“No, I just figured he was the brother of the king, he ought to be able to do something besides host charity functions and cut ribbons. It was just too strange to me we didn’t have details—that you couldn’t find out anything.”
“Did he tell you the suicide bomber was a mate of his? From uni?”
“Yes.”
“And that based on Stephen’s recommendation, he was assigned to their unit as an interpreter?”
“It’s why he blames himself. He said he’s not worthy of the lives given for his.”
“For the longest time, I agreed with him. I didn’t consider him worth my son’s life.”
“For the longest time? What do you mean? Did you change your mind?”
“When I read the article in thePostthis morning, I pondered if Prince Stephen was the kind of man worthy of my daughter. Would he love her and treat her kindly, be faithful, and be a good father? Then I realized he was the man my son willingly gave up his life to save.”
Corina lowered her head to his shoulder, curling her arms about his strength, a blend of weeping and sobbing.
“There, there,” Daddy soothed, his hand over her head. “It’ll be all right, Kit.”
“I still love him, Daddy.” She raised up, reaching for another napkin.
“The heart wants what the heart wants.” Daddy’s smile seemed a bit brighter, but still, the sadness haunted his eyes. “It’s good to have someone to share this with now.”
“Are you going to tell Mama? Speaking of, where is she? Where’s Ida Mae?”
“Your mom left the house right after breakfast. Ida Mae scooted out of here a half hour ago, said she had to go to Publix.” Daddy finished his tea and set his glass in the dishwasher. Multimillionaire or not, Ida Mae did not abide anyone leaving dishes in the sink when the good Lord gave them hands to load the dishwasher.
“Work it out, Daddy. It’s worth it.”
“Give us time, Corina.”
“Daddy, I bought the Pissarro for Stephen. For him to remember. That’s what you and Mama need to do. Remember who you were when you fell in love, when we were all together, happy and loving life.” Corina drank down her tea and stowed her glass in the dishwasher.
“How did you get so wise, Kit?”
“Listening to my father.”
Daddy laughed, and Corina heard a small echo of the man he used to be. “What about your job?” He reached again for thePost. “I hear she’s having financial struggles.”
She sighed, looking over Daddy’s shoulder. With an objective eye, it was a fantastic scoop, and Corina rocked that Melinda House dress even if she said so herself. But Stephen? Oh, he was a prince of a man, rugby strong, smoldering, and handsome. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to really think about it. My gut says to quit. Gigi broke that story with no regard for me.”
“When Carl Hatch read the story, he called.” Carl was Daddy’s lawyer and partner in the golf courses. “He said Gigi wouldn’t risk a libel suit unless she was desperate. So he did some digging, made a few calls. She’s in trouble. If you’re interested, we can buy thePost, relaunch the brand, and—”
“Daddy,” Corina said, patting his hand. “I love you for believing in me this much, but I just started back into the workforce, learned the truth about my brother’s death, and got an annulment. I think I’ll lay low for a while. Get my bearings. Besides, I’m no Gigi Beaumont, conqueror of media empires.”
“Could be fun, Kit. We can hire the best in the business.”
“Like Gigi?”
“Sure, why not?” Daddy’s dark eyes danced a little. He was lean and handsome for his fifty-nine years, without grey in his hair or a spare tire around his middle. “She can stay on as news director. We’ll hire someone like Fred Kemp as CFO. He’ll have theBeaumont Postin the black within a year.”
“Oddly enough, Gigi gave me some wise advice once. She said, ‘Don’t confine yourself to a life of insignificance.’ I think that’s why she runs so hard through life, trying to be significant. I don’t want to mimic her. I want to mimic . . . Jesus.”She cleared her throat and peeked at Daddy. Did she sound corny?
“Now that’s the best plan of all.”
“Have you come back to the faith, Daddy?”
“Not as far as you, but I’m making my way.”
