Page 17 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

While long summer shadows beckon across the grasses beyond the window, I glance from the outdoor view to the indoor view of Thomas.

He’s tanned, the light catching his eyes and highlighting the side of his face in a warm glow.

I can see a faint scar on his cheek. My stomach dances at the sight of his toned forearms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves, which proved an effective distraction during week one’s challenge.

And frankly, he’s more delicious than any exotic pastry.

“Now what?” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Are you skulking about?”

“As a prince, I have it on good authority that I do not skulk.” But my lips curl into a smile.

Thomas considers, tapping his finger against his lips. A lock of hair has fallen across his brow. “How about sneak?”

“I’m not sneaking!” I gasp in mock dismay, holding up a bottle of water. “I was going for a walk. It’s too beautiful out to sit cooped up inside.”

He glances outside the window. “Good idea.”

“Do you want to join me?” I ask impulsively before I lose my nerve.

“I’ll consider it,” he says lightly. “On one condition.”

“Oh?” My stomach knots. “I didn’t imagine that walks came with conditions.”

“We bring beer.” Thomas goes into the walk-in fridge and retrieves two bottles of ale, opening them. He pauses. “That is, if you drink beer?” He looks curiously at me. “Do princes drink beer?”

“I do. That is, I haven’t consulted with all the other princes globally for their drinking habits, however. It’s a skewed sample. I’ll ask next time I’m on the royalty group chat.”

Which makes me think Prince Theodor and my cousins and a group chat would be a collision of worlds best kept separate. Or they would egg each other on until the scandal brought down both our monarchies. Whatever.

Thomas laughs, a thrilling sound. He passes a beer bottle to me. “Let’s go.”

And that’s how I find myself walking with Thomas Golden out on the grounds of the estate in time to watch the sun lowering towards a spectacular sunset.

We walk in silence with matching long strides along the dirt track.

We go by a paddock with horses. Their tails swish in the fading light.

We walk along the edge of a wood, over rolling hills, till we reach a good viewpoint at the top of a hill in a meadow.

And then, we sit to finish our beer amid the wildflowers.

“I thought you hated me,” I say at last, glancing over at him. “Along with everyone else.” He’s stunning in his white shirt and tan. “Since you’ve made it quite clear you’re opposed to the throne and all. I understand that’s a Golden family tradition.”

We watch the sun sink low towards the trees. The clouds overhead turn pink and gold.

He’s quiet for a long time before he responds. It’s long enough for me to dread his response.

“I don’t hate you, Auggie. I hate what you represent.” Thomas gazes at me over his drink. “I mean it when I said I’m an abolitionist.”

“Aren’t you American? I don’t see how you have a horse in this race. Or, if you’ll forgive me, why you would be interested.”

He grins, a sight that thrills me. A tingle runs up my spine. Behind him, pink clouds drift lazily across the sky. “I’m half English. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Top or bottom half?” I ask archly. “And which part is the abolitionist, so I can give that a wide berth?”

And he laughs again, and my God, it’s the most incredible sound. Warm and rich, and the fact that I made him laugh again makes me ripple with hope. My arms are covered in goose bumps, and I have no idea why. At least he doesn’t notice. I ignore them and do my best to refocus.

I sip my beer, unable to keep from smiling. Maybe it’s the warm early summer night or the way the grasses give off a faint scent in the heat. Or just maybe it’s his unexpected company tonight.

“Now, that’s my business.” Thomas’s eyes sparkle before he takes a drink.

“Seriously, though, I’m English from my dad’s side of the family.

He’s a recovering Londoner. His words. But as for me, I was raised in America, American through and through in my outlook.

And yes, American passport. Technically, though, I’m a dual national. ”

I frown slightly. “Then… why are you here? As an American. And an American abolitionist, at that. I mean, the dual nationality kind of explains how you landed on Renaissance Man , at least. Or your eligibility for it. But… why would you care about a reality show in the UK? Especially one that has a royal on it?”

“I could ask the same of you, why you would want to be on a reality show instead of ruling people by Divine Right.” He lifts the damned eyebrow again.

Something flutters inside me when he gives me his pointy, intense look. Yes, please.

“I asked you first.”

“Fine.” He swigs his beer, watching the lowering sun brush the dark silhouette of the treetops. “It’s for business. At least my portion of it.”

“Oh?” I scratch my jaw. “According to the internet and my friend Katie, your business is a vast multinational hotel empire. How does reality TV help with that?”

He chuckles. “Yes, the hotel’s the family’s main portfolio. But the show’ll help raise my profile for content creation. I’m actually looking to diversify. I’m designing a social media platform. That’s my own gig.”

“Social media platform?”

“You might have heard of social media, even in Buckingham Palace, I bet.”

“You don’t even know the half of it, I’m afraid.

We royals message each other by using carrier pigeons.

Social media platforms are far beyond us—it’s very next millennium.

” If only he knew about my father’s TV addiction.

For all I know, my father moonlights under a handle and goes on these forums that Katie told me about, something called the Bravoverse.

“Do we—British or Americans—need more social media?”

Thomas laughs. “Well, mine’s different. My platform’s about becoming your best self, like a glow-up app.

A positive social media platform with photos and videos and where you can connect with people with similar lifestyle interests.

And optional life coaching or training in whatever interests you, and you can build a community. Everyone could use that, I think.”

“So, basically Grindr, then.”

He cracks up with delight, shaking his head. “Yeah.” He finishes his beer, looking intently at me instead of the spectacular sunset in front of us, all pink and orange and gold. And the way he looks at me, it’s like he sees me for the first time. “Tell me: do princes go on Grindr?”

“Princes, I’m afraid, don’t kiss and tell. It’s part of our royal pact.”

“Fair enough.” He laughs again, his arm resting outstretched over his knees drawn against his chest. His body language is relaxed, languid even.

Thomas tilts his head ever so slightly, watching me in that way that sends another ripple up my spine and, to my alarm, sparks signs of life somewhere lower.

Heat rises in my face. But I’m privately basking in the attention.

It’s been such a long time since Theo, and that was meant to be meaningless sex, like many of my other hookups. But the end hit harder than expected.

It’s definitely a warm night, especially for England.

I blame the heat. That’s the excuse I’m going with.

Not that I’ve been caught in some accidental, misplaced flirting with Thomas Golden, of all people.

An abolitionist, for God’s sake. Get a grip, Auggie.

Queen Victoria is going to haunt me for real.

And it’s easy, being in Thomas’ company, something I never would have bargained on. Which is when I belatedly realize my tactical error: I’ve let my guard down. I shouldn’t’ve. I’ve made a dreadful mistake.

I’ve outed myself to Thomas. Shit.

“I mean—you have a girlfriend. And I have a girlfriend, sort of,” I say hurriedly.

“Friends with benefits?” he asks lightly. “And by the way, I don’t have a girlfriend. Where did you get that idea from?”

“Wait. What?” Something in me sinks. “You don’t?”

Shit.

Now I’ve really messed this up. Even though it’s pointless even to let myself daydream about Thomas because I’m still a prince, and he’s still opposed to everything I stand for. And, worst of all, he thinks Katie is my girlfriend.

“Nah. What gave you that idea?” Thomas looks curiously at me. “I didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.”

“I… well, I thought you had gone on a holiday with a woman.”

“Auggie, are you actually following me on social media? Don’t you have more important things to do with your time as a future monarch?” Thomas teases, giving me a sly look I’m very much into.

“No,” I say hurriedly as the sun at last starts to dip into the trees.

“I mean, my friend Katie follows you online. Not in a stalker way—she only follows your accounts. She told me about your holiday in the Med. Not that I don’t have more important things to do with my time.

I do all sorts of things with my time. I don’t have any social media accounts myself.

” I make myself stop talking before I become even more scattered under his close attention.

“Oh. I went to Italy with a friend. That’s all.” He shrugs a shoulder easily, setting the bottle down beside him in the grass. “We have things in common. But it’s not romantic. Mostly business. Ten percent hijinks. No benefits. I’m gay.”

“Oh.” I nod, not sure what else to say. So, I chew my lip instead.

“Oh,” he agrees, gazing at me a moment too long till I look away. The sun has gone, and it’s fallen into dusk. I look back at him, swallowing hard. Even though we’re surrounded by fresh air, it’s hard to get some oxygen into my lungs right then.

“I think we should go back.” I break the silence when I have pulled it together enough to speak in a convincing enough way.

I’m not sure what’s going on in the sultry summer air that hangs between us as his gaze lingers on mine.

His pupils are dilated in the low light.

And I want Thomas to keep looking at me like that.

As if he wants me.

“As you wish. Your girlfriend is probably waiting for her good-night call from her prince.” Thomas nods, smiling, and we collect our bottles.

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Err, something like that.”

Together, we walk back to the house mostly in silence.

And me with a million thoughts for company too.

The stars start to come out in the twilight, overlooking us.

Like they also want to know if Thomas has his own friend with benefits.

Or if he’s looking for another such arrangement.

Which is a silly thought on top of a heap of silly thoughts.

Which is also about when I see the sunset reflected off the glass of a video camera lens in the tall grass on the side of the trail near where we paused in the meadow.

Inwardly, I die. Outwardly, I keep my expression smooth and glance over at Thomas.

Judging by the way his eyes also dart over and back again, he sees the glint of the camera too.

When we reach the house, we pause in the back mudroom to wipe our shoes of trail dust. I shut the door after us, as well as the door leading into the country house.

“Did you want to watch something together—” Thomas begins.

“Absolutely not.”

His eyes narrow at me as the mood instantly shifts. “Not this again?—”

“I don’t know how much they recorded out there.” My voice is low, urgent, wild. “I can’t be seen alone with you.”

Thomas’ frown reveals incredible frown dimples. It’s everything I can do from getting distracted by them. “What? Why not? We just went out for a walk?—”

“You don’t understand,” I cut him off, impatient, folding my arms tight across my chest as I pace the glass vestibule. The air is still and close and hot. I scan around again. There’re no cameras in here that I can see.

“Start talking, then,” Thomas growls, eyes flashing. His intense gaze burns. “Right now so I can understand what’s exactly wrong with being seen with me. We went for a walk, which as far as I’m aware isn’t a crime?—”

“If I’m seen with you, people might think—they might think I’m gay too,” I hiss.

“What?” Now his frown deepens even more. “What the actual fuck, Auggie?”

Oh my God. Instant goose bumps appear when he says my name. I try to suck back a deep breath, but I’m spiraling too much for oxygen right now. I feel light-headed.

“That’s fucking ridiculous! Have you lost it?” Thomas’ gaze sears. “You have a girlfriend. We went for a walk. You’re totally, totally overreacting. I don’t even know you?—”

“Good. Don’t get to know me either.” My eyes flash, but my hands tremble. I shove them deep in my pockets.

Our gazes blaze, riveted on each other, unyielding. He clenches his jaw.

Then, there’s hurt in his eyes for a fleeting moment. Who knows what he sees in mine. Everything’s gone up like an out-of-control wildfire.

He opens his mouth to say something, but he stops short. Instead, he opens the back door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him.

I head back inside, my head reeling from the rush of our confrontation, the careening feelings about Thomas shifting to utter panic that the crew recorded us and our conversation on the walk.

Nobody can know I’m gay.