Chapter Sixteen

HARLAN ANSWERED IMMEDIATELY , his voice shaky and exhausted. I’d left him holding the bag when I’d fled after those pictures surfaced from our night out in Paris. He’d encouraged me to go and convinced me he understood, but I still felt terrible. The press had more or less left him alone after he’d given his comment that the night out had been his idea. He’d outed himself to save me. He was a better friend than I could ever hope to be.

Abandoning him to take the fall had been the right and wrong thing to do—just like leaving Presti now. My conflicted brain couldn’t make sense of anything.

“I’ll get you on the first available flight, James,” he said quietly once I’d explained the time had come for me to return to the real world. “Are you certain you’re ready to come home?” I’d filled him in on my narrow escape tonight, which had led to questions about Presti. Some I hadn’t been willing to answer, others I didn’t know the answer to.

“How bad has it been?”

“George and Hannah’s engagement continues to be the lead story, but our night out and your subsequent disappearance are mentioned daily.”

“I’m so sorry, Harlan.”

“Nonsense. Nobody cares about me being there that night. They left me alone as soon as I made it clear I would not be commenting further.”

“Still, I wish you hadn’t been dragged into it.” Poor Harlan hated crowds and attention more than I did. His sister’s wedding would be a monumental nightmare for him.

“You’ve managed to avoid the press Down Under, James. Have you been out of doors at all?” Harlan asked. I could hear the click-clack of his keyboard as he planned for my return home while continuing to talk with me.

“Many times. Nobody paid me the slightest bit of attention until tonight.” A heavy sigh escaped me. “It was wonderful.”

“And this boy…Presti?”

“He’s been the best part, Harlan. He…he makes me feel safe. When he’s around, I feel like I’m home.” Harlan said nothing in response. “Bloody stupid nonsense. Forgive me. I think I’ve gone a bit bonkers.”

“Not at all, James. Sounds like you’ve found something—someone—special.”

“He is. And that’s why I need to go. Presti doesn’t deserve the shitstorm his life would become if I…well, if I started a relationship with him.” Every time I thought about the media blow-up coming my way when I came out, my stomach roiled like a ship tossed in a violent storm. Presti could not be caught up in that nightmare.

“Sounds like it’s a little too late for that,” Harlan said. “Have you asked him what he wants?”

I shook my head, though Harlan couldn’t see me from miles away in merry old England. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t do that to him.”

“You should give him the choice, James. Tell him how you feel and ask him. Don’t make decisions for him.”

“He won’t understand. Not until he’s chased down the street by a mob of paparazzi. Not until he finds a photo of himself splashed all over the front pages and realises just how close those zoom lenses can get.”

Presti chose that moment to pop his head into the room. I’d barricaded myself in his mother’s bedroom as soon as we’d made it home from Paul and Astrid’s, excusing myself to make calls. I needed to start extricating myself from the web of feelings that had spun within me. This family I had barged in on only a week ago had sunk their claws into me. And I loved it. The idea of leaving them made me nauseous. Leaving Presti would kill me, so I had to begin pulling away from him while I still had a chance of doing so.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, James,” Presti murmured when I waved him in. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything?”

I need you .

The sentiment sat on the tip of my tongue, ready to leap off and out into the world, but I swallowed the words down. I could not be the ruin of this remarkable man. So, instead, I said, “No. Nothing. Thank you.”

Presti nodded sadly and left. The sorrow in his eyes gutted me—a sharp pang like a knife to my heart. How badly had I already hurt him?

“Harlan, I need to go. Can you text me the flight details?”

“Of course. Be safe, James.”

After thanking Harlan again for his help, I ended the call and walked out to find Presti. He wasn’t hard to locate. Already, I knew where he went to feel better.

He stood under the moonlight, surrounded by his beloved plants, looking for all the world like an ethereal being sent to earth to torment me and fill me with joy simultaneously. Pleasure and pain. A temptation I had to be strong enough to resist, or I would destroy the very person I wanted to protect most.

For long seconds, I stood there watching him. He tilted his face toward the light, his eyes closed, his arms stretched out to the side, fingers drifting over the leaves of plants I didn’t know the name of as if touching them kept him grounded to this earth. Every so often, he sighed and licked his full bottom lip. He swayed slightly from side to side. He might have been in a trance, but I knew he was calming himself. How well I knew him after so short a time! Presti hid nothing of himself from me.

Every cell in my body stretched toward him, urging me to take him in my arms, hold him tight, and keep him safe. But the best way I could do that was to leave him. I had to go back to the other side of the world, back to my life so far from his.

“I know you have to go, James,” he whispered. “But I wish you didn’t.”

“If I stay… I can’t stay, Presti.”

He stood side-on to me, his eyes remaining closed. “I know.”

Leaving was the right thing, but it felt like the worst, most terrible thing I’d ever do.

“James?”

“Yes?”

Finally, Presti opened his eyes and turned to face me. The blue of his eyes looked silver in the moonlight; his pale skin appeared even whiter against the ink black of his hair. “I know you can’t stay. I know I’m not worth it, but would you…stay with me tonight? Just this one night.”

Jesus.

“Not worth it? Presti, don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

Knots twisted my guts. There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to scream that he was worth it, that he was worth cutting my heart in two by walking away from him so I could save him. I wanted to shout and yell that I’d stay with him forever if I had my choice. Swear to him that I’d never leave him if staying wouldn’t be the ruin of him.

Instead, I stepped closer, the soft scent of alpine I’d forever associate with him tickling my nose. His warmth radiated out, heating the tips of my fingers as I gently traced his brow, down his soft cheek, across his plump lips. “I’m leaving because you’re worth everything to me.”

My entire body yearned for the feel of him under my hands, against my body. The fear I might never hold him in my arms again after tonight stabbed deep and sharp, an agony dulled only by the thought we’d have tonight. Memories of the perfect man for me were all I’d have left soon.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

“Presti,” I whispered as he turned into my arms, pulled me close, and kissed my lips.

“Please,” he moaned, pressing closer, yet still not close enough. He took my hand and led me to his room.

“I’ve never done this before,” Presti murmured as he dropped my hand, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt.

Part of me wanted to still his hand, tell him to save himself for someone worthy, someone who could give him the world. Someone who could give him more than just this one night. But I was a selfish bastard and wanted this memory to hold onto. I wanted memories to keep me warm in the cold, lonely nights I knew would make up the rest of my life. How could I ever walk in the light again once I turned my back on the bright, shining being that was Prestidigitation Jones?

So, I watched him remove his clothes; I gasped at his beauty and melted into his touch. I burned scorching hot as we made love and soared all the way to the heavens.

And when the light of dawn woke me from my dream, I knew I loved him. Because how else could I bear to walk away from this pleasure, this home I’d found with him, if it wasn’t the only way I could save him from the nightmare if I stayed?

*

LEAVING PRESTI HURT more than I thought was possible to bear. Undoubtedly, the pain of it should kill me. The flight home to England lasted an eternity, interspersed with memories that drew a blush to my cheeks: the feel of his skin against mine, his soft gasps, the way he pulled me closer in the middle of the night, wanting more.

All I could think about as I sat outside my father’s office was Presti. The only place I wanted to be was thousands of kilometres away in an insignificant little house surrounded by a well-loved garden. Presti’s bedroom couldn’t have been bigger than this little anteroom I sat in now, waiting to feel my father’s wrath—worse, my grandmother’s. Yet I’d never felt so comfortable, so… me in all the rooms of all the palaces as I had in Presti’s small room.

“Haven’t seen him yet, old boy?” George slapped me on the back as he dropped beside me onto the couch.

“Nope,” I muttered. I could hardly meet my brother’s eyes. Though I knew he wanted to marry Hannah, I also knew he’d been rushed into it thanks to the mess I’d made.

“Are we planning a big outing?”

Ugh. My brother, about as subtle as a sledgehammer. “No.”

“No?” George looked perplexed, which I understood. “I thought… Well, you’ve kind of got one foot out already, James. Makes sense to just roll with it.”

“I’m not ready, George.”

George watched me closely, something that looked an awful lot like disappointment in his eyes. I couldn’t help that. I had to come out when the time was right for me. “Well,” my brother said, standing and stretching to his full height, “when you are ready, you know I’ll have your back. Right?”

“I know. And thank you, George, for taking one for the team and marrying Hannah.” I smiled, hoping my joke would lighten the mood.

George snorted. “Yeah, real bloody hardship that—marrying a beautiful girl I love and living happily ever after.”

“I hope you get your happy ever after,” I replied. “You deserve it.”

“You deserve it too, James. Don’t you forget that.”

I blinked at my brother, surprised by his words. Most of the time, George was a massive jackass, but now and then he showed this side—a softer side, a side that said he did care.

“James,” my father called, breaking the spell between George and me.

“Good luck, old boy,” George said, smirking. He winked and left me to my fate.

Wearily, I rose to my feet and strode into my father’s office. Why did it have to be so hard to be myself? Why was it so exhausting? Or was I making it more complicated than it needed to be? I could come out. I had my family’s support; I knew that. But I just… I couldn’t face the media storm, the public scrutiny. I was a coward.

“It’s good to see you, James,” my father said as I sat across from him. Papers, a sizeable leatherbound diary, a laptop, and various other stationery items covered his desk. “You scared us.” This last part came out barely a whisper, and I wondered if he’d meant to say it at all.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention,” I answered.

“I know.” He sighed and rubbed his temples as if warding off a headache. “I know this isn’t the life you would have chosen, James. But you are a prince of England. Third in line to the throne. You cannot just flit off when things go wrong for you—”

“Go wrong?” I interrupted. “There were photos of me sandwiched between two guys, sporting an… I mean, clearly turned on. That’s not going wrong, Father; that’s fucking mortifying.”

“Language, James.” He sighed again. Was it me that exasperated him so much? More than the massive invasion of my privacy? “It was…embarrassing for you, I’m sure, but we face these things. We don’t run.”

“When was the last time your erection was plastered all over the news?”

A sharp intake of my father’s breath warned me I was treading on thin ice. “Never. Because I don’t put myself in a situation where they’d be able to get a photo like that.”

“So, I don’t get to enjoy myself? Be young and free?” We were on the same merry-go-round we often found ourselves on. Everyone in my family agreed the intrusion of the media and the public interest in our private lives was the heavy price we paid for being born who we were, but how to deal with it was something we couldn’t quite manage to agree on.

My parents had tried to make arrangements with the press when George and I were born. They’d give them time and opportunities for photographs, and then we’d be left alone. Needless to say, certain parties in the press didn’t hold up their end of the bargain.

“You need to be more careful, James.” Father shook his head and rubbed his temple again. “Have you decided to come out?”

“No.”

“No, you haven’t decided, or no, you’re not going to come out?”

“I’m not ready. I can’t.”

My father nodded, and unlike the disappointment I saw in George’s eyes, I swear I saw a flicker of relief in my father’s. “Very well. Let’s agree to put it off until after the wedding.”

“Agreed,” I nodded.

“Now, what of this boy in Australia?”

“Presti?”

“Yes. The one you ran to. The one you stayed with. What does he mean to you?”

“A friend.” The label tasted bitter and wrong, precisely like the lie it was, but I would protect Presti at all costs. Nobody could know how I felt about him. Nobody could know he meant home to me. Nobody could know I’d tear the world apart for him. Christ knew I’d already torn myself in half for him. I’d left a large part of myself with Prestidigitation Jones in Kincumber, Australia.

“Good. Then, let’s also agree you won’t run off to him again.” My father peered at me over his glasses, testing me, watching for any sign that Presti might become a problem for the monarchy. For as much as my father offered to support me, as ready as he’d been to stand behind me if I'd chosen to come out publicly, I didn’t believe he was ready for a boyfriend in the bargain. Because that would make it all too real.

“We are friends, Father. Nothing more. And the only contact we shall have from now on is as pen pals.”

“Pen pals?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. But remember, James, nothing in the letters you exchange that could come back and bite us in the arse.” My father nodded and looked down at the papers on his desk, signalling our little tete-a-tete was over.

“I know, Father. I know the rules.” I’d been raised on the idea of not trusting anybody outside our immediate family and small circle of close friends. I’d been warned repeatedly about the risks. The consequences of trusting the wrong person had been drilled into me from birth—another thing to hate about life as a royal. Genuine relationships could not be built without trust, and I was conditioned to mistrust.

Without another word, I left.

The palace felt as cold and lonely as it always did as I returned to my rooms. None of the spaces held any warmth, no feeling of home or comfort, even though I’d lived here all my life. I didn’t even get to choose my furniture. Instead, I had heirlooms that could have come from a museum. The artworks decorating the walls had hung there for over a century and certainly weren’t to my taste. These rooms were for my use, but nothing of me was in them.

Walking to the large window, I looked out at the crowds gathered. It suddenly dawned on me that my home was a tourist attraction. How had I never thought that before? It wasn’t lost on me that the people outside looking in would probably give their eye teeth to live behind these walls. They wouldn’t understand that I’d swap this entire palace for a small cottage in the tiny, oddly named town of Kincumber any day of the week.

Tired of myself and my whining for one day, I sat down and wrote to Presti. Though I held a lot back, I shared more with him than I dared with any other. Presti knew me, but I wanted him to know more. But he could never know the whole truth. He could never know I loved him.

My letter ended up eight pages long, front and back—a lot, yet not enough. But there’d be more letters because I was selfish and couldn’t cut ties with him entirely.

Even as I tucked it in the envelope and sealed my words, I wondered if he’d write back. Maybe he’d want nothing more to do with me. He’d said he understood I couldn’t stay, but we’d had sex, and I still left him. I had been his first lover, and I’d left him the next day. Would he hate me once he’d thought about it? When the dust settled, and I wasn’t there, would he resent me? I hated that thought more than anything—except for the idea of his next lover.

Would the throbbing ache of his loss ever ease?

“James?”

“Come in, Hannah,” I called, thankful for a reprieve from my indulgent brooding.

My future sister-in-law looked beautiful. She always did, but since her engagement, she glowed. Is that what finding your soulmate did to you? Would I ever glow?

Hannah hugged me as soon as I stood to greet her. She felt small and soft in my arms, everything I thought men wanted in a woman, but I missed the solid bulk of Presti.

“God. You look just awful, James. I’m sorry, but it had to be said.”

“Thanks,” I scoffed.

Hannah gave me a sad smile and cupped my cheek. “I know we’re not brother and sister yet, but I feel somebody has to say this to you.”

“What?” I asked, terrified of what was about to come out.

“You are more than a prince, James. You deserve to be happy, to be who you are. And if that upsets the old stiffs in the palace or the homophobes out there, who cares? Harlan, George, and I will fight them all for you if we have to.”

Hannah stood a foot shorter than me, yet she possessed a fierceness that I never wanted to be on the wrong side of.

When I said nothing, she continued, “George told me you weren’t ready to come out, and that’s okay. Everything in your time, but know that we will not leave you hanging when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Hannah. I appreciate it; I do. I just… I’m not ready.” Everybody told me to come out in my time when I was ready, yet I felt shame at my cowardice.

“You’ll receive a plus-one invitation for my wedding, James. I do hope you use it.”

“Thanks,” I managed to choke out. My family supported me, and that should be enough. Maybe if I weren’t a prince of England, it would be. But it wasn’t just family and friends I had to come out to. It was the whole damn world.