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?”
