Page 34 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

E verything that follows comes in small bursts.

The sight of Thomas’ mud-covered, bloody face as he stares down at me. His lips move.

The sound of sirens.

The too-bright lights at the hospital.

The relentless beep of machines.

And I drift.

* * *

“…trying to get in touch with his family, but the palace isn’t responding… we’re talking to the Prince’s security… doctors are discussing surgery…”

“…we’ve been trying his emergency contacts…”

I try to lick my lips. They’re so dry.

“He’s coming around.”

Someone leans over me, wearing a mask.

“Prince Augustus?”

“Japan,” I say clearly.

Then I promptly pass out.

* * *

The thing with being unconscious is that you have no idea how long you’ve been out or what you’ve missed. So when I come around again, I’m aware enough that I’m semi-reclined in a bed and machines are still beeping.

My head and neck and arm are in thundering pain. Hell, everything hurts.

I cough slightly.

The curtain stirs, and then I see Thomas’ bruised face peeking around. He’s in a blue hospital gown, pulling an IV. He’s blurry.

That explains where we are. I close my eyes for a moment.

“Auggie?” he murmurs, touching my shoulder. His eyes brim with tears. “Say something.”

I’m so relieved to see him I could weep too.

Even though my face is in agony, I try to smile.

“Jesse,” I whisper hoarsely. “You alright?”

He makes a muffled sound deep in his throat.

And I let myself slip away again.

* * *

Time passes weirdly. I remember a procession of medical people peeking and poking at me till I cry out, the relentless agony of my head, of being alone in a hospital room.

I don’t see Thomas again for a while. But I hear his voice.

Sometimes, I think he’s talking to me, but it’s hard to remember. Or stay awake.

I drift in and out. Eventually, I see my father, too, in the blur of faces, but I can’t follow what he’s saying, as though I’m lost in a fog, and sounds are distorted. Anne’s there, too, at one point. Or maybe I dreamed of my mother.

I try to ask for Thomas again, if he and everyone and the horses are alright. But I can’t remember what people are saying, and everything hurts, right down to my teeth.

In protest, I moan as they lift me to go off for another scan for the neurologist.

* * *

It takes a week for me to gather more of my bearings. I’ve been moved out of the ICU into a private room around three days ago. There’s talk about releasing me to recover at Buckingham Palace, after a battery of tests. I stare vacantly out the window.

“Auggie,” my father tries again. “You absolutely cannot return to the show. It was a dreadful idea to sign you up. I don’t know what I was thinking. And a steeplechase! I don’t know what they were thinking, either. God’s sake.”

“I must go back.”

All I can think of is Thomas. My eyes well up with tears.

“You have a serious concussion and neck injury and cracked ribs. A broken arm. And more.”

“Please. I’m begging you.”

“No.”

He goes on about the importance of my position, that he can’t risk losing me again, that he needs his heir.

I only hear no.

* * *

The next day, I could sob with relief when I see Thomas come in. He’s in street clothes this time, no hospital gown. His cheek is bruised, and he has a fading black eye.

“Thomas!” I try to sit up. I regret it and ease back into the mattress with a groan.

“Don’t move.” Thomas shakes his head and sits beside me. He gives me a strained smile. “God, I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper, turning my head ever so slightly. Everything still hurts.

He takes my hand, interlacing our fingers.

I squeeze, looking anxiously at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Fine enough. I’m not supposed to be here,” he murmurs. “Only your family is permitted to see you. One of the nurses took pity on me and snuck me in since she knows what’s happened, but I’ve only got five minutes.”

“I don’t want you to go yet.”

He swallows. “I hear you won’t be coming back to the show. I’m just fucking glad you’re alive, Auggie. We all are. It was bad.”

“It doesn’t feel great,” I admit. Everything is still slightly blurry. I’m exhausted. “Are the horses alright?”

“Yes.”

There’s some relief now, knowing Thomas and the horses are okay.

“They’re taking me home. I won’t be able to see you anymore.” My eyes are damp. “Nobody can know.”

Thomas searches my gaze seriously, holding my hand tight. “Do you want to go home?”

“Do I have any choice?” I whisper through my tears.

“You could come stay with me for a few days,” he tries. “Before I go back to the show. We’ve taken a break after the accident. They’re having a safety review. Probably the insurers want to shut everything down. I mean, I understand why.”

I swallow hard, trembling as I continue to try to hold his gaze through the blur.

“Tell me what you want,” Thomas says.

“I want to stay with you till you have to leave.” My voice is unsteady before it breaks.

“You have my word that I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen. What you want matters, Auggie. Not only what everyone else wants of you. Even me.”

We’re quiet for a long moment. I try to stop crying. I feel so raw. I wish I could believe him.

I hold his hand tight as we hear voices in the hall.

“Who looks after you, anyway?” he asks softly. “When you’re not well?”

“The staff.” I close my eyes then, too difficult to keep my eyes open any longer despite the dim of the room. The ache in my head is too much. “There’s no one else.”

“You saved my life,” he whispers, hoarse. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

And then he’s gone.

* * *

“You cannot go and stay with Thomas Golden. God’s sake, Augustus.” Exasperated, my father paces the hospital room. “You can stay at Clarence House if you don’t wish to return to the palace.”

“What if I go stay by myself somewhere else?”

“Where?” he challenges. “Why?”

“I don’t know. A hotel.”

“You’re not to be by yourself. Not with a concussion. Impossible.”

“So you’re saying I can stay with Thomas, then.”

“Auggie. Why on earth would you want to stay with that man, of all people? Have you forgotten he led a recent protest agitating for the downfall of the kingdom?”

I gaze at my father while I’m supported by a sea of pillows. “Because we went through hell together. And he’s my friend. Besides, you’re not around anyway. What difference does it make to you where I am? You ignore me, then sent me away to the show like it was boarding school all over again.”

His face flushes. His mouth opens.

Which is how I end up soon after at Thomas’ suite again at the Golden Hotel, high above London on the forty-fourth floor.