Hurrying as quickly as he could, ignoring the twinge in his ankle—he’d pay for this tomorrow—Stephen landed on the grassy roundabout center, inhaling, deciphering the feelings flowing through him. Fun? Happiness? Joy? All of the above? He’d not felt such textures in so long. “Corina.” He focused on her. “Repeat after me, ‘Rugby is the most superior sport in the world.’ ”
“Rugby is the most superior sport in the world.” Stiff, straight-laced, and staring into the wave of white headlights moving toward them.
“Very nice, but with more meaning.”
“Rugby is the most superior sport in the world.” Corina repeated the words in a flat, meaningless tone.
“Love, listen, I won the bet. Fair and square. Don’t you agree?”
“I was set up.”
“But you made the bet. Face it, you thought you were going to win. So, please, with a bit more vim and vigor. After all, you’d demand all that from me and more. Perhaps a dance or some such.”
“Sir, is this really necessary?” Thomas positioned his team facing north and south on the circle, watching the roundabout, but he was nervous. Agitated.
“Yes, it is. Now . . .” Stephen flattened his palm against the carved marble base of the King Leopold II statue, leaning, taking the weight off of his sprained and complaining ankle. “Which way should she face?” He gazed north, then south, ignoring how the wind brushed her hair against his cheek. Nevertheless, the subtle encounter with her sent a wrecking ball against the wall of his heart.
Meanwhile, Thomas gave low commands to the limo driver through the com in his sleeve. “Pull round to the west corner of the side street. We’ll dash over when this business is done.”
“South I think,” Corina said, turning round, her hip grazing his arm. “More oncoming traffic.”
Another touch like that one and he’d be engulfed. “Well then, give it your best go.”
She inhaled and started to let go, but then glanced back at him. “You know this is ridiculous.”
“I know nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary, this is most antiridiculous. So crack on. Let’s hear it.” He folded his arms, hobbling, balancing on one foot, his heart beating in two directions.
Did he want to merely laugh at what will be her weak declaration of rugby’s superiority? Or take her in his arms and kiss her?
“This will make you feel better?” She asked, glancing at him through the threads of approaching headlights, her tiara sparkling.
“I think so, yes. But you see, it’s the matter of the bet.” He slapped his hand against the base of the statue. Like King Stephen I, King Leopold II rescued Brighton from a Russian conquest in the Great Northern War.
Stephen glanced up at the marble image of his great warrior ancestor. Another man like King Stephen I who fought for Brighton’s freedom with might and courage.
“It’s late. We best get on home. Come down from there. You don’t have to do this.”
“What? Why?” Corina snatched his arm, jerking him round among the shadows. “What about the bet?”
“What do you want me to say? Yelling some trite words about rugby will truly undo the damage that’s been done between us? Why bother?”
“Because some things are worth fighting for. Stephen, since when did you give up so easily? If you want something to change about these last years,” she gripped his arms, shaking him, “do something about it. Come back to me. Let’s work this out.”
“Impossible.” He withdrew from her. “If you only knew.” He stepped off the curb, watching the traffic, Thomas aligning on his right.
“Then tell me!” She lived in a world of subtle secrets between Adelaide and Stephen. It was starting to get on her nerves.
“Corina, to the limo.” Thomas broached no room for protest.
A growl came from her, so low, so vicious, Thomas actually stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare. “I’m so sick of the secrets. So sick of the cloaked meanings and shaded answers. What in tarnation happened in Afghanistan?”
Stephen turned back toward the roundabout. “Please, let’s go.”
Arms stiff by her side, tucked against her shimmering skirt, Corina tipped back her head. “Go Georgia Bulldogs! Go Georgia Bulldogs! Go Georgia Bulldogs! G-E-O-R-G-I-A! Go Dawgs! Sic ’em! Woof, woof, woof!”
Thomas snorted, then breathed deep, swallowing his laugh.
“Corina,” Stephen hobbled back up on the roundabout, “no, no, no!” He clapped his hands, gaining her attention. “That’s what you were planning all along, weren’t you? Not ‘Rugby is the most superior sport in the world.’ ”
