Stephen went cold under the hot lights, shifting forward. He came here to talk about the movie premier. “No, no, the other lads are the true heroes. But it’s all part of the dialogue.” He shot Madeline a sly glance.Move on. Change the subject.
Madeline communicated to Hyacinth with her eyes and the pair moved on. Stephen’s chill morphed into some sort of gummy perspiration, sticking to his skin. All the while the wide sound-stage caged and moved in on him.
Daytime panic was not part of his struggle. Until moments like this—which were rare. Stephen breathed in, long, deep, staying off the very faint sound of a bomb exploding.
Then and only then was he desperate enough to whisper the only prayer he ever prayed these days.God, help.
He caught sight of Thomas in the audience, front and center, and focused on his friend and protection officer. Thomas nodded assurance, and Stephen’s spiking panic abated.
These cryptic moments irritated him. He was a trained RAC airman, a seasoned rugby player. What right did the confines of a telly stage and mention of the War Memorial have to fill his veins with fear?
Because he knew if the world looked a little longer, a little closer, they would see right through him. At his core, he was a poser, a fraud. The exact opposite of a hero. In every sense of the word.
“Tell us what’s going on this summer? We hear you have a busy diary.” Hyacinth tapped his knee, catching on that Stephen had mentally stepped off for a moment.
“Quite right. Yes, busy.” He gathered himself and all of his royal charm. “I’m attending theKing Stephen Ipremier Monday, then I’m at the Children’s Literacy Foundation Art Auction at the Galaxy on Tuesday. So yes, quite a bit going on.”
“Speaking of the premier . . .” Madeline’s expression sparked a different alarm in Stephen’s chest. “We heard you’ve yet to select a date to the event.”
Stephen worked up a laugh. “W–what?” Someone in the King’s Office would pay for this.
“If you don’t mind, Your Highness, we’ve been playing a little game lately with our audience and viewers.” Hyacinth held up her iPhone. “You see, it has not escaped our notice that you have not been in the company of a beautiful woman in quite some time, Madeline and I the exceptions of course.”
“Of course.” He decided to relax and play along, a picture of Corina in his mind’s eye. He’d just been in the presence of a beautiful, intelligent, loving, kind woman. She was one of the mold breakers.
“Ladies, since it seems impossible for any one of Brighton’s fine lasses to catch this hunk of gorgeous prince”—Madeline laughed but her serious tone remained—“we want to hear more from you while Prince Stephen is here. For the rest of the show, tweet how you think a girl could catch the world’s most eligible prince. Be sure to use our favorite hashtag, #howtocatchaprince.”
“Or post on our Facebook page with the same hashtag,” Hyacinth said. “You don’t mind, do you Prince Stephen?”
He gave her a hardened expression. “Actually, Hyacinth—” There was the little matter of the rider. “I don’t think anyone would be interested in tweeting about my boring ole love life.”
Hyacinth tapped his knee, laughing. “We decided not totalkabout your love life, you see.” She arched her brow. “So we invented this fun game.”
Ah, indeed, he did see. Next time he’d make the rider more specific. He should have expected them to pull some sort of stunt like this.
He gazed from Hyacinth to Madeline, then scanned the audience. Other than walking off, which sent the King’s Office into a dither, he decided to relax and go with it, grateful the panic moment had faded as quickly as it came, and grateful the hostesses chose a game instead of intimate questions. Compared to Torkham, this was heaven. Might even cause a giggle or two.
“We’ll ask Prince Stephen to pick the best one at the end of the show with the possibility of winning . . .” Madeline’s next words packed a wallop. “. . . a chance to be his date to the premier.”
The audience went raucous. The monitor displaying the tweets exploded with scrolling text.
What? No, no, no . . . Now that herefusedto go along with. “Ladies, ladies.” Stephen slipped from his chair, hands in the air. He’d fix this. “I am so flattered, but your intel is wrong. Idohave a date to the premier.”
“Oh my.” Ignoring him, Madeline walked over to the monitor, laughing. “They’re scrolling so fast I can’t read them.”
“Here’s a good one . . . From CharonwithaC. ‘Treat him like a regular bloke. He puts his trousers on one leg at a time like every other chap.’ ” Madeline glanced at Stephen. “Is that true? How does a prince put on his trousers?”
“We have a special royal prince trouser machine, you see . . .”
The audience laughed. Madeline slapped her thigh with a bit too much reverie. But Stephen was sweating again. Profusely. How’d the lasses like that about their royal prince?
He sweats. A lot.
“I like this one.” Hyacinth joined her cohost at the monitor. “From Everydaygirl. ‘Be an honest girl with him. Listen to him but share your own soul.’ ”
Stephen nodded. No man liked to be held at arm’s length. He fell for Corina because she loved him, put him in his place when necessary, and offered all of herself without restraint. He could trust her.
“Oh my, here’s one . . . From LiddyWellborn. ‘Ignore him.’ ” Madeline made a face with a visual check at Stephen.
