Page 7 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Six

N ot only am I destined for a reality TV show, but a reality TV show with Thomas Golden on it, of all people.

Which is the custom hell I’ve earned. I channel my embarrassment into working out every day as hard as I can before the show.

I read a book Lauren placed on my pillow called Media Optics and You .

Since I can’t make any more impromptu trips to Windsor Castle, I run endless kilometers on the treadmill and lift weights till I ache.

I spend the nights with marginal sleep and the occasional night drive or foray to my studio in a darkish, nearly forgotten corner of Buckingham Palace, which can handle the muck of clay and a kiln.

I throw clay around with great abandon, enjoying the satisfying slop over my navy coveralls, and I mull over the opportunity to actually prove I have talents—not least of all to myself.

Aside from a knack of making a spectacle of myself, that is.

And, I tell myself, working with clay isn’t only therapeutic or good for arm muscle tone, but it’s also helping me get ready for the TV show on my own terms, on the off chance there’s some clay-related challenge.

In my latest workout, I drag my forearm across my damp forehead and down some water before toweling off my face. I feel the pull in my biceps and thighs.

My father thinks I have talent. What a concept.

He’s never struck me as the proud papa sort.

But one thing I know about him is that he’s strategic.

And when I’m challenged, I don’t tend to back down.

Even if he is literally gaming me, he clearly has faith that I won’t let the Crown down by falling on my face.

Which leaves me conflicted about how I’m meant to feel about him, and I’m surprised I’m unexpectedly happy that he has some belief in me despite my recent media mess with Katie.

Except I still struggle with the fact that he didn’t ask me if I wanted to do a TV show—a reality show, of all things—and I’ve had no say in the matter. I could have fought back and refused.

But maybe it’s an opportunity, albeit a strange one.

So, quietly, I resolve to prove to him and myself that I can do the show. And most of all, I want to show my mum I can do this, who always believed in me.

Then, I’m at last packing my bags for Renaissance Man . A premium aluminum suitcase with a leather duffel bag waits at the foot of my bed.

Today, I have no sparkles about my person, no nail varnish, no makeup.

I wear a sensible enough, though boldly patterned pullover by a British designer, with a white shirt, and grey trousers with very shiny shoes.

My dark blondish hair is styled flawlessly.

With Lauren, we pull together an approved wardrobe for the week, going back and forth like we’re negotiating a peace treaty on what’s appropriate enough for filming and works for the cameras.

It’s all very bland, though impeccably well tailored.

I quash any misgivings with the breathing exercises taught to me by my therapist. I pack my meds, my tablet, a few paperbacks.

And a sketchbook, too, with some color pencils.

It’s probably wishful thinking that I’ll be left alone to do any of it.

My father’s away, and no one is around other than palace staff to see me off.

Which is typical. Anne and Gav are off on holidays.

And, of course, things are a mess with Katie. She’s still not answering my texts.

Meanwhile, I pray to the reality TV gods—or maybe the showrunner—to show mercy. The only good news is my father didn’t sign me up for a dating show because he knows I would have taken off to start a new life as a total recluse in the Himalayas.

Soon enough, I head downstairs. As the car pulls around and my pristine luggage, with a week’s camera-ready wardrobe, is loaded in by a footman, I fight every last nerve to keep going ahead with the plan for the show.

I get in alongside my bodyguard, Alyse. Aside from keeping me safe, she’s ensuring I end up on set.

After the night out dancing, my security detail has tightened up in all directions, to protect me from myself, most of all, rather than the external threats, because often the internal ones are the messiest, given my track record.

The security savings would be incredible if I didn’t go.

We head south through the broad, rolling hills of the Sussex Downs towards the estate where the show’s cast and crew will stay during the week while filming. At least we have the weekends off. I caught that much in my skim read of the documents. In the back of the car, I fidget with my phone.

When the car pulls through the secure entry, after the check-in at the gatehouse, my stomach flops at the sight of the dramatic country house in pale sandstone.

It’s a beautiful building in an idyllic green setting, because of course it is.

It’s a set perfect for television. And I’ll have to do this the hard way by going in blind with no intel about the other contestants.

Except Thomas Golden, who I still know very little about, other than he’s a future hotel magnate and apparently an influencer too.

The car slowly crunches up the gravel driveway and pulls up to the steps of the imposing house.

Whatever I was expecting, I didn’t think a film crew would be waiting to film my arrival.

I should be used to this sort of thing by now, but this is different: it’s fake reality.

Or even faker reality than usual. I run a hand through my hair, tug my pullover to smooth out any wrinkles. The patent leather of my shoes shines.

After I step out of the car, I’m met by a man with far too many large, whitened teeth and a fair amount of fake tan.

He’s broad-shouldered and stocky, and he has a grin that won’t stop.

His gaze fixes on me like he’s made the most miraculous find.

We stand on the gravel driveway in a full-blown, uncomfortable moment.

Or at least it’s internal on my part as we consider each other.

Externally, a lifetime of proper comportment kicks in on autopilot, and I avoid disgracing myself like I did the other night.

Which I better not think about right now, disappointing my best friend and my father and Anne, too, in a trifecta of shoddy behavior. And forget Thomas Golden.

Right, then. The man clears his throat and makes a show of adjusting his spotted bow tie.

“Welcome to the Renaissance Man Estate, Prince Augustus. I’m Colin White, the host of the show.” We shake hands. His grasp is firm, if clammy. “I work closely with the producers and with all of our guests.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” I give him a friendly smile.

He brightens even more, if that were possible. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Someone has already taken my bags. My security detail has previously been through in advance of my arrival today, and my personal bodyguard, Alyse, trails us.

“Will she always be here with you?” asks Colin.

“Always. Like my shadow is committed to me.”

He brays a laugh, then shakes his head. “As long as she stays out of the shots.”

“I’m sure we can work something out.” I glance over my shoulder at Alyse, who is an unflappable professional as ever. She looks unfazed at my unhinged reference, which would definitely earn me a tut or two from the King.

Alyse nods curtly. “As long as there are no surprises, as our team has discussed with yours.”

“We’ll do our very best,” Colin assures us a little too easily to be convincing as we walk up the steps.

“We’ve planned the locations, as you know, and you have the shooting schedule.

However, we don’t actually script the show.

Everything, I’m delighted to say, is truly authentic.

We’re all about the genuine reactions and skills.

” He beams as if he’s personally responsible for the whole debacle.

Something inside me dies.

Great. The situation is officially dire. Or post-dire, even, like postmodernism. None of these movements gets me out of the situation I’ve landed in, however.

I would have loved a script. Any script. Authentic, unscripted Auggie might be a bit much for the British viewers, but I guess we’ll see what happens.

As we walk into the imposing and impressive entrance hall, a film crew catches my entry and reaction when I see what must be the rest of the cast curiously looking at me. Overall, they’re a tall and athletic-looking bunch, mostly under forty.

I don’t see Thomas Golden. My shoulders ease.

“Hello.” I give my best charming smile. On a list of the Top 10 Smiles in the UK, I came in at number 3, and that was after bona fide celebs. And braces when I was a teenager.

There are murmurs of greeting from the other men. I can’t help but notice a couple of them look decidedly unimpressed. Doing a quick head count, I must be lucky contestant number nine.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Or should I say: Renaissance Men .” Colin laughs at his own joke and claps his hands together.

“It’s my honor to announce the arrival of His Royal Highness Prince Augustus to nearly round out our merry set for Season 1 of our little talent show.

I did tell you we would have a very exciting surprise guest staying with us. ”

Despair rises at the mention of talent. I’m royally screwed.

“Like he needs a million pounds,” I hear someone scoff in the background.

“Like he can actually do anything useful,” mutters someone else.

Fair point to the last.

But wait.

There’s a million pounds on the line? I should have probably read the information pack more carefully. Not that money has ever motivated me, mind, but I’m acutely aware of my privilege.

I keep my face schooled in my pleasant public persona.

“Please.” I look at the group of men. “Call me Auggie. I look forward to meeting each of you.”

In the enduring silence that follows, Colin turns to me as the gathered men start to disperse. “Let me show you to your rooms, and you can settle in—away from the film crews. Thanks, Jimmy,” he tells the closest cameraman, who finally puts the camera down.

Before we go, one of the men catches my eye and comes over with a friendly smile. Despite my nerves, I’m more than happy to see someone not eyeing me with suspicion, and I respond with an equally welcoming smile.

“Prince Auggie. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Jax.” The young man smiles merrily up at me. “My pronouns are he/they. Welcome to the show. They weren’t joking when they had an epic surprise guest joining us.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jax.” It’s thrilling to meet someone who is open about their gender identity. I can’t help but be a little envious.

“And don’t mind Wilson. He’s simply cross by nature.”

“Noted. Thanks.” Whoever Wilson might be, I appreciate the fair warning. “Please excuse me. I don’t want to keep Colin waiting.”

“No problem. See you at the first challenge tomorrow.”

Colin takes me and Alyse up the sweeping staircase to the next level. While I look around the room, she stands at the door. She goes to Colin, and they speak quietly so as not to disturb me.

My guard hasn’t come down one iota. Guard-lowering only leads to trouble, as recent club events have proven.

I glance at Colin when he steps in. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”

“My pleasure. Also, I should apologize for the filming. I didn’t want to tell you so we could capture a genuinely authentic reaction from everyone.

” Another flash of teeth follows. “Dinner is at 6:00 p.m., which is, unsurprisingly, in the dining hall. Or you can have a meal sent up to your room, your preference. Though I do encourage you to meet the others. Filming begins tomorrow morning with the first event. We’ll start off nice and easy, as they say. ”

A sinking feeling comes over me as Colin watches me too closely.

I don’t know what I expected. Of course filming starts tomorrow. I didn’t think about what the experience would actually involve. Obviously, cameras. Lights. And permanent recordings, most of all, broadcast to a national audience of viewers.

“May I ask what we’ll be filming?”

“Oh, my sincere apologies, Prince Augustus. I can’t tell you that quite yet, I’m afraid.

It ruins the element of surprise in a reality show if you know too much.

I do hope you understand. But the filming will be within the building, at least to start the day.

Tomorrow’s dress code is smart casual. My advice off the record is to wear comfortable shoes.

We will all assemble at 10:00 a.m. at the entry, and I’ll provide an orientation to Renaissance Man and the day’s schedule then.

What I can promise, Your Royal Highness, is a tremendous amount of fun. ”

Fun isn’t quite the word I would use.

I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, but there’s one more thing I can say about tomorrow. I’m delighted to tell you our final guest, Thomas Golden, will join us then,” Colin says triumphantly.