by Rachel Hauck
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.
“But it seemed he had something on his mind, so I made some tea, put out biscuits, and waited for him to get to his point. Oh, that boy could take forever to get it out, you know? So I started doing laundry, cleaning up dishes, answering a text from another freelance reporter . . .
“Then you rang saying you were beat and going to your flat to crash. I sat on the kitchen floor, curled up in the kitchen corner, smiling, listening to you tell me you loved . . .” She stopped. Repeating that long ago conversation was futile. “When we hung up, Carlos asked how things were going. He liked you, you know, ever since you trained together for the Joint Coalition.”
“Did you tell him?”
/> “No, because I could tell he had something on his mind. You had to let Carlos be to get the good stuff out of him. So we watched TV for a while, then he left. He never told me why he came by, if something bothered him or not. He shipped out two days later.”
“How is that not loving him well, Corina? He was a big boy. He could’ve told you what was on his mind if he wanted.”
“Don’t you see? I was so caught up in my life and loving you, I think he felt like something had come between us. And he wasn’t sure how to ask. I should’ve just told him.” Her watered-down words broke her voice. “I felt like I ignored him after you and I started dating. I think he felt the same way. I was so intense with you, I let my relationship with Carlos suffer. Things were weird, different between us, the last part of May before he left.”
She snatched a napkin from the basket on top of the refrigerator and blew her nose, wiped her eyes. “I remember one night he called, wondered what I was doing, asked if I wanted to grab a sandwich at the pub. I said no because I was going out with you. But did I invite Carlos along? No, because I wanted to be alone with you. I–I think he missed me, Stephen. I followed him to Brighton to be there with him. But I was all about me and my feelings.” She fell against the counter, sobs gathering in her chest. “I didn’t see my brother might have been scared, even homesick already, not knowing what he might encounter in an Afghan desert.”
Face to her hands, she could not control her tears. It’d been several years since she let her heart wander this dark road.
Stephen’s hand lightly grazed her shoulder, then he slipped his arm around her back and pressed her head against his chest. He smelled clean, of fabric softener, of spice and wildwood.
“There, there, love. Carlos knew you loved him. Of that I’m quite certain.”
She pushed away from him. “No, don’t.” Frustrated to be so vulnerable before him, she gathered herself, inhaling all of her emotions, so deeply her lungs ached.
“Yes, he knew I loved him. We had a bond, you know? You were his friend, but did you know him as the consummate listener? Because he was.” Talking about Carlos actually felt good. Mama and Daddy didn’t like trips down memory lane. “Yet it took hours for him to say what he had to say. In high school, his girlfriend, Kerri, broke up with him at the end of our junior year, but I didn’t find out until the end of summer when we’d been at the Hawaii house for six weeks. That night in my flat, I should’ve drawn it out of him. I knew something was bothering him, but I never said, ‘Silence!’ to my world so I could listen to his. He left that night and I never saw him again.”
“Corina, you’re too hard on yourself. Naturally, when someone dies so young and unexpectedly, one becomes introspective.”
“Now you know why I must know what happened to him. We have his footlocker, his pictures, and a few letters. The cute little stuffed bear he took with him. The one he had as a baby. And a book of prayers given to us at our baptism. But that’s all. No truth. Don’t you see? Can’t this be your parting gift to me?”
His countenance darkened as he swallowed and turned away from her. “I wish I could give you what you want, but I can’t. There’s nothing to say, love.”
A soft moan reverberated in her chest.
“He was a perfect soldier. A good mate.”
“So why the shroud of secrecy?”
“You read too much into the lack of details, Corina.”
“Carlos volunteered. He wanted to stand on the wall for freedom, for the weak.” She hammered the island countertop with her fist. “That’s why I want to know. I’m sorry if it holds you prisoner to me and our so-called wedding vows, but now you know how my family feels.”
Then there was nothing left to say. She’d poured out her soul, and it was then she remembered a storm raged outside the penthouse.
“I–I’ll do what I can. That’s all I can promise.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
Thomas appeared in the kitchen, digging into the candy and cookies, wondering if there was something on the telly, perhaps a movie, and if they could watch. His presence pierced the tension between Corina and Stephen. If he noticed anything amiss, he gave no indication.
The trio settled in the living room with the lights dim and found Back to the Future on AMC. Corina sank exhausted into her recliner, grabbing her University of Georgia pillow pet and curling up. The penthouse shook with another wind blast, but Corina found it oddly peaceful, preferring Tropical Storm Anna to the churning in her chest.
She glanced at Stephen before closing her eyes, responding to his reticent smile with her own, hating how he made her soft. How his very presence mined the intimate thoughts of her heart.
The next morning when she woke up, the storm had subsided and Stephen and Thomas were gone. Their beds were made up as if they’d never been there. Thomas left a note on his pillow.
Thank you for your service to the king and Brighton Kingdom!
On the kitchen counter, Stephen left a note along with the annulment papers.
Sign and send them when you’re ready. Thanks for the shelter. Be well, love. SS.
EIGHT
Clouds and rain trailed Tropical Storm Anna and covered Melbourne and the beaches all weekend.
Corina distracted herself Saturday by cleaning and running errands through semi-flooded streets, regretting that she’d shared such a tender part of her heart with Stephen. He’d not earned the right, and now he’d carry another part of her away with him.
But as the day passed, she felt his absence and wondered how he and Thomas filled their day.
She also felt lighter. Her thoughts clearer. A melody bubbling in her heart. Maybe that’s what she needed all along. An unburdening. A good therapy session. She’d been to grief counseling years ago, but it had taken time for all of her thoughts and feelings to manifest.
She slept fitfully Saturday night but woke Sunday with the need to worship. To fix her heart on Someone greater than herself. Tugging on a pair of jeans and a blouse, she made her way to the House of Freedom in Viera.
Church had been a staple in the Del Reys’ home until Carlos’s funeral. Afterward, Daddy resigned from the church board and Mama left all of her committees as well as the Georgia Women’s Charity she’d founded.
The years of mourning wearied Corina, made her spiritually dull, and she found herself drifting a bit from Truth. She’d spend her Sundays sleeping in, reading the paper, watching movies. Escape of the carnal kind.
But coming out of the fog, she knew she must return to the One who held the answers. He had to be the true solution to her dark years. Because he was the only true light.
She’d visited Freedom a handful of times since she’d moved to Melbourne, so Sunday morning, as she slipped into the back row and the music started, she was instantly caught up in his presence.
She closed her eyes and raised her hands as high as any Baptist girl could do, weeping, and whispered, “Here I am, Lord.”
The music changed and Corina moaned, pressing her hand to her heart, feeling as if another door had cracked open. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she didn’t care who saw her.
Her adrenaline surged when she thought she heard cathedral bells. Opening her eyes, she scanned the musicians on the stage for bells or chimes. But there were only guitars and drums today.
With a dry swallow, she repeated her prayer. “Here I am, Lord.”
That’s when she heard his voice, an echo of the divine guidance she’d heard that night in the Marietta chapel five and a half years ago. The simple phrase vibrated through her.
Love well.
But what did that mean?
Corina pondered it all afternoon Sunday and spent a good portion of the evening reading the gospel of John, seeking, asking, believing.
Now it was Monday morning, raining, and Corina drove to work grumpy and tired after another restless night of sleep. She woke up far too many times thinking of Stephen, then muttering prayers until she slipped back into sl
umber, only to jolt awake again.
She had a meeting first thing with Mark this morning and wanted to be on her A game.
The GTO’s engine rumbled low as Corina pulled into the Post parking lot. Slinging her cross-body bag over her head, she grabbed her grande green tea and made her way to the building, dodging the rain, and wishing for sunshine.
And missing Stephen.
No, I can’t love him. It was just the residue of the weekend. In a few days it would pass. But the last four days had packed an emotional wallop. Last Thursday morning she had walked into work as a single woman jump-starting her life, and by the day’s end, she was married. To a prince.
The idea sparked a zip of electricity through her. On the surface, how many women could say they knew a prince, let alone be married to one? Though that’s not why she married him. She rather preferred he was an athlete and soldier to being a prince.
But really, what was the point to this line of thinking? No good, that’s what. As of this morning, the annulment papers remained where Stephen had left them, and there they would stay until he coughed up some information.
“Your brother died a hero.”
Stephen knew something or Del Rey blood didn’t flow through her veins.
Climbing the stairs, Corina entered the quiet bull pen.
Dropping her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, she sat and tried a sip of green tea. Too hot. Corina peeled off the lid, letting out the steam.
“Hey you,” Melissa said, stopping at her desk. “I tried to call you Friday. See if you wanted to join our tropical storm party.”
“Really?” Corina yanked her phone from her purse. “It doesn’t show missed calls.”
“I hated thinking of you home alone. Did you come through it okay?”
“Sort of, y–yes. What fun, huh? All that wind and rain.” Melissa made a face. No, she didn’t consider the storm all that fun. “I bought all the tropical storm food you suggested—M&Ms, cookies, fruit.” Add one prince and his protection officer and she had herself a par-tay!
