Page 18 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Fourteen

B ack in my rooms, I pace and pace the large suite, threatening to wear a hole in the antique crimson rug.

There’s no way to sit still: it’s a disaster.

And Thomas is a bloody influencer too. I’m officially done for.

After an hour of thinking in circles, I dial Katie.

I need the insights of someone who knows me well, all the bad along with the good.

“What’s happened?” Katie demands.

I screw up my face. I take a long breath in. “It’s the show. I might’ve accidentally, not on purpose, err… outed myself to my archnemesis.”

I’m rewarded with dead silence. Which, frankly, isn’t very rewarding at all.

I shake my head, gazing out the window. The stars are out in force now.

All the lights are off in my room, the curtains still tied back.

I’ve left the windows open for a breeze.

Somewhere out there is Thomas, likely plotting the downfall of the kingdom with his family.

Probably some kind of heist to spring the ravens from the Tower, because superstition is what truly rules.

“You did what?” Katie asks at last.

“You heard me.” I cough lightly, fidgeting. I shift my legs against the crinkle of the pale linen bedsheets. “I’m truly done for.”

“And, please tell me, since when do you have an archnemesis?”

“Since now. Since a while, really. Thomas Golden,” I say meaningfully, “is an abolitionist. You warned me, in fact.”

“You outed yourself to Thomas Golden?” Katie’s voice rises. “After everything that happened—at the club. And… after?” She sounds both horrified and fascinated. “Auggie?—”

“It’s a very serious problem.” I frown. “I’m in deep crisis. Whose side are you on here?”

“Yours, obviously.” She laughs, and that’s not reassuring either. “Now, does it go against your NDA to tell me about how you outed yourself to him? Or do I wait till the show airs to find out the gruesome details?”

“No!” I sit up fully in alarm. “It was an, err, extracurricular outing. Shit. That sounds even worse. We only went on a walk together. After filming supposedly wrapped for the day. After dinner.”

“You went on a post-dinner walk together by accident with your so-called archnemesis?” Katie prompts in a rising squeak. “What, you caught the sunset together? That sounds a lot like a date. Did you make out? Don’t tell me. Auggie, I’m not sure I’m the right person?—”

I blush. “No! It’s definitely not a date, not even close.

Who said anything about watching a sunset together?

And obviously, no making out. This isn’t school,” I add hurriedly, while part of me wonders if she has me under drone surveillance.

“Besides, it’s not your business if we watched any celestial or lunar events together.

It’s unfortunately part of the airtight NDA we’ve signed.

My honor and fierce penalties ride on this. ”

“Mmhm. I see.” Katie is quiet for a long moment, giving me ample opportunity to wear a hole through the cuff of my sleeve. “What, he caught you wanking on the walk? How did you out yourself?”

“Nice. I can keep my cock tucked away once in a while. No, it’s thanks to a poor joke I made. And, well, context is everything. And then I said I had a maybe-girlfriend?—”

“Which is obviously why you’re calling me. Quite flattering, by the way—” Katie rightfully sounds hurt. My guts twist.

“—and it turns out he doesn’t have a girlfriend at all. Not even a maybe-girlfriend. And Katie, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t even correct him about you. And then we were filmed together. Me and Thomas.”

“Wait. What?” Katie’s frown is audible. “What about the influencer he was with? Well, I suppose I can figure that out from the way he looked at you at the club, mind you…” She stops. “What do you mean you were filmed together? Doing what exactly?”

“Talking.” I groan. Katie’s meant to be helping me out of—and not deeper into—a hole I’ve cratered myself into. “So, what am I supposed to do?” It’s not quite a wail. Technically.

“Do? Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re my friend?”

“Auggie, you know I love you to bits. But I’m definitely not even your maybe-girlfriend. That’s very clear.” Her voice is soft, resigned. “It’s not fair to me to have me as your cover.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Shit.”

Doom rises from my stomach. “Nobody can know I’m gay, Katie.

I’ve already lost too much because of that.

” I think of Gav and shake my head to clear it.

That would have never happened. The whole Renaissance Man experience is like boarding school, sent away again from my life.

Or the secret tryst with Prince Theodor, openly gay, but it was different for him because he wasn’t next in line to inherit the Danish throne.

“It definitely doesn’t go along with my father’s rebranding of the kingdom. He wants me to marry. You know that.”

“How about… you should consider your own branding?” she suggests carefully. “You’re an adult, even if you’re his heir. You have as much right to a life and happiness as anyone else?—”

“No, I don’t. And you honestly think happiness lies with Thomas Golden?

” My voice rises with alarm, and then I quickly snap my mouth shut in case someone overhears me through the thick stone walls.

Which makes me literally think of lying with Thomas Golden, and that definitely isn’t helping my current situation. My face warms.

“Auggie. Listen to me.”

I listen hard.

There’s a long pause on the phone. And a muffled sound. Is she crying?

“I can’t be the one you talk to about this. I’m sorry. You’re going to need to sort this out on your own. This is too close, Auggie. I need… time… to get over what happened.”

I swallow hard, feeling wretched about how selfish I’ve been. “You’re right. Absolutely right. Shit. I’m the worst friend?—”

“I need to hang up now.”

And when she does, there’s a hollow left in my chest. I shift in bed, staring at the dark phone in my hand, and sag into the mattress.

From where I lie, I gaze out at the rising moon.

I shiver with cold, pulling up the blankets around me once more.

I’ll need to find a way to not think about Thomas.

And avoid him forever. Like by, say, winning a reality show.

That should both pass the time and be delightfully on task.

Then I can work on making things right with Katie again.

Throwing myself wholeheartedly into the competition gives plenty of scope for thoughts and time-occupying activities.

It’s for the sake of the kingdom, after all.

* * *

By mid-morning, I’m standing knee-deep in early July grasses by a stone outbuilding that looks a lot like a derelict bothy. Technically, it has a roof, though I can’t guarantee that that daylight isn’t poking through its rafters.

“The structure’s perfectly sound, don’t worry,” says a crew member cheerfully as he brushes past on the narrow path. “We’ve checked.”

Sun slants through the drift of high white cloud. I run my hand through my hair. I should have put on sun cream, but never mind. I eye the building, which is at least more upright than derelict, and I’ve been thoroughly assured no wild creatures are living there. Not even a badger.

I step back to let the crew and techs continue their work with me slightly less underfoot.

The stone building sits in a clearing by a copse of trees.

From here, the grand house is invisible, and I could be alone in the woods.

Except they’re cheerfully setting up a generator and installing a kiln, rigging up lighting and setting up a couple of tables before they bring in what I need: clay and sculpting tools.

I’m looking forward to this challenge. Or at least to working with clay.

Nobody can distract me when I’m throwing pots.

Not even Thomas. Or Wilson. Or even the looming prospect of being King one day.

Out here, I’ll be able to calm down and breathe and get my bearings again.

So far, none of the crew have said anything about catching me with Thomas.

But it doesn’t necessarily mean that they don’t have footage somewhere of us together.

“I think you’re set, Your Royal Highness,” says Rose after signing off on some paperwork.

“Everyone’s been through that needs to be.

We’ve checked everything for function and for safety.

” She shows me the generator and gives me a rundown of how it works.

The kiln itself is a beauty, far nicer than the old—but reliable—kiln back in Buckingham Palace, which could be a relic from the Industrial Revolution or, quite possibly, the Paleolithic.

I trade notes with a ceramics tech they’ve brought in, and she’s set up a test fire that morning to complete later in the day, when she’ll be back to check.

Then it’s back to me and my sketchbook, trying to decide what to make for this week’s challenge.

And despite my best efforts, some other part of me wants to know what the other men are doing.

Including Thomas. And, more specifically, who he’s writing poems or songs about.

And why he looked at me the way he did back in the club—well before the show or our walk together—with longing.