Page 45 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

O n the day of the Renaissance Man viewing with Lady Laura, I realize I would rather eat my own shoes than watch myself on screen again.

Even my old paddock boots. Going to the studio was strange enough, but imagining the final cut with all of the out-of-context statements is more than I want to wrap my mind around.

My brain is tired enough as it is. Who knows what Gisele and the production team have done with my confessionals.

They can probably splice things a million different ways.

After all, they’re not interested in the truth but in getting viewers.

At least Anne is away at uni again with Gav, who’s starting his Master of Law degree, which only leaves my father roaming around the palace.

He bubbled with excitement at breakfast about the premiere, and when I turned him down on his invitation to watch the first episode of Renaissance Man together because of my date with Lady Laura, he could have shrieked with excitement at the prospect of me spending time with a woman fitting his specifications.

Tonight, I wear a hand-knit mohair jumper in muted color blocking over dark jeans and boots and a long, lightweight black wool coat against the blustery early fall night. I drive my SUV over to Laura’s in Mayfair, followed by my security team in another Land Rover, who park nearby.

I go up to the entry and am soon buzzed in, and I go up to the fourth floor, where Laura’s flat is located. She answers her door, beaming at me. “Come in!”

Her long hair is down, loose around her shoulders, and she’s in a green zip-front dress with a babydoll cut and high waistline with a full skirt. We exchange a hug and air kisses that are only somewhat awkward, as opposed to full-blown awkward. Which for me, frankly, is victory.

“Your cologne is wonderful.”

“Thank you. And these are for you.” The best way to deal with compliments is to create a diversion. I present her with a stunning bouquet of flowers, which she coos over.

“Let me put these in water.”

I follow her to the kitchen once I hang my coat on a hook in the entry. Her flat is compact but elegant, with art and photos lining the wall. The room is decorated with a bit of an edgy style, which makes sense since she’s my age, after all.

The kitchen is small but perfectly functional. Laura finds a vase. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been looking forward to this night since our first date.”

Our first date. It sounds like a death knell. Cheer up , I tell myself, you need to play the part . “As have I.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” She reaches up to me, sliding her hand along my jaw and kissing my cheek.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily go that far…”

She laughs with delight, then arranges the flowers in a vase. She struggles, frowning. “I can never get this right.”

“Allow me?”

She stands back, and I arrange the bouquet for her, something I’m honestly happy to do. “There.”

“That’s so much better than what I did.” She laughs. “Right. I have wine and popcorn and a list of places we can order takeaway from if you’re hungry. Like a curry.”

“Whatever you like.”

We end up putting together a charcuterie board from the shopping she had done earlier in the day.

Which is about the extent of my culinary skills, let’s be honest. But I bite my tongue on any mention of foreshadowing for tonight’s show, and instead, I snip grapes into small, manageable bits, and she fans out cheese slices and cured meats and crackers.

Food preparation—assembly—is safer than conversation, and the activity is a great distraction.

Everything is set out on a couple of trays, and we go into the sitting room and place them down on the coffee table. Before long, we’re settled into the plush sofa, and the room is lit with several lamps on low for ambient lighting. She settles in beside me.

And I’m trying to stay calm as the hour-long show begins, with the Renaissance Man intro music, which I hadn’t heard before, nor seen the opening montage, with Colin, the grand estate, and a brief cameo of each of the contestants. How mortifying.

“Oh, there you are!” Laura smiles, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Look how handsome you are.”

“Err, thanks.” I work on my merlot. We share the popcorn.

It’s entirely surreal to see everyone again and to see the show put together like this, as opposed to the days of filming and the various crews, plus the voice-overs and interviews from the studio.

The premise of the show is introduced, along with bios of the men, which also are news to me.

It’s actually engaging, and I’m drawn in too.

Except when it comes to me, the last cameo, after Thomas, and seeing him on screen is entirely surreal—and I miss him. It’s hard to breathe all of a sudden.

I watch my arrival at the estate, in front of the great sandstone house, then inside in the expansive entry, meeting the other men with Colin.

Then, there’s a cut with my voiceover, talking about my family and life as a royal.

There’s footage that I don’t know where they’ve found it, of me riding horses, laughing at some posh event, shaking hands, looking windblown and suntanned, followed by a clip where I’m shirtless on a yacht.

It’s all very polished. It’s so strange to watch, like I’m watching someone else.

“Talk about thirst trap,” Laura tells me, pleased. “Which you look even more so in person.”

“Thank you,” I say politely. “And you look very well yourself.”

“Auggie,” she laughs again, squeezing my arm. “Relax.”

“This is me totally relaxed.” I take another handful of popcorn and shove some in my mouth. My stomach’s in knots, anticipating the first week and trying to figure out how to navigate the unholy combo of our second date and feeling askew at the sight of Thomas despite the impossibility of it all.

I have to give Gisele and the team credit for making a truly immersive show.

Eventually, I relax a little because most of the time, it’s not about me.

And even better, occasionally, there’s footage of Thomas looking like the absolute dream he is.

They also had a swish introductory segment on him, about the Golden family and how he’s set to inherit a vast fortune as their only child, his work with charities, and in developing a new social media platform.

He’s gregarious and charming and, well, let’s face it, fucking hot.

And everything inside me wrenches at the sight of him.

Then, the show progresses through the baking challenge.

“Oh God, Auggie. This is heartbreaking.” Laura stares at the screen, reaching for my hand. “You baked gingersnaps for your mum. That’s so lovely. She would be so proud.”

“I tried. Which is about all you can say for the charred blobs on the blackened baking sheet.”

By the time the credits roll at the end of the program, my shoulders sag with relief.

It was intense, seeing everyone again, and it felt like I was back there again, under scrutiny.

Except now, I’m under the eye of the nation and the media, and the press is going to be relentless again after finally dying down.

I sigh. Shit. Clearly, I’m going to need to keep a low profile for a few more months until everyone forgets about me again.

Laura interlaces her fingers with mine, giving me an encouraging smile. “You were lovely. Don’t look so worried.”

“I’m a natural worrier,” I explain. “Something I excel at.”

“You’re funny.” She slides closer, gazing at me. “That’s one of the many things I like about you. And that you’re handsome.”

I gaze at Laura before I say anything else more incriminating with my nervous energy and continue to watch as she shifts to straddle me, sliding her arms around my neck. She grinds her hips slightly before she begins to kiss me. I slide my hands to her waist.

Things start to escalate from there. I’ve already taken off my pullover due to the warmth of her flat. Laura kisses a path along my throat and chest, unbuttoning my shirt and sliding down between my legs when she reaches for my belt. I shiver.

“Wait—” I gasp. I can’t make the same mistake again. It would be unforgivable. It wasn’t fair to Katie, and it wouldn’t be fair to Laura either. “Just wait.”

Laura stops and looks up at me. She comes up again to kiss me. Then I gently catch her, shaking my head.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “I can’t.”

Laura blinks at me, recoiling like she’s kissed the frog that didn’t deliver the prince she’d ordered. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh no. It’s definitely not you—and all me.”

“We can slow down,” she tries. “Or move to the bedroom, if that’s more comfortable?—”

“It’s not that?—”

“Then?” Laura asks archly, a slight edge to her voice. She pushes her hair back over her shoulders. The corners of her mouth tug down. “Don’t you find me attractive?”

“Very. Honestly, it’s not you?—”

“Tell me, then, if it’s not me?—”

“I’m—I’m—well, I’m in love with someone else.” The words come out in a rush. And then I realize what I’ve said. My eyes widen in alarm. “Shit.”

She stares at me as if I’ve devolved from a frog to a tadpole. At least if I had been either, I’d be guaranteed a nice pond. “Sorry?”

“I—should probably go home. I’m so terribly sorry. It’s been a lovely night, and you’re beautiful, as well as an excellent host, but I don’t want to lead you on more than what I have already, and?—”

Her expression shifts, and it’s her turn to look flustered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have invited you if I had known you were seeing someone else.”

“I’m not seeing anyone else,” I say softly, shaking my head. “I didn’t entirely put it together till now. It’s been complicated, to say the least. And like I said, it’s certainly not you. This is my mistake. I’m… I’m actually in love with someone else, I’m afraid.”

“If you’re in love with someone else, why are you here with me?” Laura searches my eyes, looking hurt. She wrings her hands. “You should be with her, shouldn’t you?”

“I… I don’t have a good answer, I’m afraid.” I gently disentangle myself from her and button my shirt again. Everything is starting to take on that slight edge when I know a proper headache is coming. I’ve only had a glass of wine, and my head is starting to ache in earnest.

Laura sighs, holding my gaze. “Whoever she is, she’s very lucky to have you.”

Unable to find the appropriate response, I give Laura a half smile instead. We both rise, and she sees me to the door. This time, the farewell is definitely awkward.

It’s with no small amount of relief that I soon find myself back in my SUV, navigating London with the GPS back to the palace. My guts are in knots as we wind through the city. All I can think of is Thomas and how much I miss him.

I’ve been doing everything wrong.