Chapter Eleven

ASTRID CAME BARRELLING toward me, clearly out of breath and clutching her pearls—had she been wearing them. A livid red painted her face, and her chest heaved as if she were some damsel in distress. I’d never seen her quite so agitated nor so…athletic.

“There you are, Presti. Your mother said you’d be home soon, but I simply could not wait.” Astrid panted, resting her hands on her knees as she sucked in large gulps of air.

“What on earth is wrong?” I cried, fearing something dreadful had to have occurred to inspire such physical activity in one usually so keen to avoid running of any kind. “You don’t run, Astrid.”

“I am perfectly aware,” she gasped, still reeling in huge breaths. “It’s James.”

“James?”

“Yes. He’s been… Well, he was…”

“Oh, do spit it out, Astrid. Is he well?”

“Perfectly healthy, but I’m afraid he’s become embroiled in something of a scandal,” Astrid gasped, thrusting her phone in my face.

An image of a shirtless James sandwiched between two men in a smoky, dimly lit room accosted my vision. Putting aside the scandalous nature of the photograph, semi-naked James looked positively dreamy.

“What happened?” I murmured, unable to draw my gaze from the bare-chested prince with the serene expression on his face and an obvious erection in his nether regions.

“Seems he was snapped in the appropriately named Cox gay bar in Paris. Clearly, this was well into his night out. One can only imagine he was attempting to go incognito—there’s a definite hint of an unnatural moustache, and earlier photographs have him in a shirt and baseball cap.”

“Poor James,” I muttered, still unable to look away from his blindingly beautiful bare torso.

“Quite. The palace is offering a blanket ‘no comment’, but ‘friends’ are already being quoted as ‘knowing there was something different’ about James. This will turn into quite the hubble show, I suspect.”

“Mm.”

“Well?” Astrid asked, a gentle annoyance in her tone. “Are you going to do something about it?”

“Me?”

“You. Presti, that boy is lonely, with limited friends. He has extended the hand of friendship to you. I should think he may wish to hear from you now. He may need to know he has your support.”

“Do you think that’s the best course of action?”

“It is the only course,” Astrid adamantly replied.

“You are quite right.” Poor James must be suffering under the burden of his unfortunate outing. He’d asked me to be his friend. How could I not be? Friendship, I was good at.

“Let’s get indoors; this is not a conversation that should be overheard,” I said, already moving toward my home. “You can tell me everything you know on our way.”

“I know very little,” Astrid began, falling into step at my side. “Larry called me and sent me that photo. From what I can gather, it is all speculation, but the photo speaks a thousand words. It appears Harlan—Earl of Fenwick—was also present, though he seems to have escaped infamy.”

“Poor James.”

“So you’ve said.”

“He must be mortified.”

“Well, of course,” Astrid snorted. “Imagine having this splashed all over the world. No privacy. No control over your own story. Horrifying.”

We made it home with no further words passing between us, to be greeted by my concerned-looking mother.

“Ah, I might have filled her in…on you and James,” Astrid explained. “Not the… Well, not everything, just the penpalship.”

“We’re sticking with that, then? Penpalship.”

“I think we must,” Astrid replied.

“Oh, Presti,” Mum said as we passed the threshold. “How awful. The paparazzi are such vermin.”

“Mm.”

“How do you think poor James will cope?”

“I recall a great and terrible vulnerability in the shade of his eyes, in the tone of his words. James wants nothing more than a private life, not this…this terrible invasion. I think he will be mortified. How does one help him with that?”

“By being a friend. By giving him what he asked of you. Friendship,” my mother replied kindly. Penelope Jones may not be a great intellect, but she knew people. She understood them in a way most of us don’t. It was one of the many things that made her so remarkable.

“I can do that,” I murmured.

“Of course you can,” Astrid assured me. “You are a wonderful friend, Presti. The best.”

Nodding, I excused myself and made for the privacy of my room. James’s privacy had been invaded quite enough already. I didn’t intend to stomp over it again by having my mother and Astrid listen to our conversation.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. He did not answer my call, nor any of the other many (I refuse to confirm a number) I made over the next thirty-six hours. Prince James of England had gone dark. He had not been spotted out and about; his family refused to divulge his location or discuss him in any way.

The only official comment on the scandal came from Harlan, who’d issued a statement telling the world that the night out had been his idea, the venue his choice. Speculation about the sexuality of the future king’s future brother-in-law became a hot topic, yet it wasn’t quite enough to completely shift the spotlight off James.

My mind had been able to think of little else but James. I’d wanted to be his friend through all this, but he’d rejected me. He wouldn’t answer a single one of my calls. I’d left no messages when my calls went unanswered. I didn’t know what to say. And paranoia that somebody may eavesdrop on my calls stilled my tongue. How did James live like this? So exposed and vulnerable.

All these thoughts shuffled through my mind as Astrid, Larry, and I sullenly walked to Pawn Stars to walk my mother home after work on an ordinary Tuesday evening. Astrid had scarcely left my side since the scandal broke. Naturally, this resulted in Larry’s presence on my other side.

“I am certain you two could find far more interesting amusements than walking Mum and me home,” I tried again.

“Prestidigitation Jones. We will not go over this again. I am your rock, your stoic and able helpmate in times of crisis. I will not abandon my post,” Astrid replied.

“Astrid will not leave you, Presti, and I will not leave Astrid. Make your peace with it,” Larry added.

“We are not at bloody war,” I replied, smiling. “I’m really quite all right.”

“Nonsense. You have that unfortunate crease you get in your forehead whenever you fret over something.”

Automatically, my fingers went in search of this crease. Perhaps if I managed to smooth it out, I might get a moment’s peace.

The crease was still there five minutes later when we arrived at Pawn Stars to be greeted by my mother, who told me she wished she could ease my troubles as she kissed my apparently craterous forehead.

“I am quite okay,” I tried yet again.

“Non—”

“Nonsense,” I sighed. “Yes, I know. You’ve all made it quite clear you think me on the verge of some kind of breakdown. James did not reply to my letter, nor did he answer my calls earlier. James does not wish my friendship, so it is not my place to agonise over his current circumstances.”

“Yes, but that’s not you, Presti,” my mother said. “Once you care for someone, you’re in it for life.”

I did care about James, and Mum was right: I wasn’t the sort to easily switch that off. Friendship with me might be bloody hard to come by but even harder to lose. James didn’t need me though. Why that realisation should be a surprise was quite beyond me. We were two very disparate people from very dissimilar worlds.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight? Board games? Charades? What have you planned for me tonight to keep my mind from vespering back to merry old England?” Last night, my fate had been to endure a marathon of Schitt’s Creek —a show I loved. However, it is not much fun when one is forced to watch it sandwiched between a best friend and her paramour.

“Well,” Mum began as she started locking up Pawn Stars. “I thought we’d do something of a bake-off. Howard is bringing everything we need to bake enough sweet treats to make us all sick to our stomachs.”

“Um…great? Perhaps we could ration what we eat and take the leftovers to Mrs Nichols for her homeless shelter. Or is that too Marie Antoinette? Let them eat cake and all,” I said.

“I believe that quotation has been debunked,” Larry replied.

“Really? Huh. Where does that leave us with the sweet treats and the homeless?”

“I’m certain Mrs Nichols will appreciate anything. We shall have a wonderful evening baking. It is very therapeutic, after all.” Astrid linked her arm in mine as we walked.

“And,” Larry added, “we can call it the Marie-never-said-that bake-athon.” He was turning out to be quite an asset to our little group. Fit right in, as the saying went.

For a while, we walked quietly, each of us comfortable with the silence.

“How was your day, Mum?” I asked eventually.

“Wonderful. Ellery McWilliams came in, claiming she wanted to pawn a 1940s dinner set. However, I am sure she was only there to see Mr Foster. Something is brewing there, I can tell. Unfortunately for Ellery, Mr Foster was at his other branch. Something about a possible embezzler over there.” Mum breathed and continued, “Apparently, the till was out by seventeen dollars just last week alone.”

“Terrible,” I replied, trying to keep my thoughts in the moment and not wandering back to James and his troubles.

“Is that Howard sitting against your front door?” Larry asked.

“Certainly not…unless he’s lost his key again.”

The last of the afternoon sun cast a glare on the figure slouched against our door. The magnificent bougainvillea, which we’d only recently agreed upon the colour of its flowers being aubergine, blocked a good portion of our visitor. Long legs clad in denim poked out, a pale, nicely muscled arm rested against his side. But the face remained hidden.

Tiny footsteps of nerves pitter-pattered up and down my spine. It wasn’t fear making my circuits haywire but more a sensation or feeling that we were on the precipice of a momentous moment in our lives. Something big barrelled toward me even as I wondered who on earth had set up home on my mother’s front porch. Surely it couldn’t be who I thought?

“Oh my god,” Astrid whispered. “Oh my god. Presti, this is momentous.”

What on earth?

And then I watched as my mother effected a low bow. “Your Highness.”

What?

“What?” I shouted, shocked and surprised, pitching my voice too loud.

“Please don’t curtsey, Ms Jones,” James said as he struggled to his feet.

“What!” I shouted again.

“I hope it’s okay that I’ve just turned up on your doorstep,” James mumbled, his gaze fixed on mine. “I needed to get away and… Well, Kincumber seemed as good a place as any.”

“What!”

“Do stop shouting, Presti,” Astrid said before turning her attention back to the prince and continuing, “I think perhaps he is broken, James.”

“I am not broken,” I sniffed. “Shocked. Perplexed. Bamboozled. But not broken.”

“Then, for goodness sake, find your manners and invite His Highness inside,” Mum added as she opened our front door.

“May I?” James asked when I remained still and silent.

“Of course.” I gestured for James to precede me into the bowels of our small, decidedly un-palace-like residence.

We marched, all five of us, single file down the long hallway past bedrooms and bathrooms to spit us out in our comfortable living room.

Things did not get less awkward as we stood around, shifting uncomfortably as we wrestled with how to behave under these extraordinary circumstances. Could I be dreaming? No other valid explanation for this strange turn of events seemed plausible.

“Um,” James bravely began, “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand toward Larry.

“Lawrence Brooke-Brooks, Your Honour.” Larry shook the prince’s hand and nodded. Your Honour. Dear god.

Prince James smiled that blinding smile. “It’s just James. And it’s lovely to meet you, Lawrence.”

“Larry.”

“Larry,” James agreed. “I guess you are all shocked to see me here.”

“Well,” my mother said, gently patting James’s shoulder. “We have seen the news…terribly invasive.”

“Absolute monsters plastering those photographs all over. Abhorrent,” Astrid said.

“Appalling invasion of privacy,” Larry added.

Then, all eyes turned to me, doubtless waiting for me to add my outrage to the consensus. I remained silent—mute, like a stunned mullet. My brain could not make sense of Prince James standing so casually in my mother’s living room, draped in an ordinary T-shirt and jeans ensemble.

The world as I knew it had tipped upside down, turned inside out. What was I supposed to do with a prince of England in my home?

“Presti?” Prince James said. “You seem…unusually quiet.”

“Isn’t he?” Astrid agreed. “Usually, when Presti is thrown for a loop, he becomes positively loquacious. Verbally vomits out every thought in his head. This silence is most odd.”

“May I speak to James alone?” I’d hardly got my request out when I saw the retreating backs of the three people I loved most in the world. They fled as if hell’s hounds were on their tails, nipping at their heels, leaving me quite alone with James and with not a clue what to say to him.

For a moment, we stared at each other. Then I stepped forward, opened my arms and pulled him into a hug. His larger body fit nicely against mine, his muscles trembling until he finally relaxed a little.

“Presti,” he whispered, his breath ruffling my hair. “I…”

“Sh,” I murmured. “Sh. It’s all right now. I have you. You’re safe here.”

James’s body slumped even further into my hold, his tenseness easing—this poor, lonely man. My heart ached for him.

“How do you feel?” I asked, my arms still tight around his body.

“I feel a little nauseous. And I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

“That’s not… I meant, how are you feeling about what’s happened to you?”

James carefully extricated himself, taking a few steps away from me but maintaining eye contact. The teal of his eyes appeared darker, stormier than I remembered. His mouth turned down into an ill-suited frown. If ever a set of lips were made for smiling, they were James’s.

“I ran away,” he muttered. “Harlan offered… He tried to take the fall for the entire debacle, and I let him. And I ran.”

“James—”

“No. I am a coward, Presti.” James tugged on the strands of his messy hair. I couldn’t be sure if he did so in frustration or as an act of self-flagellation—punishment for his perceived cowardice.

“Have you spoken to Harlan?”

“Several times.” James lowered his eyes, hardly daring to glance at me. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I had planned to come out, but then it happened…that night out and those pictures. I lost my nerve because I didn’t want it to be like that. I wanted to come out without much fuss, but then my…obvious pleasure at being sandwiched between two men was plastered all over the world. All I could think was how safe you made me feel and I…” James shook his head, seeming to run out of steam.

Instinct drove me as I opened my arms for him again. James didn’t hesitate, settling into my embrace as if it was the only place he wanted to be on earth. He felt so right nestled against me.

“I’m so sorry, James,” I crooned as I held him. “So sorry. Nobody should be outed in that fashion.”

“I haven’t even spoken to my parents.” James’s voice was muffled against my throat. “They must be horribly disappointed.”

“Because you’re gay?” I asked, my blood beginning to simmer.

“No. Because of those photos.”

“They’re not… I mean, the royal family aren’t homophobic?”

“Not horribly, no. My parents and brother have been great. But the rest of the family… Well, there’s more of a quiet homophobia. Something along the lines of ‘It’d be so much easier if you were not queer, James’.”

“I see.”

We were still draped about each other, and though conversing in this manner was somewhat awkward, I had no desire to untangle myself from James. And he was quite welcome to remain in my embrace for as long as it benefited his equilibrium.

“Ah, something of an awkward question, James.”

“Mm-hmm”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Not a soul.”

“Okay. Follow-up question. How much trouble might I be in for offering sanctuary to a prince?”

James laughed, a wondrous sound. “Is that an invite for me to stay?”

“It is,” I replied. “Do you accept?”

“Wholeheartedly.”

There was so much to do. Advise Mum James would be staying. Stock up on meals that are more fit for the royal palette. Purchase sheets with a thread count higher than ten. Put out the three-ply toilet paper. Swear Astrid to silence and best behaviour.

All that could wait.

Because James was still in my arms, and I liked it far too much for it to be over just yet.