After a few minutes, she collected herself and walked to the window, filling her lungs again with the peace that surpassed her understanding.
Cathedral City sprawled before her view. Breathtaking.
Ever since she came out of the fog of death in January, God seemed to be whispering to her. In small ways. Large ways. Through everyone from Gigi to Ida Mae to Melissa and Mama, Daddy, and Daisy. Stephen. And now perhaps this odd pair of Adelaide and Brill.
Unless theywereactually actors posing as Old World innkeepers to publicize the film. Corina glanced toward the door, listening, expecting to hear the sound of other guests arriving.
But her room remained quiet except for the timbre of her own heartbeat.
She just had to make sense of it all. She had to conquer her doubts about Stephen, be willing to risk her heart in God’s hands. Would he come through?
God owed her nothing. In fact, he’d already given her a gift beyond measure when she neither deserved it or knew enough to ask for it.
But oh, this “love well” adventure was scary. Downright frightening.
What if this journey meant gaining nothing for herself but losing everything to God? To Stephen? What if the journey meant she returned home empty-handed yet all the more Christlike. She shivered, the idea plucking at her sense of self-propriety and preservation.
She’d known all along this Brighton trip wasn’t about movie premiers or celebrity interviews but about “loving well.” About the motions of a prayer she’d prayed on a cold, hard chapel floor when she felt obliterated and empty.
TWELVE
Friday afternoon Stephen waited backstage at theMadeline & Hyacinth Live!show for his cue, hot and sticky in his starched white shirt and dark blue Armani jacket.
The makeup artist hovered, patting the shine from his brow. “You’ll cool off on the set. It’s freezing out there.”
A few feet from him, tucked in the folds of the stage curtain, Thomas scanned the crowd, talking to his team of three through the com tucked into his sleeve.
Stephen angled around the hulking bodyguard to see the bleachers. The audience of mostly women seemed harmless enough. He had insisted Thomas’s security measures were overkill, but the man stuck to protocol without wavering.
Stephen clapped him on the shoulder. Thomas glanced back with a nod. He should be grateful for the man’s vigilance. It was Stephen’s lack thereof that got men killed. His trust of another man with hidden vicious intentions.
He scanned the audience once again. But not for intruders, but for . . . who?
Corina? The look-alike Corina?
The encounter with the look-alike yesterday in The Wellington lobby tapped his feelings for her. The ones of love and affection he’d rucked to the bottom of his heart’s playing field, piling on every excuse and emotional baggage he could find, never letting them up, never letting them free, never letting them score a try over the goal line of his being.
How did they dare push against him? He should’ve never gone to Florida.
“All secure, sir,” Thomas said, low, in Stephen’s ear. “Outside security is still sweeping the car park, but in-house we’re all clear.”
“Thank you. But I don’t think the King’s Office would’ve cleared this appearance if they weren’t confident of security.”
Thomas made a face. “You know my rule. Never underestimate dinosaur terrorism.”
Stephen laughed. “Isn’t that a ‘blast from the past.’ I’ve not heard you mention that term in a good while.”
“I thought it time to remind you. Never relax your vigilance. An attack can happen anywhere, anytime, at any given moment, unearthed by the anger, passion, opportunity of mere men. Ignored by naive governments. We trick ourselves into believing it all might have gone the way of dinosaurs until it rears its ugly head. It’s the tyrannosaurus rex of our day. Didn’t you seeJurassic Park?”
“So what are you in this scenario? The velociraptor?”
“If you like.” Thomas grinned. “I rather fancy that image.”
Stephen shook his head, smirking, checking his watch. He was due on any second. However, Madeline and Hyacinth were cooking up a meal on stage with animated chef Connie Spangler.
The stage manager flashed “five minutes.”
Still too warm, Stephen slipped off his jacket, draped it over the back of a stool, and took a seat.
