“You’re a reporter. Rich Ackers from theSports Guardian.”
The man reddened. “I told them you’d remember me.” He leaned over the table. From the corner of his eye, Stephen saw Thomas step up. “We’re your biggest fans at theGuardian. We’d love a scoop, sir.”
Stephen handed back his ball. “Have a nice day, Rick.”
“A month? Six weeks? Will you make it to the Premiership?”
But Stephen had already moved his attention to an intense-looking girl of eight or so. “Are you here to watch your brother play in the tournament tomorrow?”
“Me brother?” She stuck out her chin with an air of offense. “Number 6, I am. A good one too.”
“Are you now? A blindside flanker. My apologies.” Stephen smiled his sincerest, taking the poster she offered. “What’s your name?”
“Leslie, and I’m every bit as good as the boys.”
“Probably better.” Stephen signed the poster, then bent under the table for one of his caps. “Here you go. A special cap for a special girl.”
“For me?” Her blue eyes sparked.
“Never hold back. Play hard.” Stephen nodded at her dad. “You ever need anything from me, ring the King’s Office.”
He blanched and stuttered. “Y–you don’t say? T–thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”
“We need more players like Leslie.”
“She’s a tough one, that she is, Your Highness.”
Leslie gave Stephen a nod as if that was that and moved on, addressing Earl Bruce and his duties as a prop.
Langley bustled down the line, whispering to the team. “Quickly, move quickly. We’ve no time to linger.”
Stephen greeted the next fan. A teen boy. Then the next. A young lad. After him was the redhead, who seemed to have little affinity for rugby.
“So we meet again, Your Highness.” She giggled as she angled gracefully toward him, exposing the fleshly part of her womanly essence.
“So we do.” He signed her poster of the team and was about to shake her hand when he caught sight of a woman moving across the crowded lobby.
“Excuse me.” He stepped away from his station, ignoring the redhead’s scowl, and ducked under the velvet rope, squinting through the crowd. Corina? He’d know that dark sheen of hair anywhere. What was she doing here?
“Your Highness, Your Highness,” Poor Langley, calling after him, his thin voice barely slithering through the crowded lobby. “Your station, please. You must stay behind the rope. Pandemonium, pandemonium.”
But Stephen continued to squeeze through the crowd with rugby prowess, his intention fixed. He’d stop for no one if Corina was in the lobby. Did she fly all the way over to bring the signed annulment papers?
“Stephen.” Thomas’s hand clapped onto his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“She’s here.” Stephen shoved around a large man, catching up to Corina at the registration desk. But just as he reached for her shoulder, she turned.
Stephen stopped, hand frozen in midair. It wasnotCorina. His strength weakened as his adrenaline ebbed, his disappointment was palatable.
The woman gasped and offered Stephen an awkward curtsy. “Your Highness . . .”
“W–welcome to The Wellington.” He gave her a weak smile then turned, excusing his way through the crowd toward the green room.
“You thought she was Corina?” Thomas said, walking beside him, whispering over Stephen’s shoulder.
“Leave me be, Thomas.” Stephen found the water bins and jerked a bottle from the ice, taking a cold, cleansing swig, soaking his parched throat.
“You’re still in love with her.” Thomas, much to Stephen’s discomfiture, didnotleave him alone. He reached in the bin of ice for a Coke, peering at Stephen with a smirk.
