Chapter Seventeen

HOW COULD I miss somebody who’d been in my life for such a short period of time?

Saying goodbye to James had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done—and I’d once had to tell Astrid that Larry, though nice to look at, wasn’t the most handsome man on the planet. That title could not be claimed until Harrison Ford left this mortal coil—at least, that had been my opinion at the time. Now, poor Harrison had been bumped down a spot, and I would never remind Astrid that meant poor Larry was number three.

Though our farewell was brutal, we’d done it. James and I had shared a private goodbye at home and then a public, no-touching goodbye at the airport. I’d been fascinated to learn that James had an ordinary passport in the name of James Wales as well as his royal one.

He’d travelled to Australia and back to England as plain Jimmy Wales, he’d said. If anybody at the airport recognised him, they’d kept it to themselves. Fortunately, royalty didn’t hold quite the fascination for the general public here in Australia that it did in England.

He’d been gone a week. He’d called me twice; I’d called him. I’d received a letter and was in the process of replying to him. He’d told me he’d threatened Simon de-fucking-Montfort with beheading if he interfered with our correspondence again. His forcefulness in fighting for our penpalship fanned the flames of desire. I only wish I’d been there to see James in action.

Things between us were…friendly. We were friends. He hadn’t mentioned anything more, and neither had I.

How could there be more?

I’d been a ninny to even to entertain the idea of James and I becoming a couple. Ugh, I amazed myself with my foolishness sometimes.

“Presti?”

“Yes, Mum?”

“I’m making lasagne for dinner. Would you like to help?”

“Sure.”

My mum watched me from the door of my room, her light eyes considering, not missing a thing. “When I first met your father, I thought we’d be together forever.”

“Is this a life lesson, Mum? I think I’ve always been quite realistic about James and me.”

“Yes. You have. But that’s not what I mean.” Mum came into my room and sat beside me on my bed. “You’ve never allowed yourself to believe in you and James. And I get that. Protecting your heart and all that.”

I wasn’t sure what Mum was trying to say, but I’d listen to her about anything because I trusted no one more than her.

“When I first got together with your father, I dreamed of weddings and babies, making a home and a family. A fantasy life. I got the baby, but none of the other stuff.”

“So, I’m doing the right thing by not hoping for more from James?”

“Oh, honey, your father never once looked at me the way James looks at you. All I’m saying is that if he should ask for more from you, don’t be afraid to give it.” Mum sighed and patted my knee. “If I’d have kept my heart locked away after your father broke it, I wouldn’t have Howard in my life. And what a great tragedy that would be.”

“So, you’re saying I should leave my heart open to be hurt?”

“Exactly.” Mum sprang up from the bed and moved toward the door. “What are we here for if not for love?”

Penelope Jones. My mother. Hopeless romantic.

Mum didn’t mention James again the entire time we made lasagne. We talked of plants, people we knew, and even the state of the world—a topic we generally steered clear of because we found it too depressing. We laughed. We made memories of another night, just the two of us, being a family.

As we washed the dishes, the sharp trill of my phone broke the harmony. “Royals” by Lorde. The ringtone I’d chosen for James.

“Well, well,” my mother smirked. “Speak of the devil.” Tossing the tea towel on the bench, she pinched my cheek and left the room.

“Hello,” I answered before she’d cleared the door trim.

“Hello, Presti.”

“It’s good to hear your voice, James. Is everything going well?” I launched onto the kitchen bench, kicking my feet like a little kid about to get his favourite treat.

“Lots and lots of wedding stuff. I had no idea there was so much to it.”

“Flowers and suits and dresses, oh my.”

James laughed his beautiful laugh. “Dinner settings and invite lists and vows, oh my.”

“Is Hannah managing?” We’d spoken about his brother’s betrothed. James had been adamant she was strong enough to handle the task of marrying the future king, but I couldn’t begin to imagine the pressure.

“Hannah is doing great. Mum throws ideas out there, and Hannah… Well, she picks her battles. All she wants is to marry George. She is firm on a few things though.”

“Such as?”

For a moment, James stayed quiet. I wondered if I’d lost him, and then he said, “The guest list for one. That is why I’ve called.”

“For the guest list?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” I didn’t see at all.

“Hannah insists I bring a plus-one to the wedding, and I”—James hauled in a deep breath—”I would very much like for you to be my plus-one, Presti.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Your date?”

“Yes.”

“To the royal wedding of the century?” Was I dreaming ? “In public? Before god and everyone?”

“Yes.” A heavy sigh from James settled into the silence. “I understand this is asking a lot of you, Presti. There’ll be substantial interest in you. If you think it’s too much—”

“Yes,” I exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s too much?”

Oh god, I was making a dreadful horlicks of this. “No. The other one. Yes, to going as your plus-one.”

“Really? It’s not too much?”

“James, you’ve asked me to attend your brother’s wedding as your plus-one. That’s all.” I could not wipe the ridiculous grin off my face.

“It’s not an average wedding, Presti. The entire world will be watching.”

“That’s a little conceited, isn’t it?” I teased. “A good portion of the world will be watching certainly, but not the entire world. Some people have no TVs, and others think your family are lizard aliens running some kind of slave trade on our planet. And, of course, some people are just not interested.”

“You make excellent points, Presti. But do tell me more about us being aliens. I don’t think I’ve heard that one.” James’s warm laugh tickled my ear.

“Will you be making an announcement before the wedding?”

“You mean, will I be coming out before you and I set the world on fire?”

“Mm.” James dating a man would be a huge deal, regardless of how we’d progressed as a civilisation. Far too many still thought it was their business who other people loved.

“Well, I kind of thought having you as my date would speak for itself,” James mumbled. His hesitation warned me he hadn’t thought this through. Something had compelled him to call and ask me to his brother’s wedding, yet I knew another something could just as easily change his mind.

No matter how much he wanted to be, I didn’t believe James was ready to be out, at least not in front of the entire world. Honestly, the idea gave me pause. I hadn’t cared what people thought of my sexuality for a long time.

Though I doubted James’s commitment to this plan, the joy I felt that he’d asked me was immeasurable.

“Presti,” James said. “There’s never been anybody I’ve been willing to come out for. Not until you. I wish I could promise you that I… Well, I hope I don’t…”

“I know, James. And if you can’t do it, it’s okay.”

Was it possible to be so happy? I’d have thought not, but here I was, feeling as if I might burst with all the joy inside me.

Naturally, it was not to last.

Less than two weeks later, James sent me a perfectly reasonable letter explaining the many reasons he had to withdraw his invitation. It was nothing personal, he explained. A simple change of mind. It turns out I was right, and he wasn’t ready to come out at all, which, in effect, ended the possibility of me being his date to Prince George’s wedding.

I understood. I did. Yet, that didn’t ease the ache in my breastbone.