “Can you tell us anything? Just a hint.”

  Corina’s laugh was classic and musical. “I can tell you it’s being designed by Melinda House. I really love her work, and she’s been a big support to me during this season.”

  “Well, we cannot wait to see it.” Hyacinth smiled like Corina’s answer was enough, but Stephen knew she ached for more.

  “We hear estimates of five hundred million viewers around the world for the wedding,” Madeline said. “Corina, do you think of that at all?”

  “So far, I’m in the throes of planning a wedding like every other normal engaged woman.” She peeked at Stephen and he loved her confidence. “I’m not focused on the watching world.”

  Indeed, she was going to make a lovely royal.

  Madeline and Hyacinth prattled on with more wedding questions and observations, announcing again to the viewing audience that the big day would be held at Cathedral of David, October 19 at noon, with an afternoon reception at the palace and a private one that evening.

  “Why the Braithwaite for your private reception?”

  Corina fielded that one. “The Braithwaite has a history and meaning with us, so we wanted to go back to that place to celebrate where we are now and the start of our lives together.”

  Where it all began, it ended. Now it would begin again, new, fresh with a sense of holy approval.

  “Prince Stephen, the King’s Office informed us you have an announcement to make.” Madeline read from her cue cards.

  “I do,” he said, tightening his grip on Corina’s hand. “Even though my ankle is in the best shape it’s ever been in—”

  “Is it true you experienced some sort of miraculous healing?” Hyacinth did not hide her skepticism.

  “I did, and as a result a lot has changed in my life—”