Chapter Twenty-Four

IT WAS TIME.

Jangled nerves pinched my insides as I watched everything being set up. My sitting room had been rearranged for better optics—whatever that meant—floral arrangements added, photographs purposefully placed on the table behind where we’d be sitting. Cameras loomed to catch every angle. Scott fluttered about reiterating what would and wouldn’t be tolerated in the long list of questions we were to face.

Six weeks had passed since my father’s funeral, and it was time for me—us—to address the world. To answer the questions printed every day. To silence the falsehoods. We’d chosen Marianne Drysdale as our interviewer. She was professional and well-liked, and Presti said he felt a good vibe from her.

He stood silently watching her now as last-minute make-up was applied, her hair fluffed and ready. I paid no attention to her. As always, Presti commanded my attention. He wore a sapphire blue suit, a darker navy shirt, and no tie. His wild curls remained untamed, just as I liked them. His hands trembled, yet that confidence in who he was never wavered. Even when the hatred from some quarters spat at him, he refused to apologise for who he was.

In the quiet dark of the night, he told me how much he hated the fame he’d acquired since that day in Westminster Hall at my father’s coffin. He also told me how worth it I was. A day never passed without him telling me he’d fight the world for me—for us. And a day never passed in which I didn’t hold him in my arms and tell him the same.

Today, we’d be telling the world. We’d be sharing our story. Marianne would carefully guide us through how we’d met, what we meant to each other and what the future held for us. The topic of my sexuality would not be explicitly mentioned because…well, duh, people could guess. I’d insisted upon this. George never had to come out as straight to the world, so I didn’t see why I had to come out as gay. The fact I was presenting Presti as my boyfriend was enough.

“Hey,” Presti murmured as he gently squeezed my hand. “Are you still okay to do this?”

“Yes. Are you?”

After weeks of planning, meetings, and negotiations with my grandmother, dark smudges dusted the fragile skin beneath Presti’s eyes. He’d been shocked and indignant about how much sway people like Simon de Montfort held over our lives. I’d never liked Simon, but Presti verged on hating the man.

“Certainly. I shall be breviloquent, but I intend to show the world how much I care for you, James Wales.” Presti smiled and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose.

He’d taken to calling me James Wales at certain times to remind me that he didn’t see me as a prince. To him, I was the man he loved. I lifted our entwined hands and kissed his knuckles.

“Let’s do this, then.”

We sat on the couch, facing Marianne across from where she had taken the single armchair. She glanced up quickly and smiled before returning her attention to her notes.

Then the producer began counting down…

“We are joined tonight by His Royal Highness Prince James and Prestidigitation Jones, the young man who has been the subject of speculation for some weeks now. Welcome to you both,” Marianne began.

“Thank you,” we said simultaneously.

“You’ve both agreed to this interview tonight to end the speculation over your relationship. So, let’s be clear, then, what is your relationship?”

It had been agreed that any questions not explicitly addressed to Presti would be answered first by me, and then Presti was free to add anything he chose. It had been Presti’s idea, and I’d accepted it because I’d give him anything.

So, I answered, “Presti and I are in a loving, committed relationship and have been for some weeks, though we’ve known each other for far longer. If we have to label it, Presti is my boyfriend.”

“And how did you two meet?”

We shared our story, each adding small bits to complete a whole picture. Not everything was shared, and it didn’t need to be. We were public figures, but the public couldn’t have all of us.

“So, you have moved to London now, Presti?” Marianne asked.

“In the process. I’m still at university and wish to complete my studies, so I’m organising to transfer to one of your fine tertiary institutions as soon as possible.”

“And you’re studying…?”

“Ethnobotany. It is a remarkable subject. And I’ll leave it at that since once I get started on the topic, I can give quite a twarvlement.”

Presti squeezed my hand and flicked his gaze to me. He’d been quite concerned about falling into using some of those unusual words he and Astrid loved. He told me he didn’t want to come across as a word-grubber—one who uses obscure words in everyday conversation, he’d explained. I told him to be himself.

“Twarvlement?” Marianne asked, looking quite confused.

“Um.” Presti shifted. “It’s a long-winded speech. My dear friend Astrid and I often read books with copious lists of forgotten or obscure words. It was a bit of a game for us. Became something of a habit. Sorry.”

Behind the cameras and crew, I heard Astrid murmuring frantically. I could only imagine she was delighted she’d been mentioned. She, Larry, Penelope, and Howard had been here for two weeks. And they’d brought a breath of fresh air to the palace halls.

Mum loved Penelope, and she’d helped my mother through the acute grief of my father’s death. After their rocky start, George and Astrid got on like a house on fire. Secretly, I think George enjoyed Astrid standing up to him. It was a novelty.

“No need to apologise, Presti,” Marianne said. “I love words. Happy to know a few more. And would you tell us a little about Astrid and the rest of your family? Are they happy for you or sad that you’ll be leaving?”

“Both, of course. Astrid has had Larry in her life for some time now, and my mother has Howard, so they all understand how it feels when a great love comes into your life.”

“And is that what this is? Between you and Prince James? A great love?”

Presti leaned into me, turned, and caught my gaze with his. “The greatest,” he answered.