“Perhaps, but we’ve seen trusted reporters and presenters breach trust before. Intentional or otherwise. Be very leery, Stephen. On your best guard. I don’t want to see the palace gone up in smoke and lives lost.”
“We don’t know that will happen, Nathaniel.”
“We never believed it would happen in Torkham, either. One whiff of the whole sordid thing and we’d have more copycats on our hands.”
“So what do I do?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. He needed his brother’s advice and wisdom. “I’m not even hinting at how her brother died. But she won’t sign the annulment without information.”
Over the years, in the quiet hours, Stephen tried to imagine telling Corina the truth, but when he visualized her expression, heard the cry in her voice, saw the disdain in her eyes, he’d cringe, thanking the good Lord the event had been sealed.
It was the only thing he thanked God for these days. Otherwise, he had no understanding of how a good Lord could allow such trials and travesty, such as war, in the world.
“Convince her. You charmed her into marrying you, so you must have some kind of sway with her. Charm her into signing the papers.
“You didn’t see her face, Nathaniel. Resolute. Determined. She’s nothing to lose. She’s already lost it all.” The pulse of the salty breeze drove Stephen’s confession to the center of his heart.
A lesser woman might have gone mad, crazy with grief. But not Corina. She carried on. For herself, for her parents. He might not be free to love her again, but he admired her.
“Then figure a way. Tell her the Defense Ministry won’t allow you at the records.”
“And for what reason? I was a commissioned officer in the RAC. I’m second in line to the throne. My brother is the king. Why would they not allow me to see the records, to put a grieving family at ease? She’ll see right through it, I tell you. She’s suspicious, Nathaniel. When a man like her father, Donald Del Rey, cannot get answers with his power and wealth, something is amiss. And I can’t stay here forever, wearing her down. My diary is rather full this month.”
“Then find a way round. Talk her into it.”
“I’ll do my best, but, Nathaniel, I must leave on schedule Sunday morning, if not before. Save this storm doesn’t ground us. Besides a full diary, I have to keep up with my physiotherapy.”
“Then get cracking.”
Stephen hung up, shoving the phone into his shorts pocket and facing the churning ocean. The day promised to be warm and stormy. How fitting.
Heading back to their rented condo, Stephen saw Thomas watching and waiting on the balcony.
“What’s going on with this storm?” Stephen said as he entered the cool condo foyer. “High winds, gobs of rain, power outages?”
Brighton, a North Sea island, experienced her share of shore-crashing storms, but Stephen had always lived away from the worst of the turmoil on a Cathedral City hilltop.
Thomas nodded. “Or worse. Some people came round while you were on the phone. We’re to leave the beach and barrier island.”
Stephen squinted up at him, the wind tugging at his shorts. “And go where?”
“You’ve business with Miss Del Rey. Why not there?”
“Blimey, mate, no. Holed up with her for a night might be the death of us all.”
“Or you might get what you came for.”
Stephen made a face, then stared toward the Atlantic, the waters churning. Of all the protection officers, he had to get one with keen insight and a clever barb.
The idea of spending an evening with Corina shook him to the core. He preferred distance. An ocean between them. And five plus years.
Stephen glanced at his ankle and the perfect up and down scar. A faint dialogue played across his mind.
“What do you want to do with your life, Prince Stephen?”
“Play for the Brighton Eagles.” He’d confessed his heart’s secret desire on their first date. When she didn’t laugh at the idea that a prince wanted to play professional rugby, he knew she was special.
“Then you should go for it.”
“With my royal title and expectations, I’ve my time in the RAC to complete.” Voicing his doubts highlighted the shadows and greys of his life.
