Page 42 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

“Well…” I try to focus. I’m starting to get foggier with fatigue since we’ve been watching film and conversing for about an hour, going from darkness to bright and back again.

My head is starting to protest with a dull ache behind my eyes.

“It was a good challenge, the triathlon. It was nice to do a time-based event, with no judging. It’s very clean, isn’t it? ”

Colin agrees, and we move on to the cycling segment as tension rises in my body.

The pack of men competes under bright skies, with a few of us—myself included—starting to look sunburned.

There are cameras on our helmets as well as the cameras at the various stations along the 40 km route to rehydrate us.

Men whip by in spandex on premium bicycles, winding down country lanes and sweeping hills like a Lycra commercial in all the bold colors.

“It was grueling, I remember that much. To be honest, my memory’s a little patchy from that week. But I remember fighting hard to be with the leaders.”

“And Wilson won.”

“Yes, he did.” I press my lips together.

“What do you think about that?”

“Well, he was the fastest, wasn’t he? The clock wins.”

“Which leads us to the final challenge.” Colin gives me an assessing gaze. “Do let me know if you need a break.”

They show a clip of Thomas and me standing dangerously close together, then going up the staircase and turning down my wing to my suites with Thomas’ hand on my back.

I swallow hard. They have everything. Then they overlay an audio clip from our walk.

Thomas speaks, his voice warm and teasing. “Tell me: do princes go on Grindr?”

And then mine, just as teasing. “Princes, I’m afraid, don’t kiss and tell. It’s part of our royal pact.”

I put my face in my hands. Inwardly, I flail. My father will see this. “This is blackmail.”

“This is reality TV. And you both made excellent contestants.”

We take a break long enough for me to gulp down some water and fidget with my cast.

They adjust the lighting. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience right now.

“I’m fine. Let’s continue.” I draw a deep breath into the pit of my stomach and release it slowly. The longer I’m here, the more worn-out I’ll feel. “Let’s see the steeplechase.”

We watch the package of me in the stable getting my horse ready.

Everything looks idyllic. The horses are gorgeous, as horses are, and the leather saddles shine to a high polish.

The men are colorful in their riding attire.

And I’m the most colorful of them all in pink.

It wasn’t a conscious choice to pick pink today to accessorize with, but it is one of my favorite colors.

Absently, I touch my silk scarf at my throat.

It’s the same one, by some miracle. Someone must have kept it for me.

All eight riders gather for the start, with everyone anticipating the start and the horses on edge with the excitement of the riders and spectators.

I lean forward in my chair, both anxious and nervous to watch what actually happened.

I only remember distorted moments. And I have no idea what happened after.

“Are you sure you’re alright to see this?” Colin asks again with concern. “The footage is… dramatic, shall we say.”

“I want to see. Then I can let you know if it’s okay to use, like you told me.”

“Yes. It’s important that you have a say in this,” Colin agrees.

“But not the footage with Thomas?” I ask. He tuts and nods at the screen.

And then, the horses and riders are off. It’s a spectacular summer’s day, with broad blue skies and emerald-green hills, full hedgerows with fences across the course.

Early on, we lose riders around the first jump, but I’m already ahead of the rider who is unseated.

The footage shows everyone getting up, horse and rider both, walking away.

And the loose horse runs the next couple of jumps with the pack of competitors before veering off.

The rest of the race is absolutely as cutthroat as I remember.

And then it’s me and Thomas and Wilson, riding expertly across the sweeping field like our lives depend on it, neck and neck with Thomas and Wilson half a length behind.

The cameras don’t quite catch Wilson’s dirty trick of whipping me, but it only served to drive me to ride faster towards the first fence.

Then, I see a flag to the side of the screen that whips with the wind.

And Thomas’ horse spooks violently, and everyone can see Wilson’s too close, pressing into us—then Thomas’ horse rears, and Thomas is down, and I’m instantly leaning out of the saddle, grabbing for the reins of Thomas’s horse as we are nearing the fence, just enough for our horses to change our trajectory to avoid trampling Thomas—and then I go into the hedge and fence headfirst.

I don’t remember anything after that.

But now there’s footage of both Thomas and me on the ground to fill in the gaps of my memory, both too still. But a moment later, he’s crawled over to me, an unmoving lump in the mud, screaming my name with raw emotion. His fingers fumble for a pulse.

Then, there’s a swarm of people and commotion. Someone’s yelling for medics—I think Gisele—and there’re already sirens going off. Thomas kneels by my head, wiping dirt from my face, loosening my helmet, my cravat, my shirt.

Blood drips from his forehead. His helmet is off, and the wind ruffles his hair.

The cameras don’t show my face. He’s repeating my name, crying and begging for me to wake up.

He’s so raw, oblivious to everyone and anything else as they try to draw him away to get checked out himself. It’s gut-wrenching to watch him.

And the video stops a few moments later.

When the lights come up again in the studio, I press my hands to my face, unable to draw a breath in properly. “Oh God. Shit—I’m sorry?—”

“Language—” Gisele says mildly in the background.

I tremble, watching Colin. We’re all quiet for a long moment. He gives me his handkerchief. I wipe my face.

“Difficult to watch,” Colin says finally. He looks shaken too.

“I—yes.” I can’t argue that. Nobody likes watching an accident, except Gisele.

And apparently the British public, according to her, loves them on prime time and can’t get enough.

And it occurs to me I don’t see Wilson in any of the footage.

He didn’t come to help, by the looks of things.

At least he didn’t trample us for our troubles.

My chest is too tight as Gisele takes the shot back frame by frame to focus on Thomas’ raw emotion on screen as he desperately tries to get me to come around.

I wince.

“What are you thinking?” Colin asks mildly.

“That… I’m lucky to be alive.”

“You are,” Colin acknowledges. “And Thomas too. A terrible accident.”

“Thomas means the world to me. Obviously. Before the accident. And watching what he does here… it’s hard. I don’t want to put him through hell like that again. And I have. And… I’m sorry. Please tell Thomas I’m sorry.”

“How does it feel to see him so upset?” Colin encourages.

“Like I’ve hurt the person that matters the most in the world to me,” I say softly.

“And I wish I could find the right words to let him know how sorry I am. And how much I miss him. Our time together on Renaissance Man had to be the best moment in my life, even with the disasters I seem to have found in each week. Despite that, because of the disasters, everything brought us together. And trying to find my way in my recovery without him has been so lonely.”

Colin is silent, watching me struggle. “Do you want to elaborate?”

“I…” I hold Colin’s gaze. “Thomas has always been public about who he is. About what he wants. About being gay. And I haven’t been, frankly.

I’ve lived in secrets all my life.” I draw in a breath.

“It’s past time for me to put secrets aside.

I owe Thomas at least that honesty because I’ve ruined everything else we might have had.

I’m gay too. And… I fell in love with Thomas.

I shouldn’t have, because it’s impossible, and I did.

I know my life’s even more complicated now, between that and a significant concussion I’m still recovering from, and I probably will be recovering from it for a long time.

The truth is, I know I’m lucky to be alive.

But it would be a lie to not acknowledge who I am, and my feelings, and how grateful I am for everything Thomas has done for me.

I wish I have been the man he is. And, Thomas, I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “With all my heart.”

Colin glances over to Gisele, whose eyes gleam like she literally found gold. The cameras and mics have recorded every word. I’ve gone so far into a new script I could have landed on a romance reality show premiere rather than Renaissance Man . He turns back to me.

“Thank you for sharing,” Colin says. “That’s taken great courage, to share what you have.”

“I hope Thomas forgives me for what I’ve said tonight, but I need to be honest. Even if it’s too late.”

“Do you have anything else to say to the rest of the cast?”

“That… I’m sorry for not being more of myself around them.

And for not being easier to approach. I was lost in myself and, to be honest, my own unhappiness.

I have been for a long time. It was hard for me to be present, often.

And I want to thank those who did make me feel welcome, like Jax and David. ”

Finally, we stop recording, and everyone breaks. The lights dim. I wipe my eyes again with Colin’s silk handkerchief.

“Are you alright, son?” he asks.

“As much as I can be these days,” I tell him honestly.

I could blame the lights, which is fair, but it’s a lot more than a head injury that ails me.

It’s that old chestnut, man versus himself, that I learned about in school.

The whole man-versus-man tutorial inspired Gav to tackle me in the corridor at school as a super-helpful demonstration to our classmates, after which I cursed him out, which led to a week’s detention for us to reflect on gentlemanlike conduct.

“You can use whatever you like on the show. You can show the accident. You can share what I said, if you think that’s useful. ”

“Oh, I’m sure Gisele would love to, believe me,” he assures me. “Would you consider coming to the final screening event in the fall? November, I believe.”

I relent. “Alright. I’ll consider it.”

“We’ll have the team send you details. I realize now we’ve kept you for a couple of hours. Thank you so much for your time, Your Royal Highness.”

“My pleasure.”

“And for the record, I think you’re a brilliant modern Renaissance Man . Never mind not completing all the challenges.”

I smile at his enthusiasm, though I beg to differ. But I bet I’m a ringer for Victorian Man or possibly even Postmodern Man . The spin-off series would be amazing. “Thanks.”

“November,” Colin says again. “I do hope to see you again.”

And at last, we disperse, with Alyse my silent shadow as we leave. My mind is buzzing while a headache’s wrapped thickly around me like fog. I’m exhausted, but all I can think of is Thomas.