Chapter Twenty-Three

THE FUNERAL YESTERDAY had exhausted everyone. We’d all gone our separate ways upon returning to the palace. James and I hadn’t seen a soul since.

After last night’s meal, we’d slipped into bed, pulled the cover up, our noses almost touching, and shared soft-spoken thoughts until sleep dragged us under. Like all the other nights we’d slept together, some part of our bodies touched all night as if we were two magnets. I held James, and he held me. It didn’t matter. All I knew was that we sought each other out even in sleep.

How would I bear saying goodbye? And I must say goodbye. Staying in the palace was a fairy tale, and I lived in the real world. No matter how much I loved James and he me, how could we ever be together?

Outside the windows, rain poured down on this grey London day. At least there’d been gorgeous blue skies for Prince Arthur’s funeral. Although grey clouds and heavy rain would have been more atmospheric, I wasn’t sure James could have borne the added sadness.

As I lay there listening to the storm raging outside the palace, I pinched my thigh. I had to be dreaming. Right? Here I was in the Buckingham Palace, in bed, with Prince James of England snoring softly in my arms.

Yesterday, I’d sat behind the queen at the funeral for her son—the man who should one day have been king. I’d sat in on meetings with members of the royal family. None of this seemed real.

What did feel real? The pain radiating out of James’s eyes every second. The palpable grief seeping out of his pores. The shock of his father’s death seemed to be wearing off, the stunned expression of horror dissipating only to be replaced by forlorn acceptance. He still hurt. He would hurt forever.

The faint ring of my phone pulled my attention from the man in my arms. I slipped from James’s bed—our bed—grabbed my phone, and walked into the bathroom.

“Astrid?”

“Why do you sound uncertain, Presti? Surely my name popped up on the screen,” Astrid replied.

“It did, but I am a little bamboozled by life just now.” I sat on the edge of the large bathtub. Ever since I’d seen it, I’d thought of little else but getting James in it. Soaking in a warm bath must be a revitalising experience. At least they always made it seem that way in movies and books.

“Quite bamboozled, I should think. How is James?”

I sighed heavily. The million-dollar question. “He’s hurting. So much pain, As.”

“I saw it. During the funeral. The only time he looked something like okay was when he saw you.”

“You embellish.”

“I do not. I am serious, Presti. James needs you now more than anything, I’d wager.”

I sighed again and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“Whyever not?” I could hear the frustration in Astrid’s voice.

“I have a life in Kincumber. Mum, Howard, my studies, you.” Astrid’s frustration seemed to be contagious.

“When you look back upon your life, Presti, will you be pleased with yourself for giving up a chance of love for me? Or your mother? Howard? Your studies?” Astrid paused, waiting for my reply. I said nothing.

“Presti, trust me when I say we will still be in your life, even if it’s from ten thousand miles away. Everything you have here, you can have there.”

“I think we’re jumping the gun, as it were. It’s too soon to be thinking about permanency. We’re still… Well, I don’t even know if I’d call what James and I are doing dating.”

“All I’m saying is long-distance relationships with friends and family are far more manageable than with a lover.”

“Very well, Astrid. I shall keep that in mind. But James hasn’t even mentioned me staying. He hasn’t even hinted at it—”

“Then let me fix that right now.”

“James!” I shouted, jumping up and making an ungraceful flurry of movement.

“Oh my,” Astrid gasped through the phone. “Here comes the big declaration, and I shall be witness to it.”

“You bloody well will not. I am hanging up.”

“Oh, but Presti, think. You’re on the verge of a morganatic—”

I pressed the button, ending the call with my dearest friend. I loved Astrid, but she didn’t belong here at this moment with James.

James stood at the door to his bathroom, a hint of a smile on his lips, a look of bewilderment smudged with happiness in his soft blue eyes. His sleep pants were low on his hips, chest bare—the very image of perfection.

Yet, he said nothing.

For so long that I grew tense. Awkward.

Turning my back, I began running a bath, desperate for some distraction from the silence that had settled over us. As I worked, I babbled.

“This bubble bath smells amazing. Sandalwood. It’s in all the romance books, yet I had no idea what it smelled like. I sniffed it when I was in the shower. Very nice. Manly. You know. And I hear baths are simply—”

“Presti?”

“Mm?

“Stay with me,” James whispered.

“Well, I did plan to share the bath with you, if that’s okay—”

“Not for the bath.” James stepped closer. I felt his warmth though my back was to him. “Not just for the bath. Stay with me, please. I want to see if we can make this work. I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you. I want to watch you while you’re sitting in my big armchair reading…whatever it is you were reading that brought that secret smile to your lips. I want to share my days with you. I want to tell you how the Prime Minister of Canada stutters when she’s nervous and how the Foreign Minister of Ghana rubs his brow when he’s lying. I want to hear about how King’s holly can live up to 135,000 years and can clone itself or how tasty and nutritious the elephant yam flower is. I want you, Presti. All of you. I want us.”

Well, damn.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” James continued. “The press will be all over you—no more privacy. And the worst thing is I’m asking you to leave your home, your family. It’s selfish and unfair, but I’m asking because I don’t know how to be without you anymore. I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

“James,” I whispered. I turned and pulled him into my arms. “I want all of that with you too. But is it too soon?”

James shook his head, his soft hair brushing against my cheek. “No buts. Maybe for some, it’s too soon, but not for me, not for us. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, Prestidigitation Jones. My whole life.”

I kissed him then. How could I not?

We kissed for an age, soft, tender. Sometimes hard and more urgent.

We slid into the hot bath, the bubbles popping gently against our slippery skin. James sat between my thighs, his back against my chest. I held him and petted him.

“I’ll stay,” I whispered.