Chapter Fifteen

JAMES MADE AN ugly woman.

And despite the dire situation we found ourselves in, I couldn’t stop laughing every time I looked his way.

“Prestidigitation Jones,” Silkie fumed. “If you laugh one more time, I shall become positively homicidal.”

“Don’t murder him on my account, Ms Bellbird,” James crooned, his charm thick in the air. Who on this planet had the power to say no to him?

Silkie, astonishingly, blushed. “Well, my prince, for you I will leave him intact.” Silkie bowed low for maybe the fiftieth time since she’d arrived.

“I am sorry, Silkie. But you must admit James, in fact all of us, look quite ridiculous.” I frowned down at my outfit. A full-length gold-sequinned gown did nothing for my figure, though it hugged my body like a glove. I looked like an oddly shaped disco ball.

As hideous as my outfit was, it was nothing to the feathered monstrosity James had squeezed into. It had a flaming red, plunging neckline which Silkie planned to cover with a feather boa, because no self-respecting queen would allow a hairy cleavage to be on display. And then there were the wigs and make-up. Don’t get me wrong, I’d seen Silkie in these frocks before, and she looked amazing in them. They just weren’t for everyone.

Astrid cast a considering gaze over me. “You look good as a blonde, Presti. Perhaps you should—”

“You wash your mouth out. I was born a brunette and a brunette I shall remain.”

“But blondes have more fun, apparently.” Larry put his arm around Astrid and pulled her into his side. He too had been tizzied up into a skintight evening gown, his face painted with inch-thick make-up like the rest of us. Somehow, though, Larry managed to look pretty.

“You mustn’t dye your hair, Presti,” James murmured. Since news of his discovery broke, he’d been quiet and sullen, apologising repeatedly for the mess he’d got us all into. “The rich brown, almost black, of your hair is… Well, it’s a lovely colour.” James winced and shook his head sadly.

Was he so very distressed about our predicament or had he been unable to express himself adequately? I’d wager a bit of both.

“Silkie, how in the devil do you function with these eyelashes? It is like peering through slats in vertical blinds,” I said to draw attention from James. Everything I knew about James warned me to keep the conversation light, nothing deep or troubling would do for this situation. As amazing and strong as I knew James to be, he also had a fragility that seemed to awaken a protective streak hibernating within me. I hadn’t known it existed until I’d felt an overwhelming urge to knock out the teeth of the paparazzi waiting outside ready to pounce on James.

“Oh, my dear sweet boy,” Silkie cooed, apparently troubled by my naivety where eyelashes were concerned. “These eyelashes are not there for functional purposes. They are a weapon in one’s arsenal for seduction. Flutter, flutter, and pop.” She did something weird with her eyes that, I’m not going to fib, frightened me a little.

“Or,” Silkie continued. “One can look demurely up through one’s lashes at the focus of one’s desire.” More than the flutter, flutter, and pop, I found Silkie’s attempt at demure even more terrifying, but I knew she was trying to help. God, I loved her.

“Um, are we expected to…and pop?” James asked.

For a moment, I hoped the answer was yes. I really wanted to see James flutter and pop. But more than that, I wanted to see him smiling and happy like he’d been before Silkie called Paul to let him know James’s world had blown up again.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Silkie answered. “Let’s practice. Now, bat your lashes as if trying to dislodge grit from your eyeballs and then suddenly freeze with them wide open, looking up and to the side. This is your basic coy flutter, flutter, and pop.”

Astoundingly, James did exactly as Silkie instructed. I’d never seen anything more adorable. “Like this?” James asked, fluttering and popping again and again.

Silkie clapped her hands and laughed. “Exactly like that. You are utter perfection, Your Highness.”

James smiled back and then fluttered and popped in my direction. He mesmerized me, and it wasn’t the first time since he’d landed on my doorstep. James had told me he’d never met anyone like me before; the same was obviously true for me. How would I survive him walking out of my life? But what reason did he have to stay?

“So, what’s the plan?” Paul asked, still in his chinos and tee. As much as he wanted to, there’d be no fleeing the scene with us for Paul. I couldn’t imagine a more wretched life than being trapped indoors. He had the occasional small victories, managing to walk downstairs and spend a few moments on the street, but they were few and far between.

“Well,” Silkie began, throwing herself into the role of escape planner. “I’ve already laid the foundations for our cover story. I let slip to one of the vultures that I was in the middle of a drag class when they accosted me—”

“A drag class?”

“Sometimes, Astrid dear, fabulousness must be taught. One is not born with the ability to gracefully sashay in five-inch heels.”

“That tall?” James stammered. He held up the heels Silkie had given him, glaring at them as if they offended him with their height.

“It is a must. No queen would be caught dead in less than five inches.” Silkie winked, thankfully forgoing any further gymnastics with her eyelids.

“I’m not certain I can walk in these,” James muttered.

“Forget walking in them. By the time I’m finished with you, Your Highness, you’ll be effortlessly gliding in them.”

An hour later, we were preparing to face the media in our disguises. The chances of success had been thoroughly debated, the pros and cons of attempting this subterfuge endlessly picked apart. At the end of the day, it was all up to James whether we went through with it or not. He had the most to lose.

If we were discovered, I’d be in the media spotlight for a flicker of time, but for James, the scrutiny would never end. He’d be chased, hounded, his life picked apart. Every action, word he spoke, look he gave for the rest of his life would be debated, frowned upon. Who he was would be celebrated by some, vilified by others.

The life he led, the choices he had to make, the sacrifices, were far from enviable. Poor James. I simply could not imagine walking in his shoes, not even for a second.

“Presti?”

“Mm?”

James stepped closer, his breath ghosting over my skin, a shiver ripping up my spine at his nearness. “You can stay here. Nobody ever has to see you with me.”

“Absolutely not. We leave no man behind, James.” I furrowed my brow, willing my expression to show the determination I felt to stand by him even though my legs felt hollowed out and stuffed with jelly.

“We aren’t going into battle,” James replied, that beautiful smirk on his handsome face.

“Aren’t we? I’d fight the whole damn world if it kept that frown from your lips,” I declared, not caring I sounded like a fool.

“What frown? I’m smiling.”

“Now, yes, but you’ve been wearing a frown since Silkie called. The same one that creeps over your features when you talk about the media or having to live in a fishbowl.” Indignation bloomed within me when I thought of this life being thrust upon James. “You have no say in it, James, and it isn’t fair. I know so many people would kill for fame, but you had no choice.”

James smiled, his warm fingers reaching for me, toying with a wisp of hair at my nape. “I’ve never heard you sound angry before.”

“I am angry, James. I’m angry that people you’ve never met will judge you without knowing the sweet, kind, funny, intelligent man you are. I’m angry that a whole bunch of them will feel some right to be disgusted with you for not being who they think you should be. I’m angry that these strangers get a say in your life. That you’re forced to hide who—”

“I’m not forced to hide who I am, Presti. I could walk out the door right now and tell the world I’m gay. I could, but I… It’s me. I’m a coward. I’m not ready.” James’s eyes were devoid of the joy that had been there two hours ago, when he’d been watching me sing, when he’d been talking and laughing with me and Paul, Astrid and Larry. And I hated the world for robbing the happiness of someone who deserved to smile every second of every day.

“There isn’t a cowardly bone in your body, James,” I replied. My teeth clenched tight as I fought not to blurt out more, as I swallowed down the words to tell James to fight for who he was. Maybe even to fight for me. He would in time, but it had to be in his time.

“Are we ready?” Larry said, tottering toward us uncomfortably in his high heels.

James and I burst out laughing at the sight. I thought it a victory James could laugh at all given the circumstances. “As I’ll ever be,” he answered.

“Right,” Silkie began, “follow my lead and let me do the talking. That sensuous British accent of yours will be our undoing, Your Highness.”

“So will calling him Your Highness, Silkie,” I added.

“Quite right. We must have names for you all.” Silkie tapped a thoughtful finger against her full bottom lip.

“Must we?” I asked.

“Oh, indeed. I think for you, sweet boy, we shall have Ana Conda. Larry will, of course, be Tess Tickles, and for His Highness, we must have Penny Tration.”

“No!” Larry, James and I screamed in unison.

Silkie sagged, shook her head as though completely disappointed with us, and then said, “Fine. Let’s stick with boring then, shall we. Scarlet, Rose, and Crimson.” Silkie pointed at each of us in turn, her displeasure showing in her curled lips and snapped words. I knew she wasn’t angry, but Silkie did like to be over the top. She’d managed that rare skill of living her life unapologetically.

“All right,” Astrid said, returning from reconnoitring downstairs. “There are three of them. Each with cameras. I asked them if they were here to cover the inaugural drag queen class for F*ckingham Phallus. They fell all over themselves to convince me they knew James was here. I put on quite the show of ignorance, I must say.”

“Thank you, Astrid,” James said.

Astrid nodded. “Right. Let’s get you out of here then.”

Silkie led the way. We were to follow behind. Nothing but students obediently following our teacher after a masterclass on how to successfully ‘do drag’ as Silkie insisted. We managed the stairs admirably, descending like angels falling gracefully from heaven, one might say.

Our walk around the side of the building toward the front of the sex shop was more sashay than I’d have thought possible for three men new to the painful world of super high heels.

“Miss Bellbird,” a reporter called as we stepped into the open. “Any sign yet of the prince?”

“Shh,” Silkie growled. “My students are novices in five-inch heels, so unless you want to foot the exorbitant bill for a nasty fall, do not disturb them. But as you can see we have only baby queens here. No princes.”

We kept walking. The scrutiny from the reporters felt thick against my skin as they watched us, eyes narrowed. I held my breath, certain at any moment they’d discover James behind the thick make-up. My pulse thumped as I waited for the flash and glare of their cameras. Surely, they could hear my heart pounding in my chest.

“Look at them,” Silkie cooed. “Aren’t they sensational? Simply the most divine baby queens I’ve ever had under my tutelage. Now, if you need a story, that’s it. I could do with the free advertising.”

Sometimes the uncomfortableness people got around the idea of anything different from societal norms could be a blessing. Their discomfort worked in our favour now as each of the assembled reporters turned away, feigning interest in their equipment or phones. None of them were here for a story on drag queen classes.

“Right, ladies,” Silkie went on, undaunted. “Sashay, sashay, and let’s add in a flutter, flutter, pop.”

Not a single reporter looked our way, their uneasiness increasing. Holy hell, we were going to get away with this.

As long as I live, I’d never forget the sight of James in his ballgown, fluttering and popping. The moon caught on the blue of his eyes even through the giant lashes, his smile swallowing his entire face. Despite possessing a large vocabulary, I couldn’t think of a word to accurately describe how glorious he looked. And the sound of his laughter came close to knocking me off my feet.

I could love this boy.

Squashing that dangerous thought as well as I could, I concentrated on not making more of a scene by falling on my arse or—god forbid—kissing the daylights out of James in front of people who desperately wanted to expose every secret he had.

With every step, my confidence increased, but I didn’t relax until we’d made it to Silkie’s car and were hurtling toward home. James sat quietly in the back, pressed to my side. His fingers entwined with mine, his breath eventually evening out.

“That was too close,” he whispered. “I must leave, Presti. I can’t—”

“I know, James. I know.” And though I understood him not wanting to be found here, I felt sad for him. Sad for us.