Modern rugby demanded he stay fit and on top of his game, mentally and physically. Drinking made him the opposite. Rugby turned out to be his only true salvation.
Just over his shoulder, he saw Corina working through the crowd, the people responding to her. She looked divine under her sparkling tiara. Bravo for defying royal protocol.
“Sir?” Thomas tucked in next to him. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“I’m ready to go.” After midnight, the music changed dramatically, and previously well-mannered citizens with a sense of decency lost their minds, and maybe a piece of their souls, with raucous music, strong drink, and backroom antics. “Let’s collect Corina.”
“She’d said she’d take a taxi.” Thomas shouldered his way through the crowd, making room for Stephen, nodding to the protection officers waiting by the door.
“Not again.” Stephen stepped faster. He’d just seen her, so she couldn’t be too far.
“The limousine is coming round,” Thomas said.
Through the doors and into the clear cool night, illumined with roaming spotlights, Stephen slammed into the wall of tenacious paparazzi.
“Prince Stephen, this way. What did you think of the film?”
He quickened his gait. “Quite splendid.”Where’d you get off to, Corina?“For a moment, I almost called Clive Boston ‘Granddad.’ ”
The laughter slipstreamed along the night air.
“Your Highness, where’s your lady friend?” A photographer ducked under the media rope and ran alongside him. “Corina Del Rey, if I’m not mistaken. Are you two an item?”
“No, we’re not.” Clear enough? But the truth of the matter gnawed at him. Theywerean item. A couple. Man and wife. Why couldn’t he just say it? Be free of it?But we’re getting an annulment.
Because then the “why” questions would come.
Thomas intercepted the photographer, urging him to move on, just as Stephen spotted Corina at the taxi stand, her hand raised, hailing a cab.
Breaking away from the protection detail, his tightly wrapped ankle tired and burning, he limped toward her.
“Stephen, where are you going?” Thomas’s voice barreled after him.
“For a stroll.” Stephen linked his arm through Corina’s and, without a word, moved her away from the curb and into the shadows of the giant spotlights. “You were going to leave without saying good-bye.” At the curb, Stephen checked the motion of the traffic, then dashed across the thoroughfare as headlights from the oncoming lane sped toward them.
“Gee, Thelma, what’s your hurry?” Corina pulled away from him but kept up with his stride.
“I’m in the mood for some puffs.”
“Puffs? At this hour.”
“Puffs are grand at any hour.”
Thomas appeared off Stephen’s right shoulder, relaying commands through the com tucked into his jacket sleeve. “Bring the limo round. Heading east on Bakery Row.”
“Home of the best bakery and eateries in all of Europe.”
“Thomas, how could you box me out? I thought you of all people—”
“Sorry miss, my duty is to the prince. When we’re in large crowds—”
“Blame me. Not Thomas.” Stephen slowed as they stepped up onto the sidewalk, into a triangle streetlamp glow. “Is it too late to apologize?”
“For what?” She sighed, glancing away. But he caught the soft sheen in her eyes. “I’m starting to think you’re right. We should’ve never happened.”
“I’m sorry, Corina. I just don’t want a lot of prying questions. What do you say? A box of Brighton’s best pastry? A cup of hot sweet tea with thick cream?” He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, pointing to the lights of the old Franklin Bakery. “We came here on our first date, remember? You had your first taste of puffs.” They’d gone to dinner with friends. His mate Harry had leaned over during the first course and said in no small whisper, “Marry her. And I’m not kidding. Find a way.”
She drew up, slowing her step. “They weren’t my first puffs. I vacationed here as a kid. Please tell me you’ve forgotten the stories of—”
