by Rachel Hauck
The coral sheath gown flared at her knees into a small train. The beaded bodice was designed with a scalloped neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves.
A final check in the mirror and Corina was satisfied. Delighted, really. She felt internally quiet yet excited. Beautiful. Exactly how an elegant gown should make a girl feel.
The saleswoman had gasped when Corina walked into the showroom wearing the gown and stepped up on the pedestal. The recessed lighting cascaded over her, igniting the gold beads and white sequins embedded in the dress.
“It’s even more stunning than we imagined,” the woman had said, her hand at the base of her throat. “It seems as if it was made for you.”
Made for you . . . Words she’d pledged to Stephen on their wedding night. I was made for you. I know it.
A flurry of jitters batted around her ribs. He’d be here soon. Stephen texted confirmation this morning that he’d arrive to pick her up at seven o’clock.
“Corina?” Adelaide’s voice came through the door along with a gentle knock. “Be you needing some help?”
Corina answered the door, warmed by the sight of the petite proprietress. “Come in.”
“My, my, don’t you look beautiful. Absolutely glowing.” She wagged her finger at Corina. “Such a force, true love.”
“What do you see, Adelaide?” Corina returned to the floor mirror to finish pinning up her hair. She learned a lot of hairdo tricks during her brief stint with beauty pageants. “You seem to know more than you’ve been told.”
“Here, let me help you, sweet one.” Adelaide brought a chair over for Corina to sit, then took the pins from her. The woman’s tender touch soothed Corina’s battered emotions. Her exchange with Stephen last night remained with her all day, and she waged one-sided arguments with him. She nearly told him to forget their date when he texted to confirm, but relented.
How could she quit on this “love well” journey so easily? Patience might be required.
“Everything will be all right,” Adelaide said, sweeping up Corina’s hair.
Corina peered at Adelaide through the mirror. She’d broken down this afternoon and confided in Adelaide about her date with the prince. She had to tell someone. Bearing all of this alone burdened her. Stephen had Thomas. And his family. She had no one.
You know so much, Adelaide. And I know so little about you.”
“I told you, I’m a servant.”
“Who’s servant.”
“Yours. His.”
“The king’s? The producer of the movie? Stephen’s? Of the inn? And is Brill your husband?”
Adelaide ducked behind Corina’s head and gently pushed the last pin into her hair. “Brill is me fellow servant.” She stepped around in front. “The prince won’t be able to take his eyes from you.” Adelaide brushed her hand gently over Corina’s cheeks. “Tears? Love, what are these tears?”
Corina laughed low, holding the woman’s hands in hers. “You’re . . . you’re just so kind.”
“Your lonely heart will brim with love very soon.” Adelaide stooped to see her face. “Just believe.”
“See, there you go again. How do you know my heart will brim with love?”
She tapped the corner of her eye. “I sees what I sees. And I know how lonely you’ve been. We all watched and waited as he prayed for you.”
“He? Stephen?” Corina gripped Adelaide’s wrists, willing a straight answer from her.
“Jesus, of course. He is the King of the kingdom.”
“He prays for me. A–and you saw him?”
“But of course.” Adelaide turned for the door. “Now, I’ve the perfect adornment for your hair.”
Corina tried to protest, but the flames Adelaide kept igniting within her incinerated her words.
Tiptoeing over to the door, Corina leaned out, listening. The theory of the inn as a movie prop with Adelaide and Brill as character actors weakened with every interaction with them.
They were just too real. Too sincere. Too otherworldly. Dare she believe it?
Also, the inn was too weird. As if built for one. Why would a director go to all the expense of a “stunt inn” for one?
On her return from the art festival this afternoon, Corina noted there were no other floors. As she climbed five flights to her room, each landing only led her up the next set of stairs. No windows. No corridors. No closed-door rooms.
“Here we are.” Adelaide bounded off the top step into the room, carrying a polished, dark wood box. “I just love this piece.” She set it on the bed in front of the mirror. “Sit here and I’ll fit it on.”
Corina sat, squinting into the box. “What’s in there?”
Adelaide lifted the lid with a hmmm of delight. Inside, lying on red velvet, was a delicate, single-tiered, diamond tiara.
Corina jumped up. “Adelaide, no. A tiara? I’m attending the premier with Prince Stephen. I cannot wear a tiara.” No need to go into the whole “wife of a prince” confession. “Where did you get that?”
“Love, sit yerself down,” Adelaide commanded, authority rising from her graceful frame. “How I came by it must remain my secret, but I will tell you it is a very special piece. Been in me care for, well, quite a time. Please, sit. It will look lovely atop your dark hair.”
Shaking, Corina refused, hands clasped at her waist. “I cannot wear a tiara. I’m going to a movie premier with a prince. What will people think?”
“That you are a princess.” Adelaide perched the tiara delicately on her fingertips.
Corina jumped to her feet, backing away from Adelaide. “I demand to know what you know.”
“I know what you know.” Adelaide gently grasped Corina’s hand, drawing her back to the edge of the bed.
“About me and Stephen?”
Adelaide nodded. “’Tis me job.”
“I don’t know how or why you know, but if you do, all the more reason you cannot ask me to wear a tiara tonight. And if you know royal history, then you must know royal protocol. ‘A woman in the company of the prince cannot wear a crown or tiara unless she has her own peerage, or has been given such by the House of Stratton.’ Adelaide, I do not have any peerage.” How she remembered this protocol, Corina would never know. The words just came rushing out as a valid and perfect argument.
Adelaide examined the tiara, then settled it on Corina’s head. “Brighton Kingdom is not the only kingdom to hand out peerages. A princess should wear her crown.”
“Someone in the King’s Office told you, right? Or the archbishop?” Corina said, wincing as Adelaide settled the crown on her head. She’d worn diamond tiaras before—for her sixteenth birthday party, for her debut. But never in the company of a true prince. “Are you from the Madeline & Hyacinth Live! show?”
Adelaide sighed. “Will you stop? I’m neither with a movie nor television show. Mercy, you’ve stories as if from fairyland. Why not ask if I’m your guardian angel? There . . .” Adelaide stepped back, smiling, looking pleased. “This was fashioned for Queen Magdalena by King Stephen I.”
Corina leaned to see in the mirror. “Adelaide, how did you get this? It belongs to the royal family. I cannot possibly wear it.” All of the Del Rey wealth could not replace such a priceless heirloom.
“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 b
rushed 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.”
&n
bsp; 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?”
