Page 24 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Nineteen

T he problem with the morning is that Thomas is gone.

Sensible, I tell the hollow of disappointment inside my chest. The more reasonable part of me recognizes this is very sensible.

I’m already half-hard at the memory of him so close to me.

Even if it’s impossible. A fling for a night or two won’t hurt anything.

Though I can hardly ask Colin or Gisele for condoms, and I can’t exactly nip out to the corner shop.

I’m definitely not ordering some for delivery in this place for the crew to receive and open.

I squint at the clock, and it’s gone half ten in the morning. Thankfully, I caught a few hours of sleep, despite everything yesterday. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

I should be thinking about the pottery mess in the shed. Not about the sensation of Thomas’ tongue flicking the head of my cock. Or the thrilling sensation of his fingers teasing my balls, till everything was tight and hot, every nerve in my body on fire for him.

My fingers slide inside my shorts, and I start to stroke myself, shivering at the memory of being with Thomas. The way he looked up at me as he took me into his mouth. And how I wanted him, so desperately. And even more—how he made me feel that night, special and wanted and, most of all, his.

Pushing my clothes out of the way, I keep going with my daydream about Thomas’ mouth and the tease of his body against mine, working a rhythm while I long for his mouth, till I spill hot across my stomach and chest. I flop back into the pillows, shivering.

I curl and uncurl my toes, stretch out my legs.

Cleaning up, I have a cold shower and mentally prepare for whatever’s transpired out there.

I blast some Taylor at volume on my phone as I towel myself off, peering at my toned reflection closely as I shave away blond stubble.

I do three sets of push-ups and sit-ups out in the main room.

I change into a blue linen shirt and jeans before heading downstairs for tea.

As it turns out, I’ve reached the tea station when a crew member rushes up to me. “Oh! Your Royal Highness. We’ve been waiting for you.”

On her heels is a film crew, naturally. And fucking Colin.

Here we go.

I tilt my head, gazing at her. “Rose, is it?” I think that’s her name.

She beams at me. “I’m impressed you remember.”

“I try.”

A shadow falls over her face, the good cheer diminished in her eyes as Colin and Gisele approach.

“Auggie,” says Colin.

I give him side-eye before turning to look at him, impassive. I fold my arms across my chest. After yesterday, he’s not in my good books. I’m not making the same mistake again. He looks worriedly at me, wringing his hands. It’s convincing, and yet.

“I’m afraid there’s been some terrible news.” Colin stands beside me, in shot of the camera, with everyone else standing back. The film and sound crew is tight and coordinated with their impeccable coordination and slick moves.

“Fuckers,” Thomas would say. I suppress any temptation to smile because that would definitely be taken out of context or maybe misconstrued. Who needs video edits for me to do something odd?

“What’s that?” I ask finally because it’s obvious they’re dying for me to ask.

“There’s been a small—well, an incident—with your pottery, I’m afraid, old boy.”

I flick up an eyebrow, cool as ice. I’m giving them nothing. “Oh?”

“It’s—well—been upended.” Colin’s eyes are totally without guile. He’s very good. It could be genuine. It could also be something Gisele’s concocted.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you can come with me to see.”

Of course they want footage of me seeing the damage, supposedly for the first time.

So, I oblige. I go along with everyone on a silent walk—at least on my part.

Colin tries to strike up conversation a couple of times, but I don’t engage.

Gisele lingers, like a vulture of death roosting over a rotting carcass, because she’s as attracted to drama as much as she is opposed to cursing.

In fact, she even warns me as we approach. “Language.”

I sigh. And I give them the shocked reaction they want, right down to the open mouth. I draw the line at fake fainting, however. My acting skills can only reach so far.

“This is awful,” I moan. “Who did this?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know,” Colin says with something that sounds convincingly like true regret as we take in the sight of the pottery shed in disarray. “A beastly act.”

It looks worse in the light of the day. All my work lies broken in sherds at my feet.

I stare at it for a long moment before I lean down and return a stool to its upright position.

I walk over to the fallen clay items. Vandalized, actually.

A heavy sigh escapes me, for real this time.

“Whoever did this is a complete—” I cut myself off, already feeling Gisele’s wrath.

“It’s difficult.” Colin wrings his hands.

“They need to be held accountable.” I echo Thomas’ words. My jaw is tight, arms folded across my chest. “What kind of show is this, anyway? I thought sabotage was off the table.” I look at Gisele, who frowns at me and waves me off from looking at her. She gestures back at Colin.

Obligingly, I look at Colin for the cameras. “Did anyone else’s project get ruined?”

“No. Only yours, I’m afraid.”

I chew my lip. “I may or may not have enough time to start over.”

“You think you can start over?” Colin asks, incredulous.

“I’m not firing anything before judging.” I shrug. “What’s the difference?”

Colin blinks at me.

“How did you find out about this, anyway?” I ask as easily as I can manage, watching for any small tell.

“Thomas told us he heard a commotion in the night.”

I cough slightly. “Is that right?”

“Evidently, the noise woke him up.”

“Isn’t the bothy a bit far from the house?” I ask, giving him a doubtful look.

“That’s what he claims.”

“Do you believe him?” I look around at the mess before us. “Or do you think he’s involved?”

Colin gasps in shock. Gisele smiles, lapping this up. I hate myself a little. Or a lot. But it’s the happiest I’ve seen her since I’ve turned up for this show. “Your Royal Highness, you’re not saying?—”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m only saying that often people who report incidents—or crimes—are often involved. Though you’re right, it’s probably completely innocent. Who can say? This isn’t a murder mystery. And Thomas is clearly the number one contestant and not in any danger from me.”

“But it is a whodunnit, Auggie. Aren’t you worried about the competition and being sent home?

If you can’t make a piece in time.” Colin’s eyes widen, as though this is the worst thing he can think of, being booted from Renaissance Man .

And after Thomas, and last night, I want to stay as long as I can too.

“I guess that could happen if I don’t make the judging deadline. And it’s a lot of pieces. When’s that, again?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he says grimly. Gisele nods confirmation behind him.

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” I run a hand through my hair. “What’s twenty-four hours? Oh, and if it’s not a bother, would you mind putting a lock on the potting shed door? A precaution, you understand.”

“Of course,” says Colin immediately. “I’ll see to it myself that it’s done straightaway.”

The filming finally stops. The boom mic is lowered. Colin’s trying to catch my eye. “Auggie…”

Unfortunately, I’m cornered, and there’s a debris field between me and the door, to which the crew have descended, putting things in order as much as they can.

“Yes?”

“About yesterday.”

“What about yesterday?” I look at him in challenge, lifting my jaw.

He’s not smiling for once, somber. “I’m sorry if some of the questions were… too close. It’s for the show. It’s not personal.”

“Oh, I understand entirely.” I nod, unwilling to give him anything. The betrayal still stings more than I want to let on.

There’s the scrape of chairs and tables, the sound of someone sweeping the flagstones. If I close my eyes, I can imagine Thomas here with me in the middle of the night—and I can’t go there right now. Because what if he was actually involved? Why was he awake at that hour?

I brush past Colin to help with the cleanup. I gather up the fallen pieces lying in a dusty sunbeam through the old pane glass window, throwing the mess into a couple of large buckets. They land with dull thuds. It’s a real shame.

“Good job, Auggie.” Gisele gives a curt nod at me before she leaves, clipboard under her arm and underlings glued to her side.

I narrow my eyes at her as she walks away.

“Lunch!” someone calls out as we finish up.

And I realize then I’m honestly about out of fucks and giving them.

This show wasn’t my idea. And I have nothing to lose.

Let them send me home, then. At least I can tell my father I tried, and I can rest easy that I made a valiant effort.

Except leaving now means walking away from whatever’s happening with Thomas. Something twists in my chest.

I join the group headed back to the house. Rose falls in beside me. “I’m so sorry about your work. It was lovely. A real shame.”

I smile and shrug. “Well, it’s done now. I’ll come up with something else. Or I’ll try, anyway.”

I queue up for sandwiches, our group from the potting shed the last in for lunch. Turning around with a tray, I see Thomas, sitting between Travis and Wilson. For fuck’s sake. I do my best not to gawp, stung.

Well, then. I draw in a breath.

I look at my usual table, off alone in the corner near where the crew table is.

I start to head there, and then I pause and change trajectory.

Instead, I make a beeline for the round table where the trio sit and pull up a chair between Travis and Wilson.

It’s hard to say which of the three is more surprised to see me.

“Hi.” I set my tray down. I sit with authority trained into years of programming as a future monarch. “Mind if I join?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Great. What are we talking about?”

Wilson and Travis exchange looks. “We heard you had a spot of bother this morning,” says Travis easily. “Real shame.”

“Yes.” I nod. “A real waste. Some untalented, jealous wanker decided to do damage. At least I can start again. But they’ll still lack talent.”

Thomas is trying to hide a smile behind his hand. Wilson’s thick eyebrows push together. Travis seems keenly interested.

“Oh well,” I say breezily, “I’ll get to work again after lunch. Take two.” I tear into my pair of sandwiches with gusto.

“I hope they catch who did it,” says Thomas. “It’s not very sporting, is it?”

“Poor form to literally trash the competition,” Travis agrees. “Well, let us know if you need any help,” he offers generously.

I’m surprised by his offer. “That’s very kind.”

“My nan says I have people skills.” Travis laughs, and so do the others.

“Well, points to you for good conduct. Not sure if that goes in the house tables or what.” I pause over my sandwich. “Thomas is safe in the lead, though.”

Thomas shrugs. “It’s only after week one. Let’s see who’s still here in week nine.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got the most competition right now,” Travis says to him.

“And listen, this doesn’t make sense. Like, if anyone was going to get sabotaged right now, it ought to be you, mate.

” He glances at me. “Like—no offense, Your Majesty, uhh, Your Royal Highness—you’re more or less a goner after last week.

Like you need any help on the way out. Sorry. ”

I can’t help it: I laugh.

“Well,” Travis continues, nodding to himself, “it’s kind of like kicking a puppy in the cold, innit? Like, it’s already cold. Why bother?”

Running a hand through my hair, I lean back in my chair. “Exactly. I’m no kind of threat at the minute. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless the lead is so insecure he wants to eliminate you?” says Wilson coolly.

“Hey,” says Thomas, frowning as he turns to face Wilson. “It wasn’t me.”

“Well, it wasn’t me either,” says Wilson, defiant. He folds his arms across his chest. He pushes his chair back, looking at me. “Good luck starting over. That’s quite the motherfucking handicap.”

“Thanks. I look forward to it.” I brush my fingers clean on a paper napkin.

Travis gets up, too, with his empty plate, setting it back on the tray. “Catch you boys later.”

Once they’re gone, Thomas moves a seat closer to me.

I lower my voice ever so slightly. “I might’ve thrown you under the proverbial bus.”

He gives me a sharp look.

“For the show.”

“Ah.” He nods, then works on the second half of his remaining sandwich.

This game has suddenly become a lot more interesting.

“And you’re going to start over?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows.

“Have no choice, really. Or leave? That’s not an option.”

“I mean… that’s so much work. Throwing a table set or whatever for how many?”

“Eight, I guess. I was going for twelve, but I don’t think I have time. Not with serving ware and other things I was planning.”

“Well… why pottery?” Thomas challenges, cleaning his fingers off on a cloth napkin. “Why tableware, anyway?”

“Because I like making it?”

“And you’re good at it. But do you love it?” Thomas smiles ever so slightly. “You know they’ll ask.”

“I don’t know if I love tableware per se, but I do love working with clay,” I admit. “Anything else is more of a risk.”

“How do you feel about risk?” He holds my gaze.

My lips twitch. It’s a thrill, playing this game with him. Except we’re alone together in a prime video recording area. “It depends on the risk.”

“Mm. What about a different strategy?”

“Like what?”

He flicks an eyebrow up. “It’s only clay, right? What’ve you got to lose? I mean, sorry to say, you’re in last place.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” But a hint of a smile curls my lips.

“It’s clay, not brain surgery, right?” Thomas reasons. “If you could make anything, what would you do?”

“I’d sculpt. But I don’t know if there’s the right sort of clay for that… I mean, I do have water-based clay, at least, but still.”

“You said you’re not firing anything this week, right? Does it matter?”

“Well…” I hold his gaze, unwavering. “I’ll sculpt, then.”

Thomas grins, then quickly smothers it behind his hand before anyone sees.

Deliberately clattering his plate on the metal tray, he says loudly, “You don’t even have a chance, man. I don’t see why you’re bothering. It’d be easier to quit.” He gets up with an obnoxious scrape of his chair over the tile floor.

“Fuck you, Thomas.” My voice rings out in the suddenly quiet room.

Heads turn, murmurs rise. And only I can see the sparkle in Thomas’ eye before he turns to walk away.

Fuck caution: my new mantra.

Thomas is right—I have nothing to lose. Plus, it’ll make the producers happy, going high stakes and full-bore high drama.

I’m all in.