Page 41 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

W hich is how I find myself the next week, arriving at the production studio with a heavy security detail through all of the press attention and with my bodyguard, Alyse, at my side to see the Renaissance Man crew.

We’ve kept a low profile, coming after hours to meet a select crew, along with Colin and Gisele.

It’s August, and rain falls. I’m in a pale trench coat over a white shirt and grey trousers.

Very safe wardrobe choices. Except I wear the open-collar shirt with a pale pink ascot, which matches my pink striped socks.

If I must come here, I can do a little to show my personality.

Someone takes my coat. Someone else guides me into the small studio, which is comforting in its darkness.

There are monitors on one side with cued-up footage of the show.

The other side shows a mini set with two armchairs quite possibly stolen from the estate in blue chintz fabric, under spotlights.

I pre-emptively wince at the brightness.

Colin is waiting, and his face brightens instantly at the sight of me. “Your Royal Highness, I’m absolutely delighted to see you.”

“Thanks. Here I am. And it’s wonderful to see you too.” And in a weird way, it’s actually not a lie? Because some part of me wants to go back to Renaissance Man and the secret world there that I had for a few weeks with Thomas.

Beside him, Gisele appears in head-to-toe black, with a fitted jacket over a sheath dress. It’s less thrilling to see her. She wears a bemused expression. “Your Royal Highness.” She gives a small curtsy.

“Please.” My voice is slightly strained. “Let’s go with how things were before. And call me Auggie.”

They both smile, and I’m ushered over to the monitors. I can see snippets of weeks one, two, and three cued up. And then I can’t make out the rest.

“So how will this work?” I ask against my better judgment.

Careful what I wish for. It looks like I’ll be immersed in Renaissance Man in sculpted reality, excruciating moment by moment.

But after the pottery smashup, after everything with Thomas going on in secret, there was a turning point where everything felt possible.

Even winning.

Even being free—with Thomas.

My heart leaps.

“Well, we have a list of possible questions or responses you could use. I imagine this will be an hour or two of your time in total today, but it will be much shorter once we finish production.” Gisele offers me a tablet.

I scroll through, with scripted wording organized by week.

“I think what we’ll do is have you seated over there with Colin, and you can both watch footage from your segments that we have put together.

We will pause, and you can discuss, or you may comment at any time. ”

“Okay.” I look down at the tablet. “I don’t think I’ll need this. I’ll say whatever comes to mind as I watch. That’s probably easier for me.” Possibly regrettable, but that’s a problem for future me.

Colin and I take our seats. Lighting, sound, and cameras are adjusted while I receive a light makeup treatment. I’m freshly shaved, and I had a haircut yesterday, so I feel presentable, at least.

He smiles reassuringly at me. “I’m very glad to see you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for responding to me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry about the delay.” Part of me is happy enough to see him, though another part of me doesn’t trust the situation, particularly Gisele.

I’m sure she’s just looking for fresh kills to drag back to her den and feast. And I worry how I will react at the sight of Thomas when he appears in the footage.

Swooning during the recap won’t help the rumors in the media and online.

I blink a little under the light levels set for the interview portions, and they change them again. “Sorry. Bright lights are sometimes a challenge for me.”

And then, we’re sitting in carefully directed light while we watch, with mics overhead.

I’m back to the estate at week one’s arrival, which feels like a million years ago.

Except it was about two months ago at the start of summer, when I stepped into the grand entry of the country house where the other men were assembled.

We watch the segment that’s been put together, listening on audio.

“How did it feel to see everyone again?” Colin asks. “From the beginning?”

“Surreal,” I say, and it feels like I’m watching this moment unfold from far away. “Like another lifetime. And it’s strange watching myself.”

Colin smiles. “It’s always a little odd,” he agrees. “You’ll get more used to it.”

It’s hard to imagine that. But I sit and watch as we go through the Auggie segments.

I feel a flush rising as I watch through the first challenge, which is truly as cringe as I remember, where I annihilate several perfectly good eggs.

I pray for the chickens that laid them to forgive me.

The clip they show me is zoomed in on my expression as I watch Thomas crack the egg for me, evidently transfixed by him.

And then after, when I’m looking at the egg white he separated for me, he’s watching me with great fascination instead of working on his own baking.

Interesting clip choice. Slowly, I let out the breath I’m holding, but I can’t help but feel a bit flustered.

I clear my throat. “Baking is my weakest skill.”

“What about sewing?” Colin asks curiously.

“You would be amazed,” I assure him. “I have the basics down. They taught us in school. Along with knitting.”

“What a shame you couldn’t join us for the Textiles challenge,” says Colin. He looks truly disappointed, and I have to hide a smile behind my hand. If I’m not careful, I might start to enjoy myself.

We move on to the second week.

We start with the shattered pottery littering the floor of the stone bothy. I swallow hard at the sight. We go through a package of clues about who might have done it—Travis, Wilson, even Connor. And then they flip to Thomas with a storyline about how he wants to eliminate me as a competitor.

“It’s not Thomas,” I say with certainty in the interview. “Trust me, I know.”

Then Gisele just smiles. And new footage begins.

Me saving Thomas from the wayward badger in the kitchen, with us up on the island together.

Oh my God. Did they keep a badger at the ready to see what might happen?

Then there’s Thomas, walking in the tall summer grasses—with me by his side, caught in a zoomed-in private moment, sharing a laugh. The way I look at him, my expression soft, leaves my heart pounding. And clearly wanting more. A lot more.

Oh no.

And then he’s looking at me like we’re in our own private world in the golden, hazy light of sunset.

Because we thought we were alone.

“You filmed us,” I say, breathless. Everything’s getting too warm in here. I shift in my chair.

“Of course we did,” Colin says easily.

I’m terrified about what happens next.

They show us laughing, watching the sunset, having a beer together.

And then, they’re outside the bothy, the soft light glowing from within late at night. And the sound of us talking and laughing. Thank God there’s no film of what’s going on inside. But soon, conversation gives way into just enough to let the viewers know exactly what’s going on inside.

There’re sounds of our heavy breathing for just a moment.

“You can’t air this,” I say flatly. “You can’t.”

“We can and will,” Gisele informs me triumphantly. “You boys deserve an award for your perfomances out of the gate.”

“What do you feel watching this?” Colin asks smoothly.

I reel in my seat, my heart—and more—exposed to the entire country. And Thomas’ too. Moments that were meant to be private—and only ours.

“Upset, actually.”

“Why?”

“This is private, Colin. All of it.”

“You signed a waiver.”

I open my mouth and shut it. “The only thing the scene’s missing is a hand on a steamy bothy window like it’s a scene from Titanic with Jack and Rose.”

“And you won the week,” Colin continues without missing a beat while my head spins between the footage and the lights and the light speed of the transition. His eyes sparkle like he thrives off my rawness. “Very deservedly.”

I cough.

“Your sculpture was such a wonderful testament to the late Queen.” Colin sounds positively demure. “It was very beautiful.”

I haven’t been down to the pottery studio in months, even during sleepless nights.

There’s not a lot I can sculpt or throw with one good hand.

There’s no pottery, no middle-of-the-night drives since the motion of the car sometimes makes me dizzy.

Instead, I lie in bed or on the sofa, waiting for the sun to rise.

Which leaves me plenty of time to think about everything: my mother, Thomas, and becoming King one day.

And that Oxfordshire fish and chips shop I could totally run in the witness protection program. With Thom helping me, of course.

“I’m so glad the piece turned out,” I tell Colin at last. “I have it back at the palace, awaiting glazing.”

“Which brings us to week three.” Colin beams.

They start the trio of challenges for week three.

My hands tighten on my lap as we watch the first challenge.

It’s very interesting now, being in the observer’s perspective rather than immersed as a participant.

From where I sit, warm and comfortable in the studio, I watch all nine men in swim trunks standing and posturing on the beach at Brighton like it’s some kind of seaside swim trunks photoshoot.

Naturally, I pay attention to Thomas, who is glorious, and I suppress a sigh.

Then, we swim through a dazzling morning, and it’s quite the vignette they put together of the men as eye candy, water dripping off muscled bodies as we splash our way onto the shore after the swim challenge.

A lot of people will be thirsty after that. I certainly am, admiring Thomas.

“What do you think?” Colin asks.