“Not fair. I’m a man, Corina. We don’t notice outfits.”
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned toward him with smug confidence. “What was I wearing?”
“A pink top. Jeans. Flip-flops.”
She froze, eyes wide. “It was you.”
Stephen popped another puff in his mouth, took a long, satisfying sip of his tea, and pushed away from the table. “Well, we’d best get on with it.”
“You never said anything.”
“Some memories are just mine to treasure.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Crack on. Enough stalling.” He offered her his hand.
She rose slowly from the table, her eyes like blipping saucers. “You’re serious? You want me to shout in Cathedral City Square that rugby is a superior sport? I’m a woman of society. An heiress. Never mind a journalist for the notedBeaumont Post.”
“I’m the Prince of Brighton and a star winger. If the situation were reversed you’d show me no mercy. We’d best hurry.” He glanced at his thick, jeweled watch. A gift from his paternal grandfather, King Kenneth III. “It’s half past midnight. Timely for the late dinner crowd driving home past the square.” He led her to the door, threading his arm through hers. “What do you say? The roundabout? It’s a central place. Best start warming up your voice. I want this declaration loud and clear.”
“You seriously want me to shout a lie in the middle of the city square. From the roundabout.”
“No, I want you to shout the truth. It’s only a lie to you because you refuse to believe it.”
“Or . . . because it’s actually alie. At least to me.”
“Corina, really now, warm up your voice. Me-me-me-me-me.”
“Oh, I’m warm.” She crushed her clutch bag between her hands. “My declaration will be loud. And very clear.” She snarled at him, stepping into the night. He muted his laugh. Muted the simmering stirrings of love.
“Don’t be angry, love. To the square,” he said into the night. Thomas and the security team shuffled along beside them.
“Where are we going, sir?” Thomas said. “Corina, your shoes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” She snatched them from him, pausing to slip them on, propping her hand against Stephen’s shoulder for balance.
“We’re off to the roundabout in the city square, Thomas,” he said, walking on when Corina was ready.
“Now? The traffic will be substantial.”
“Of which I’m most grateful.” He glanced at Corina. She was silent. A bit too silent. He could almost hear the cogs of revenge cranking in that beautiful brain of hers.
Stepping off the curb, the five of them dodged the traffic of Bakery Row toward the thick roundabout thoroughfare.
“Again, what is this all about?” Thomas, the ole mutt with a bone.
“Corina is going to declare truth.” He cut across a side street lined toward the park, ducking through the shadows of Victorian brownstones and ancient, thick-trunk trees burdened with leafy fat limbs.
“What sort of truth?” Thomas pressed his hand into Stephen and Corina’s backs, urging them across another side street and finally onto the grassy roundabout in the center of the six-lane Broadway thoroughfare. A river of headlights flowed toward them.
“Just you wait, Thomas,” Corina said. “You’ll see.”
Stephen halted midstride. Something was amiss. “What do you mean, ‘Just you wait’? Not sixty seconds ago, you were protesting.”
“You wanted a declaration of truth. A declaration of truth is what you’ll get.”
“Stephen, sir, please, we’re in the middle of the lane.” Thomas motioned for the other officers to get Corina to the roundabout.
