Page 29 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

“Are you… breaking up with me?”

“Something has to have started for it to end, doesn’t it?”

Thomas shakes his head in frustration. “Auggie, it started for me the first time I saw you. Before the show. Before even the club that night when I saw you with your friend. Your, um, girlfriend. You’re a hot enigma in the media.

Always. Plus, I went to an event once in London to see you. You know that, right?’

“No.” I laugh, shaking my head in surprise. “Who knew? Not me. And—is that what the press are saying? Try repressed. I’m essentially closeted. So. And we’re only fooling around, right?” My voice sounds unsteady. “It’s not serious. Casual, secret dates at best. Hooking up, even.”

“Fucking hell.” Thomas pulls me tight then as I straddle him and kisses me intently. His mouth is fire. And we could burn everything down, right here and now.

All my resolve melts. I kiss him back searchingly, and then we rest with our foreheads leaning against each other. I close my eyes, trying to draw in a deep breath to steady myself.

“I want you to call me petal again. I might crawl into your bed at 3:00 a.m. some night soon so that you do,” he tries to joke.

I catch his face between my hands, brushing his warm lips with mine. He shudders. “Let’s see how my resolve is next week.”

“Anything you want.”

“You do know this can’t last,” I try again. Another teasing kiss follows despite our efforts to behave.

Thomas makes an unhappy sound. “I want to suffer. Hurt me.”

“Fuck you very much, Jesse.”

“Anytime, Dave. To be so lucky.”

“We can’t let anyone know about this,” I breathe between increasingly urgent kisses as we melt together.

“Agreed.” He tugs my head down to his for another hungry kiss. Totally distracting. I frown down at him when I lift my head again.

“We need to pretend to hate each other more loudly on the show. It’s the only way. They have footage and?—”

I pause as Thomas gasps with frustration, reaching up for me while I brace myself on my arms on either side of his head.

“You’re listening?” I command. “We must do something. Aside from finding and deleting their recordings, we need to throw people off so they don’t get any hint of what’s going on.”

“Yes. Totally. I love something going on in secret with you. Kiss me right now, Dave.”

And I do, lost together again, absorbed in each other as we begin to explore each other anew in the first hints of daylight on the horizon beyond the windows. And when his fingers dig into my hips as I ride him, I’m sobbing out for all the reasons, lost in the release I so desperately want.

* * *

The next time I wake up is in my room back in Buckingham Palace after far too little sleep. I still feel the whisker burn from Thomas on my skin.

I crept in at 5:00 a.m., before the palace had come to life for the day. And more importantly, before my father’s predictable Saturday morning habits. Knowing his routine as well as I do, he’ll be up at 6:30, exercise, shower, then come directly to breakfast by 8:00.

At 8:30, I roll into breakfast like nothing’s happened, even though I feel like I’ve had a temporary holiday from my regularly scheduled life.

To keep up appearances, I’ve showered and dressed, even though I may go directly back to bed since my mood’s starting to crash.

The alcohol has long since worn off, and I’m tired.

We didn’t drink much in the end, too involved with the dance floor and each other.

My father lifts his head from his study of the morning papers at his end of the table. He peers over the crinkle of the broadsheet. “Augustus.”

“Good morning, Father.” I sit down, and tea is poured for me by the staff.

“How is the filming?”

“You know I can’t talk about it.”

A smile plays at the corner of his lips. He strokes his silver beard, his pale blue eyes fixed on me. “They did say something about a NDA, didn’t they?”

“Evidently.” I add sugar to my tea. I’ll need all the extra energy I can get and add a third spoonful for luck. I could put my head down in my oatmeal and sleep when it arrives.

“Well, I do hope you’re enjoying the experience. It’s truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Quite.” I sip my tea, blearily considering my father as he moves methodically through The Guardian to The Independent .

He has a habit of calling up all the papers, at least on the weekend, to see what everyone’s talking about.

In theory, he’s following politics, or at least that’s what he’s always told Anne and me.

But in truth, he’s lost deep in the Entertainment sections, following his programs and other events around the city.

Culture vulture, my father. He’s frail behind the shield of his newspaper.

My usual breakfast is brought to me, orange juice and oatmeal and a yogurt berry parfait. I slowly work my way through the parfait, swiping through my phone messages that I’ve ignored all week.

Finally, my father stirs. He rises and pauses by me, patting my shoulder. “I know the program isn’t your idea of a fun time. And I appreciate you seeing this through.”

I bite down before I make any quip like “did I have any choice in the matter” and give a stoic nod as if we are discussing serious world events. “I hope you like the show when it airs. Whenever it premieres, that is.”

Actually, what the hell will he think when it airs? I hadn’t thought much about true reality. Who knows how Gisele will distort things even further. Especially if she airs footage of Thomas and me together. Flustered, I gulp down some tea and scald my tongue. I wince.

“Late September, I believe,” says my father without skipping a beat.

“Of course you know.” I shake my head.

“Don’t you?”

“They haven’t told us.” I shrug. “We’re focused on week to week. Back at it Monday.”

He reaches for The Times . As he unfolds the newspaper, one of the headlines catches my attention.

Golden Family Leads Anti-Monarchy Rally Today in London

“Father, may I please have the cover story?” I reach out to take the section from him. His gaze flickers to the headline, and a small frown creases his face.

“This reminds me, we will have extra security measures today for the protest outside the palace,” my father says wearily.

Then, he opens the entertainment section.

I can’t help but notice the lasting tremor in his hand, something that started a few months ago.

He’s been slowly fading since Mum passed.

Since then, he finds it easier to live in someone else’s reality rather than his own.

My mouth twitches as I skim the article. Daniel Golden is expected to give a speech, presumably Thomas’ father or another relative. And then my heart sinks with a gut punch when I read Thomas will be there too. My fingers tighten on the paper. It rustles. Why didn’t he say anything to me?

Inside my chest, something tightens.

My father clears his throat. “I’m off to Tokyo. I fly out tomorrow morning.”

“’Kay. I hope you enjoy your trip. Have some sushi for me. I bet you’re huge in Japan.”

My father peers at me with a flicker of a smile across his lips. I lift my eyebrows ever so slightly. Then I sip my tea.

“Quite,” he says. “Good luck next week.”

And I’m going to more than need it as a new ache settles around my heart.