Page 37 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
O n the ride home, I fleetingly glance at my messages till the text blurs and I feel sick. My father’s messaged, of course. Also, Anne and Gav, even Katie with a million notifications in our chat like the chat with my father, even several messages from Theodor.
I’ll need to talk to them another time. I squeeze my eyes shut and press the heel of my good hand against my eyes in turn, my elbows resting on my thighs, bent over. Alyse rubs my back. Nick’s on the other side of me.
We manage to get away from the Golden residences without a paparazzi scrum or tail. Logically, they would assume I’m already at the palace.
In my room, after the palace staff help me to get there, I watch a footman put my bag down on a bench at the foot of my bed.
Everything is as I left it a few weeks ago.
Orderly, but lived-in. The bed is perfectly made, a mix of traditional and modern.
My jewel-toned pillows are arranged against the headboard.
It’s home, but I feel like I’ve been away for much longer than a few weeks, and I’m seeing it through new eyes after everything that’s happened.
It’s home, but a cage too. Like everything this summer was some kind of dream, except for the headache, which lingers.
I’m left alone in my large room, with the curtains tied back.
I go to release them to darken the room, then step on the back of my shoes to get out of them.
Thomas helped me put them on and tied them.
I suppose it’s slip-on shoes for me for the next while.
I take off my trousers, letting them fall to the floor and stepping on the bottom of each leg to untangle myself.
Bending over is too painful right now for my ribs.
The thought makes me dizzy. I slide into bed in my boxers and Thomas’s hoodie.
I can’t help but think of Thomas. How does he feel back in his flat?
Or, if I let myself truly feel for a moment, I wonder if his heart aches like mine does.
* * *
“Auggie?”
It’s a voice. Not Thomas’s. Lower, deeper, older.
I open my eyes drowsily, then wake more fully, startled by the recognition. “Father?”
Trying to prop myself up, I wince and try again, more slowly.
My father sits on the edge of my bed, peering down at me with a concerned look. He touches my good arm. “I heard you returned safely this afternoon. I needed to see for myself. I imagine you’ve been briefed about the press coverage.”
“Yes.” Pressing my lips together, I nod.
“Will you come down to dinner?”
I shake my head and immediately regret it. Everything spins. Today was too much.
He gives me a worried look, squeezing my arm. “I’ll have something sent up.”
“I’m not hungry right now.”
“Later, then.”
I gaze up at him, his lined face and silvering beard. “Don’t you have more important things to do than fuss over me?”
“Auggie, you’re important too.” The corners of his mouth tug downward. “And I—all of us—have been terribly worried. I’m glad you’re home.”
I can’t say I’m glad to be back to the palace, back to my life before Renaissance Man , except now with bonus concussion content.
“I need to sleep,” I whisper. “Please, Father.”
The concern remains on his face. “The doctor will come tomorrow morning to check on you. Unless you think you need to see her tonight.”
“I’m okay.”
He shakes his head. “I wondered if you might be up for an event tomorrow. Obviously, you’re not. I’ll ask Anne instead.”
There it is. Confirmation. Duty calls. If I were feeling better, I would have agreed because as much as I feel constrained by duty, disappointing the public who honestly want to see me is much worse.
But I’m quite sure I wouldn’t last more than a few minutes if the last couple of weeks are anything to go by.
“’Kay.” I sag back into the pillows, feeling heavy.
“I’ll be back to check on you later. And, I should say, I’m off tomorrow to Canada.”
“’Kay.”
“And it should go without saying you are forbidden to stay or communicate with Thomas Golden or any anti-monarchist, for that matter. Or go anywhere off the palace grounds while the media uproar continues. We don’t want even more attention by the paparazzi.”
I close my eyes, weary. “I understand, but?—”
“Auggie—”
“I’m staying here. Where can I go like this? You’ve also forbidden my continuation on the show?—”
He frowns. “It’s for your own good. I made a huge mistake letting you on a TV show. It’s a disaster in several ways. You’re lucky to be alive.”
I let my eyes slide shut. My father continues to sit beside me for a few minutes before leaving.
He doesn’t even know about my romantic relationship, such as it was, with Thomas. Even if it is a secret. And only for the duration of the show. At least that’s now in the past, and he won’t have to know.
I can only hope Gisele doesn’t use whatever footage they managed to record of Thomas and me.