The woman’s husband proposed to her on the Braithwaite? The painting was lost for five and a half years? It was too much. Too much. Was she to consider these signs or mere coincidence? Everything around her pointed to Stephen.
But he’s not looking, God.
Flushed and trembling, awash with sentiment, she missed him. Missed Carlos. Even that crazy Diamatia that became her wedding gown.
“This is my favorite place in the whole world,” she said as he slipped his arms around her waist.
“Will you miss me?” He set his finger under her chin and raised her face to his, bending for a kiss. He looked resplendent in his dress uniform, a gold royal braid across his chest.
“With every fiber of my being.”
Holding her, he leaned against the twisted wrought iron railing that hemmed in the Braithwaite terrace, and they gazed into the glittering Rue du Roi.
“So beautiful.”
“This is Cathedral City.”
The bells chimed. Nine times. She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat in time with the bells. How could she be so very happy yet so very sad?
“The Pissarro.” Stephen’s voice floated over her shoulder. “One of my favorites.”
Corina turned to find him standing several feet behind her, surrounded by somber-faced auction types—a woman in a long white gown that washed out her pale complexion and a set of tuxedoed men.
Their eyes met, but for such a brief moment she wasn’t sure he saw her. She started to address him, but the group moved, Stephen with them, without a word or glance toward Corina.
Thomas trailed behind, giving her a sweet nod hello.
She smiled, but barely, inhaling the truth. Stephen wouldnevertruly acknowledge her in public. Why should he? They were over.
“Don’t give up, love.” Clive leaned against the display wall, his face lit up with a cheeky grin.
“There you are. Where have you been?”
“Seriously, Corina, back alley drunks are more aware of what’s going on than you.”
“Don’t start with this Prince Stephen business again.”
He laughed and joined her, facing the painting. “We’d make a good couple, you and me. A power duo.”
Corina regarded him for a moment, assessing his vulnerability. He’d confessed during their interview that he’d given up on love after an intense Oxford-years heartbreak.
“Clive, you rapscallion.” Corina manufactured a solid, jovial laugh. “You’re just dying to add me to your string of brokenhearted babes, aren’t you?”
He collected himself, the light changing in his eyes. “You found me out, sly lass. But it was worth a try. I’ve no American heiress in my stable.” He kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear. “But if you change your mind . . .”
Corina squeezed his hand. “You’ll be the first to know.”
“If you’ll pardon me, I’ll see what other beauties are about. Shall we catch up later, have an appetizer or two and call it dinner. You are supposed to be my date.”
“Say nine o’clock?”
“Perfect.”
Oh Clive. No wonder he hid from the press. He was hiding from himself.
“How did it go? With Clive?” This time when she turned, Corina found Stephen standing alone, his arms clasped behind his back. “Did he ask you to marry him? He’s known for spontaneous proposals that don’t go anywhere.”
“At least he’s honest about it.”
