He shook his head. “If she’s ignoring him, he’s not coming round to see her.” Corina ignored him at first, but every time he saw her walking across the campus oval, her dark hair shining in the evening sun, his heart slipped a little bit further in love.
Then he managed a position behind her in the leadership course, and midsemester she finally spoke to him.
“Here’s an interesting one.” Madeline laughed, leaning toward the screen. “But I don’t get it. From CorinaDelRey . . .” She looked puzzled. “Isn’t she that American heiress?”
Stephen’s heart yearned at the sound of her name. Corina? But surely not . . . Impossible. He left her in America. Surely someone was pulling a gag. He scanned the audience. Was she here?
“She tweets, ‘Tell him American football rocks rugby.’ ” Hyacinth cackled, glancing back at him. “Now we know that’s no way to win our Prince Stephen.”
For the next few minutes, the hostesses read the tweets, making jocular comments, while Stephen’s concentration faded toward the possibility of Corina being in the city.
No, surely she was catching the thread on Twitter. It would be 10:00 a.m. in Florida. She’d be at the start of her workday.
In the meantime, he kept smiling, nodding, laughing when appropriate.
“Here’s my favorite. From DebShelton. Her tweet is all hashtags. ‘#fakeittilyoumakeit #pretendingtobeaprincess.’ ”
Hyacinth and Madeline continued reading tweets until the amusement wore thin. Stephen downed a large glass of water, cooling his revving thoughts of Corina.
Madeline and Hyacinth returned to their chairs, going on about how fun it all was, gaining support from the audience, then challenged Stephen, rather boldly, to choose a winner.
“What do you think, Your Highness?” Hyacinth said. “I like LibbyWellborn. She seems like a sport.”
“Deb Shelton stood out to me.” Madeline gazed toward the board, watching the tweets roll through again.
They couldn’t be serious. A blind date? To a royal movie premier?
“Wait, we have to share this one.” Hyacinth spoke between rolling laughter. “From Tricia Gauss. ‘Kiss a frog.’ ”
Laughter floated in the studio.
“Well, there’s that . . .” Stephen said, doing a frog impression for the audience that earned him a round of applause.
“Here’s another one . . . oh, it’s quite different. From Agnes Rothery. ‘Bird would be proud.’ ” Madeline tossed a look to Stephen. “Bird?”
The studio darkened as the light of merriment dimmed in Stephen eyes. Agnes. He’d not heard her name in many years. Bird had been one of his best mates. Before and during Afghanistan. Agnes was his girlfriend. When their tour ended, Bird planned to propose. But he didn’t live to see her again.
Stephen tried to answer but lost control of his words, all the moisture evaporated from his mouth.
“Bird was his mate in Afghanistan.” The answer came from the audience. Thomas. “He died in battle.”
The reality of death punctured the show’s atmosphere. Hyacinth ran her hand down Stephen’s back as the audience rose to their feet with respectful applause.
“Can you tell us more about your tour in Afghanistan?” Madeline motioned for the stage manager to cut something. Probably the Twitter bit. “You’ve never talked about it.”
“No, I can’t. And I–I’ve a date, ladies, to the premier.” The words came, weak, awkward, devoid of his princely charm.
He wanted to exit the set. Disappear. Oh that the floor would open up and make his way of escape.
Agnes? She’d tweeted in goodwill. But it did nothing but remind Stephen he’d failed her and Bird. Broken his promise. But he couldn’t . . . couldn’t go see her.
A subconscious account of what he owed these men ran through his soul daily. And he’d never have the means to repay them. So why see Agnes? Why see Carlos’s sister? Worse, remain married to her, making love, creating a life and family together?
He comforted himself with the idea he’d instruct the King’s Office to locate Agnes’s address. It didn’t mean he’d have to see her, but at least he’d know her whereabouts, make sure she didn’t live in the city’s impoverished east end. He could do that much.
Madeline was frowning at him. “Are you sure you can’t take the winner as your date to the premier?”
“Quite. My date might not approve of my divided attention. My sincere apologies.”
