With a sigh, Corina sat forward, facing Chip Allen’s dry Hollywood piece.
Whydidshe keep their secret? One small thought ricocheted in reply. Because in some small way, maybe she still loved him.
TWO
Brighton Kingdom—Cathedral City
THE LIBERTY PRESS
4 June
PRINCESTEPHENNAMED THEWORLD’SMOSTELIGIBLEBACHELOR
THE INFORMANT
5 June
KING’SOFFICECLAIMSPRINCESTEPHENNOTLOOKING FORLOVE, HAPPY WITHRUGBYLIFE
6 June
PRINCESTEPHEN, PATRON OFYOUTHRUGBY,TOOPENSUMMERTOURNAMENT
Stephen snapped off the telly, grumbling and muttering to himself about the antics onMadeline & Hyacinth Live!Who did they think they were, trying to find him a bride?
To think, he used to consider them friends. But today they went too far, jumping in on the media speculation about his love life. What spurred this? He’d not been out with a woman in ages. And his blasted ankle injury had remanded him from the rugby field and the public eye for the past three months.
What gives?
Nevertheless, at this very moment, men and women around Brighton Kingdom were watching their show and tweeting to the hashtag #howtocatchaprince. Thank you, Maddie and Hy.
He should tweet his own answer. If he had a Twitter account.Leave him alone #howtocatchaprince.
Hobbling from his media room toward the kitchen, his belly rumbling for tea and puffs, he paused at the hallway window and gazed through the swaths of shadow and light into the palace gardens.
So lovely and green. Made him miss the pitch. But he was stuck inside, healing, his high ankle sprain fortified with a walking boot. He sustained the injury during the spring 7 Nations matches, just as his career crested into a new high. The Rugby Union had listed him as the top winger in the league.
He, a royal prince, accomplished such an acclaim all on his own.
Yet the injury lingered, not healing as quickly as Stephen would have liked. Day by day, he sensed his achievements slipping away while the younger, more hardy lads gunned for his position. Number 14.
In the kitchen, the tea service and a plate of cinnamon puffs were already set for him. Good man, Robert, his valet, butler, and aide.
Sitting at the island counter, set with linen, china, and silver—a royal etiquette Robert refused to abandon—Stephen poured a steaming cup of tea and took a long, hardy sip, then dipped in the tip of a puff.
The light, sweet pastry melted on his tongue. Pure delight.
Staring across the steel-and-granite kitchen—a remodel overseen by his mum while he played in the World Cup a few years back—Stephen sorted through his emotions.
What bugged him really? The headlines about his love life? Maddie and Hy and the whole of the Twitter universe advising him? Perhaps it was his lack of a love life that bothered him.
In truth, Maddie and Hy didn’t bother him much. The hashtag was kind of clever. The girls were good chums, really, and simply doing their job. Entertaining Brightonians each weekday afternoon.
No,no,what truly bothered him were the nightmares. The flooding memories. The times and events he’d run a thousand miles up and down the rugby pitch striving to forget.
Put it all behind me.
But the arrogant things demanded his attention now that his mind and body were not consumed with the game.
