“But you never told her you were with Carlos when he died?”
“No.” The pain on her face when he told her he wanted out of the marriage nearly did him in. It was forever etched on his heart. He refused to add the image of her tears when he told her Carlos died needlessly. That he died because of him.
So Stephen blotted out the day he ended their marriage. Yet this conversation with Nathaniel dragged through the depths and crevasses of his mind, raising bits and pieces of that horrid day to the surface.
She’d been weeping so bitterly, reminding him of their love, how she needed him in the wake of Carlos’s death. Stephen had nearly relented and scooped her in his arms, telling her everything would be all right.
But then he heard the phantom explosion, the echoing screams. He saw the blood on his hands. And it was all he could do not to run from her presence.
Stephen closed the blinds on those memories, fingers pressed to his forehead.
“Tell me this—how did Archbishop Caldwell not challenge you?” Nathaniel said.
“He protested at first, but then his wife brewed him a spot of tea and he seemed rather cordial afterwards. I think he was persuaded we were in love and knew what we were doing.” Stephen caught Nathaniel by the arm. “I did love her. Truly. But Torkham changed everything.”
“You realize you need to fix this.” Nathaniel shoved the envelope toward him.
“There’s nothing to fix. She thinks it’s over. It is over. Toss it in the trash.”
Nathaniel reached inside his pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. “I told you. We can’t do that. Archbishop Burkhardt sent this note along with the certificate. Shall I read it?”
“Be my guest.” Sarcasm. He was at the end of his patience.
“He writes, ‘I’m unsure of the meaning of this certificate. Prince Stephen does not presently have a wife to my knowledge, but I pray that whatever has become of their relationship, the prince will handle it with honor before God and men. While I suspect he married her in secret, he cannot put her away in the same fashion. A proper annulment must be filed with the Church.’ ”
“I didn’t put her away in secret. She knows. I told her to her face.”
“You’re going to have to file an annulment. Let’s pray she’s not moved on and remarried already. There hasn’t been much in the media about her lately, nor her family, which, I suppose, if Corina Del Rey married, it would be quite the society affair.”
“W–what?” Stephen scoffed. She’d not have married again. Would she? A whip of jealousy stung his heart.
“She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman. Surely you’ve considered that another man might want her. That she’d want to move on, have a family.” Nathaniel glanced at his watch. “Sorry to cut this off, but I’ve a meeting. Ring Jonathan in the morning. He’ll help you locate her. Then you can fly Royal Air One to meet with her.”
“Pardon? Nathaniel, I’m not going to ‘meet with her.’ We can courier the proper papers to her.”
“Stephen, she’s your wife, deserving of your respect and honor. Especially since she’s been lied to for the past five or so years, thinking she’s a freed woman when she is not. Not to mention, she married the royal Prince of Brighton. I’d say she is deserving of a princess honor.” Nathaniel made his way through the kitchen doors. “If you argue any more about it, I’ll haul out the big guns.”
Mum! “You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t test me.”
He felt twelve again. Under his father’s disapproving scrutiny when he brought his mates into the throne room and set up a bowling lane. “I meant to handle it, Nathaniel.” Stephen walked with his brother to the front door. “But I ended up playing in the summer internationals. Then I realized I didn’t have the marriage certificate, so I just let it go.”
“Did you forget your way to the good archbishop’s office?” Nathaniel opened the door and the scent of an evening rain swept into the apartment. “Make this right, Stephen.”
Blimey. He’d not truly encountered brother-king Nathaniel before. But he was right. Stephen had to see her. Tell Corina face-to-face. With a giant, weight-bearing exhale, he sank into the nearest chair and stared out the window.
Rain splashed down, bouncing off the warm summer sidewalk, and in the distance he heard the first choreographed chimes of the city’s six o’clock bells.
One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
THREE
It was late. She was tired and ready to go home, but since Mark Johnson had arrived Monday afternoon, walking the bull pen with political candidate gravitas, shaking hands, pledging hope and change, Corina’s workload doubled.
