Still, she couldn’t make her way to Stephen. He was barricaded by three protection officers. Thomas roamed, checking the crowd. When he saw her, he smiled, giving her a slight nod.
“Prince Stephen, is that your date behind you? Corina Del Rey?” Deanna Robertson from theInformant. Corina knew her from her time at Knoxton. And Gigi knew her. She was probably one of her minions.
Stephen glanced back, and in that moment, his expression, the light in his eyes, deposited something in her. She was one with him. Neither time nor distance, nor the threat of annulment, could change the truth.
And he was part of her.
He held his arm out toward her. “This is Corina Del Rey, an old mate from university. She’s reporting on the premier for theBeaumont Post, but most of you are familiar with the Del Rey family. American entrepreneurs and philanthropists.”
Thomas moved her forward and into another blast of flashes and voices.
“Are you the one who tweeted on theMadeline & Hyacinth Live!show?” Deanna asked.
“Yes, I—”
“—was pulling a prank.” Stephen answered for her, chucking his arm around her shoulder, giving her a buddy-ole-pal squeeze. “We like to quarrel over the merits of that crazy American football.”
“Sounds like a lover’s quarrel.” Deanna was just digging for a bone to chew, wasn’t she? Or did Gigi have her up to something?
“Deanna, quite funny. We’re merely friends,” Stephen said.
“And football is far superior to rugby, of course,” Corina said with a slight curl to her lip.
Stephen laughed, shoving her slightly aside. “Your audacity is both foolish and brave. You speak such things on Brighton Eagles territory?”
“Speaking of rugby, Your Highness . . .”
Stephen fielded a few rugby questions, showing them his ankle without the walking boot, assuring them he’d be playing by the fall.
But Corina witnessed a fault in his confidence. And when he started for the theatre, she caught the slight hitch in his walk.
She hurried to catch up to him, but the protection detail closed in like a steel door and locked her out.
“Hey, wait for me.” But her voice only blended with the shouts and cries already peppering the theatre.
“Here you are, miss.” A tuxedoed attendant held the door for her. “Are you with the prince?”
“Technically.”
The air inside the two-hundred-year-old theatre was cool and crisp, the atmosphere vibrant with music, voices, and clinking glasses.
The walls were propped with faux Greek columns from which carved lion heads watched over them. Corina squeezed and wove her way to Stephen, keeping a keen eye out for Clive. She was to meet him here before the film started. But the scoundrel never responded to her text today.
When she found Stephen, he was surrounded by women. She nudged him with her elbow. “What’s the big idea?”
“I don’t know, whatisthe big idea?”
“You just left me back there.”
“I thought you were with me.”
“Pretty hard to be when the protection detail boxes me out.” She fumed. Hurt. But not wanting to be. “Just tell them to look out for me, please.”
“Sorry, I thought Thomas was on it.” Stephen turned to his small gathering. “Corina, may I introduce the woman who plays lady-in-waiting, Gillian—”
“Laura Gonda. We know each other.” Corina leaned toward Laura, the director’s wife, and kissed her cheek.
“How are you? I was so sorry to hear about Carlos.” Laura held on to Corina’s hand. “He always made me laugh. Such a waste.”
