Page 46 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

E ven though I opened my heart up on the Renaissance Man studio interview about falling in love, I pushed it all deep down—until the night with Lady Laura brought everything to the surface once more. And now, I can’t stop obsessing about Thomas.

For the second week’s Renaissance Man episode viewing, I watch with Katie at the palace.

Afterwards, I show her the figure of my mother I sculpted, kept down in my studio, still awaiting glazing.

She tells me the sculpture’s even better in real life than on TV.

Meanwhile, as soon as the show airs, the press goes wild, and Katie says the internet goes even wilder.

My mother’s tragic death at a young age is rehashed all over again, analyzed, lamented.

I avoid all news, except for the headlines on my father’s papers opposite me at breakfast as he reads.

When I read his expression, all I see is the sadness in his eyes despite his stoic expression.

When I ask if he wants to talk about it, he says he’s fine and soon disappears to his study.

What I’m really bracing myself for is the episode with the triathlon and the ill-fated steeplechase, which has already stoked the media into a frenzy.

I hide away in my room for the third episode of Renaissance Man .

I watch from the comfort of my own sofa, alone with a duvet for company.

My shoulders start knotting five minutes into the program.

I sweat through the challenges during the heat wave all over again.

Whenever I see Thomas, it’s hard to draw a breath in, my chest tight.

Then, it’s time for the steeplechase, and I brace myself.

Naturally, Gisele has taken the TV-friendly option of dramatizing the footage as much as humanly possible.

The cut I saw weeks ago in the studio had already been more than dramatic enough.

Now, with music, sound, and voice-overs for added punch, it’s something else.

It’s sickening, knowing the inevitability of what’s coming.

Yet I can’t help but watch. But at least it’s honest, and it’s real.

And again, I see myself lying in an unmoving heap, with Thomas frantic beside me in the churned-up turf and dirt before the scene cuts, with medics running over.

It’s actually worse than I remember.

“Fuck.” I wince. My father will see that. And everyone else on the planet, for that matter.

And instantly, my phone starts blowing up with messages, chiming and buzzing to life in a digital meltdown. I have half a mind to shut it off till tomorrow, but?—

Thomas.

I scan through the messages as quickly as they come in, but there’s nothing from Thomas. His desperation on-screen has cut something raw in me all over again.

Well after the episode ends, it’s late, and I lie in bed, sleepless. I’ve been ignoring all the many messages, something for me to work through tomorrow with a clearer head. Instead, I text.

How are you? x

And then comes a message from Thomas. I sit bolt upright, clutching my phone as I huddle over it with the duvet wrapped around me.

It’s terrible to watch. It’s like being there all over again. Seeing you injured. How are you?

I prop myself up on my elbow, squinting at the phone, and switch to dark mode. My mind races to analyze his response. He didn’t say he was okay. Which means he’s not okay. Isn’t Adam the Influencer taking care of him tonight?

I ignore the pang in my gut that follows. Instead, I try to figure out how to respond. I start and delete my message several times over. Finally, I go for the simple truth.

I’m okay, mostly. I miss you. I’m truly sorry about everything. Ax

There’s no response. I wait for a long time. So, I decide to try another angle.

Let me know if you want me to call. I have no idea how you keep time in America these days. I do hear after the Pony Express, electricity followed. I could send a telegram if you’d rather. Axxxx

There’s a response a minute later.

A call sounds great.

So, I draw in a deep breath and call. My heart thunders as he answers the phone.

“Sorry to disturb,” I say as nonchalantly as I can as my heart thunders all the way to my ears, “what with your American revolution and other engagements. By the way, I hear autumn in New York is lovely. With the colors. And, err, trees.”

Thomas laughs, though there’s something subdued about the sound. I can’t quite figure out what it is.

“Fuck, Auggie. How are you?” There’s something vulnerable in his voice.

Then it’s my turn to fall quiet. I roll onto my back.

“I’m—” I spare him my usual glib response in favor of the truth.

Because Thomas. Because he deserves far more than me being an arse.

“I’m up and down,” I tell him honestly. “I’m still recovering.

And, err, feeling a bit lost about where I fit in my life after everything that happened.

I’m due to start public engagements soon.

I’ve been recovering, but also, my father’s been trying to protect me from the press. ”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I figured you were still recovering. Everyone’s gone wild without seeing you in public in months. Admittedly, me too.”

“I haven’t been up for events yet,” I confess. “I’m doing a lot of rehab instead. And how are you?”

“I can’t say I’ve been doing any royal engagements. No royal protests either,” Thomas answers easily, and then his voice softens. “I’ve been hoping you’re okay.”

“Overall, yes. I mean, it’s been different.

But things are….” I struggle to find a word to encompass everything since the accident in July.

Some sort of gesture that captures both okay and not-okay and something wavering in between.

Which he can’t see, but I still end up flailing a hand around in the air.

“A little bit of a blur, the last few weeks. Couple of months, actually.”

“Oh.” He sounds concerned. “I’m so sorry, Auggie.”

“I’ve been seeing the best specialists around, don’t worry. And I’m rigorous with the work they want me to do for my recovery. I practice my exercises, and I have a whole team working with me. I’m very lucky. I know I am.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you have some support.”

It’s a thrill to hear his voice, even if he’s sounding more concerned than I want.

“I shouldn’t keep you from your busy New York life. I mean, you have a whole evening ahead of you.”

“I’m actually in London right now,” Thomas confesses. “I caught the show on UK time.”

“Right,” I say, surprised. Thomas is in London? “I see.”

“But I should probably get back. Adam’s waiting. And… people.” He sounds sheepish. “But it’s really good to hear your voice, Auggie.”

My heart sinks anew. Adam. Of course. How could I forget Adam? Clearly, my subconscious was working overtime on suppressing memories of not only accidents but newfound boyfriends too. Go me with the multitasking. Tell that to the rehab team.

“Good to hear yours too,” I say.

There’s silence. Awkward, vast, all of it. Neither one of us wants to hang up.

“I’m glad you called.” Thomas hesitates.

I chew my lip. Reluctant to hang up, I draw a deep breath. “I guess I’ll see you at the finale.”

“The finale,” he says, surprised. “I didn’t think you were coming. Colin said you weren’t. It’ll be great to see you.”

“It’ll be great to see you too.” I smile. Seeing Thomas is definitely something to look forward to. Even if it will hurt knowing everything ended because of me. I mean, he agreed, after all. But the excitement at seeing him is winning over everything else.

“Do you—do you want to see me before then?” I ask in a rush. “I mean, of course you can say no. You’re busy and you have Adam and I’m sure you’re doing something with the hotel or maybe Instagram or?—”

“Yes.”

I swallow hard.

Thomas clears his throat. “It would be great to see you. I, err, saw the confessional you made. For the show.”

As if there’s any other show we’ve been on together.

“Oh?” I can’t breathe.

“I’m… I’m glad you were finally honest.”

My face burns as my world swirls.

Thomas knows I’m in love with him.

“I guess we should talk.” Thomas’ voice is barely audible.

“I guess we should.” My voice is a breath. “I want to see you.”

“Let’s talk in a few days and make a plan?”

“I’ll need to make security arrangements.”

“Same.” Then he hesitates. “G’night, Auggie. It’s great to hear your voice again.”

“Yours too. Sleep well.”

Once we hang up, I roll to my side and squish my face into a fluffy pillow. Hearing Thomas’ voice only stirred things up, leaving me in knots and with another sleepless night ahead, spent alternatively remembering Thomas and the accident too.

* * *

I don’t even have a chance to sit at the breakfast table the next morning when my father lowers his paper with a crisp snap.

He fixes me with a stern look like I’m about to be sent down to some dank dungeon, which in a palace is a totally viable option.

I’m sure they’re stocked with rats for added effect. “Auggie.”

“Good morning, Father.”

I’m already dressed for physio in my tracksuit, opting for a light breakfast that primarily consists of tea and toast before they do whatever they’ll do to me to put me through my paces this morning. I’m bleary-eyed after only a couple of hours’ kip. It’s better than nothing, though.

He frowns at me, worry across his face. “Did you approve that footage?”

“I… did.”

“Why?” His thick eyebrows push together. Worry mixes with something else. Frustration, I think. “It’s absolutely dreadful to watch.”

I shrug. “Because it happened? Whether we like it or not? The press already knew. Photos were already leaked. May as well show what happened and get in front of it now. Everyone knows I’m alive.

And maybe it’ll help address some of the questions about why I haven’t been out in public so much lately. ”

“Or at all.” He lifts an eyebrow. He tuts. “Now we need to do a different kind of damage control for your fitness to rule at some point.”

It’s my turn to frown. Of course. He’s absolutely fixed on what he wants.

“Father. It’s not a secret that I nearly cracked my head open.

It happened. I’m dealing with the consequences.

And I’m not the only person who has suffered from an accident that they didn’t ask for.

I’m hardly unique.” My mouth twitches. “You might even say it makes me relatable.”

He grimaces. Wearily, he rubs his eyes, a look I remember well from my teenage years at times when I was home from boarding school, when Gav and I would get into scrapes. “Augustus. This wasn’t what I intended.”

“I’ve been conducting some research into brain injuries.

And mental health. And I plan to support a couple of charities.

” I gaze evenly at him because I have been doing research when I’ve been up to it.

Little bits here and there. I’m making my own path forward.

“Potentially to the point of becoming a spokesperson or benefactor or something.”

He sits back in his chair with a sigh. “Is that right?”

“I haven’t committed to anything yet. But yes, when I’m feeling stronger, I may do that.”

He creases the paper in half, setting it aside. He drinks his orange juice. Always with pulpy bits. A butler refills my tea.

Finally, he looks at me again. “The accident was harrowing to see. As your father, it’s terrible seeing how close I was to losing you.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m still here, Father. Besides, the accident will be spectacular for ratings. I’m sure our producer is somewhere over the moon right now. Possibly past Pluto, even.”

“Auggie. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” Exasperated, he gazes at me. His expression shifts to sadness.

I’m quiet. And I don’t mean to be irreverent to hurt him either. I guess it’s a way of coping, maladaptive or not, to protect myself. It’s easier than sitting with the consequences sometimes. For myself and others. “Sorry.”

“Son, you’re the world to me. You and Anne are the most precious gifts. I can’t imagine losing either one of you.”

I press my lips together to keep more inane comments from spilling out. “I’m glad I’m here too, Father. For the record.”

“Very good.”

Shifting in my chair, I check my phone for the time. “I should go. I don’t want to be late for my appointment.”

“Mind the paparazzi,” he warns. “You may end up needing to keep an even lower profile for the next while, Auggie.”

I blink. “You think so? Even today?”

He doesn’t even know what’s coming up on Renaissance Man. Which is probably for the best because he can only handle so many shocks at once.

“I know so,” he says grimly. “Especially after last night again. It’ll be as bad as it was in July. See what Alyse and Nick say. It may be best that you stay home.”

“But I need to get to the clinic.”

He shrugs expansively with a certain resolve that he already knows he’s right and it’s only a matter of time before I come to the same position.

I seek Alyse out, who is scheduled to escort me today.

Sure enough, she reports there’s a crush of photographers already waiting at the palace gate, with people on scooters waiting to tail us.

In the end, I go nowhere and head back to bed.

And I wait for the fuss to die down, longing to see Thomas soon.