The curved steel of Royal Galaxy Hall, designed to look like a spacecraft, embraced Corina as she walked through the doors.
The futuristic structure cast a cold blue glow over the five-hundred-year-old streets, over the ancient thatched roofs that still existed in the historical district of Cathedral City.
Corina snapped pictures with her phone, musing about the significance of architecture. How it represented where a people had been while speaking of where they are going.
Circulating through the showroom, the music thumping and bumping, she searched the guests for Clive. He’d texted, asking her to meet him by the children’s finger painting display. But she was fine with viewing the gallery on her own for a few minutes. She might even buy a piece. The Children’s Literacy Foundation was a worthy cause and she’d always wanted to collect art.
Cathedral City had been home to some of the world’s most beloved renaissance artists. History credited them with moving Brighton out of the Dark Ages toward enlightenment.
At the children’s display, Corina loved the finger paintings. Such creativity. Especially the one of Jesus with a giant S on his chest. Maybe that one was coming home with her.
Around the wall to a display of acrylic by thirteen- to fifteen-year-olds, Corina ran into a group of men in tuxedos. Clive?
But he was not among them.
That’s when she saw the Pissarro, one of the Impressionist paintings up for auction. Oh my, it was the “Rue du Roi—Avenue of the Kings.”
Her heart filled with memories as she moved closer to inspect the piece. God, what am I to do with this?
The historical scene of the Avenue of the Kings from the top of the Braithwaite Tower, with the horses and carriages standing in the gaslights after a cleansing rain, was magical. Glorious. The view Stephen and Corina experienced the night he proposed. And it was to be auctioned.
“Extraordinary piece, isn’t it? Eighteen ninety-eight.” A woman wearing a Children’s Literacy Foundation badge joined Corina. “We are blessed to have it. The piece was lost for the last five and a half years.”
“Lost?”
“Construction workers found it in an old warehouse on the north side of the city. No one knows how it got there. We believe it belonged to a private collector, but we can’t find the records. Can you imagine? The workmen brought it to us, suggesting we auction it tonight on behalf of the foundation. We will find a permanent home for this beautiful piece.”
“This is my favorite view in the whole city,” Corina said.
“Mine as well. My husband proposed to me on the Braithwaite.” The woman sighed. “Do be sure to register if you haven’t already. The auction starts in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.” Corina watched the woman until the crowd folded in behind her, then turned back to the painting.
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 would never truly 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.”
Stephen scoped the area with a sly glance, then leaned toward her. “Nathaniel and Susanna are taking a few days at Parrsons House. You’re invited. If you care to come.”
“I’m invited. By the family I rudely walked out on Sunday night?”
“Don’t make us out to be insensitive clods.” Agitated, he shifted his stance, taking the weight from his booted ankle. “Do you want to come or not? Nathaniel and Susanna want to leave tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to come?” Their eyes met, but only for a moment.
“I–it might be pleasant.”
“Your confidence is killing me.”
“Hey, do you want to go or not? Never mind, I’ll come for you at eleven sharp.” He walked off into a gathering of well-dressed men and women, waiting in audience for him, cameras flashing.
Corina bit back her grin. She was spending time in the country with her husband and his family. How lovely.
Now, to register for the auction and see about acquiring a treasured Pissarro.