Chapter 11

11

A NEW ROYAL ROMANCE OR A RECKLESS RENDEZVOUS?

The internet is exploding over photos of Réverie's Prince Jadon kissing an unidentified boy near Santa Monica Pier last night. Sources say a local restaurant's waitress tipped off the media. Has the roguish prince finally moved on from his breakup with his ex, Léon Barnard, who royal experts claim is the reason behind Jadon's viral meltdown in early September? Could we be looking at a new Prince of the Palisades?

I made a massive, unforgivable, rookie mistake.

The rules were laid out as soon as I was old enough to tie my own shoes:

Never smile too much in photos. Head high, posture straight. Keep all royal matters private. Any discussion with the media will be coordinated and approved of by the palace first. No politics. Greet everyone with a polite smile or wave. Refrain from all public displays of affection unless it benefits narratives created by the palace. Never bring shame to the crown.

That last one is why I'm banished to America. Why I was supposed to be focusing on regaining my country's trust. Convincing everyone I'm someone different. A respectable prince. I was supposed to be avoiding bad headlines.

Four out of four unaccomplished goals. At least I'm consistent.

By 8:00 a.m., photos of the kiss are everywhere. Social media. Newsfeeds. Morning talk shows. A nonstop cycle.

No one's identified Reiss yet. Ajani stepped in at the last second to cover his face with her blazer. The grainy images are mostly focused on my surprised face. But there's no telling how long that'll last. The press is ruthless and smart and rich.

Samuel plunks four different smart devices and a mug of chai onto the kitchen island. "We need to strategize," he says. "Now."

I glance at him from over my phone. My current strategy? Obsessively checking my messages to Reiss. I waited until at least 8:05 a.m. before sending the first one. Well, the first since my apology DM last night.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I'm incredibly sorry about what happened.

I'll fix this.

I hope this doesn't ruin your special day.

No response so far. No read receipts either. I suppose it's good he's gone dark. But it's the worst too. All I can think about are the seconds before the first flash—his hands on my hips, the softness of his mouth.

How perfect it was.

"It's so romantic," Annika gushes from the plush sofa in the entertainment room. "The glowing pier sign overhead. A prince and a civilian. The feral photographers screaming at my little brother while he makes out with a boy. So royal teen rom-com!"

"Not what I was going for, Anni!" I yell, head in my hands.

"It may very well be a death sentence for our plans," Samuel sighs out.

I lift my eyes, frowning. This kind of conversation would usually be happening behind the Rouge Room's closed doors. With chamberlains and specialists talking over each other. Emergency countermeasures being coordinated. Now, it's just me, my sister, our guards, and a frantically pacing Samuel.

What a team.

"The LA news agrees." Luc points toward the wall-mounted flatscreen, the sound muted.

The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen:

REBEL ROYAL CAUGHT IN ANOTHER SCANDAL?

A scowl tightens my face. Is me kissing someone truly a scandal ? Or is it because we're boys?

I don't have the energy to dissect everything that's wrong with the media.

"It's fine," Annika insists, her expression softening. "It happens."

"To who ?" I almost shout. "Literally, who else does this happen to?"

"Whom," Annika corrects, unfazed by my tone. "At least you'll have lots of photos from your first kiss with Reiss. First date!" She turns to Ajani, grinning wildly. "Was he nervous?"

Ajani smiles. "Like a child on his first day of primary school."

"Can we focus on more important matters," I shout, my face on the verge of combusting from the heat.

"Yes, please." Samuel types away on a tablet, then his phone. His eyebrows knit. "We need to counter this. Fast."

"Counter what? Jadon having a boyfriend?" Annika asks.

"I don't have a—" I cut myself off.

I don't…do I?

I like Reiss. As far as first dates go, it was unforgettable, even better than the one I had with Léon. But I'm not in America for a relationship. I have something to prove, a home I'm trying to get back to. A boyfriend isn't included in that plan.

"It was just a date," I whisper to my phone, where there's still no answer from Reiss.

"Unfortunately, it wasn't the wisest choice either," Samuel says. "If we're trying to win back Réverie's favor, being romantically involved with Mr. Hayes might've done more damage."

Anger tightens my jaw. "Why? Because he's American ?"

I hear Barnard in my head again. The Réverians like him, who don't like "outsiders." Who believe our country is fine the way it is, the way it's always been.

The ones who hate my mom.

Samuel startles at the bite in my voice. "No, Your Highness. Because they adored and admired you and Léon together. The perfect homegrown, noble romance."

I scoff. Perfect romances don't end out of nowhere. They don't crash and burn like we did after the breakup.

"But isn't Jadon courting"—when my eyes flash at Annika, she corrects—" being seen in a possibly romantic way good for his reputation too? It shows an approachable, kind side of him. Not surly and moody—"

"We get the point, Anni," I groan.

"Yes, Your Highness," Samuel agrees, "But we want Réverie to love and respect him again. To see him as the royal figure he is."

He clears his throat, clearly nervous about his next words. "Reiss isn't royalty. He's…just a boy."

"He isn't," I say through my teeth.

Samuel bows. "Deepest apologies, Your Highness. It's your decision on how to move forward. But if you choose to continue this romance publicly, then I fear we won't win the war we're fighting."

My fingers curl to fists on the island. It's our war, yet I'm the one on the front line. The one taking all the casualties.

I know it's not fair to think that way. They're all trying to help. But I'm exhausted. My entire life, someone's made decisions for me. Where I'm going, how long I stay, what to wear, and when to speak and when to listen.

Nothing is ever fully in my control. But I'm not giving them this.

This isn't just about me. It's about Reiss too.

"I need time to think," I tell them.

Samuel bows again. Annika hugs her knees to her chest, looking like the little girl I remember who hated wearing heels. Whose royal suite was always a mess, no matter how many times the staff cleaned it.

She gives me a small smile. "I'm here if you need me."

I mouth, I know , nodding. Then, I walk away.

I hide away in my bedroom the rest of the day. I lie in the bed that still doesn't feel like mine. I leave my phone untouched. The only notifications coming through are media alerts, probably more nonsense from Kip Davies and his lackies. I consider calling Mom, but I know where that conversation will lead, the questions she'll ask.

She'll be the queen when all I want is my mom.

You're a prince. It's not about what you want . It's about what our country needs.

That's what she'll say.

What Papa says when I fuck up. Which is constantly, apparently.

"It was one kiss," I whisper to the ugly ceiling fixture. But it's never just one, is it? Life is a row of dominos, one falling into the next, everything moving so rapidly, beyond your control, until every piece crashes to the ground.

The only glimmer of hope is that you get to decide what the pattern looks like when it's finished.

So that's what I do. I make the decision.

I snatch up my phone. For an hour, I research, then make a call, ignoring Ajani's suspicious stare when I ask about credit card information. After it's coordinated and paid for, the woman on the other end asks what name to sign the card with.

I grin. "His Royal Arrogance."

The first message lights up my phone at 7:22 p.m.

did you do this?!?!

The next message is a video attachment. The camera angle opens from behind The Hopper's front counter, panning over Dominic's giggling face before zooming in on the four people in old-school pin-striped vests and hats. Leave it to Reiss to turn this moment into a cinematic masterpiece.

Through my phone's speaker comes a tinny harmony. The singing quartet is serenading "Happy Birthday" to Reiss. It's a short clip that ends with a familiar laugh.

My heart races as I type.

Remember the singing telegram part in the movie?

You laughed so hard.

I just wanted to make you smile.

His reply is instant.

ASJKLFDSJ! lol thank you!

sorry i was busy all day w fam…bday activities

can we talk @ school tmrrw??

I'll see if I can make time for you

After Monday's rehearsals, I cross through campus to Adler Studio. The halls and classrooms are all empty, except for the film and video lab. That's where I find Reiss working at the last desktop station near the windows, bathed in late afternoon sunlight. Ajani waits outside. I ease into the rolling chair next to him.

When he notices me, his lips twitch a little, but he doesn't fully smile. He swings his chair around to face me. Silence hangs between us for a beat. He fiddles with one of his helix piercings. I nervously bounce my left leg, stop, then start again.

This isn't awkward at all.

"So, about that first date—" he tries.

"I'm sorry. I know the press can be a lot," I blurt.

"—and that kiss," he's saying, but I'm too busy stammering, "No one knows it's you. In the photos."

Yet , I don't add.

We both pause. I can see him rewinding what I said as I piece through his words. Then, we're laughing, heads shaking.

He sighs, deep crinkles around his eyes. I slide my chair closer, our knees touching.

"You first," I offer, softly.

His fingers drum on his thigh. "I don't like attention. That kind of attention. It's why my friendship with Karan works. He loves a spotlight." His arm waves around the lab. "I like to be behind the scenes. Keep things just between me and whoever."

I nod, forcing my eyebrows not to fall. "I understand. I'm sorry the photographers ruined that." Carefully, I add, "But you knew who I was. I'm a prince."

"I know, I know," he groans, face pinched. "I didn't think about that before I said yes to our date. Before we kissed."

"Do you"—I swallow—"regret it?"

"No," he rushes out. "Not at all. I still like you."

I smile. "Is there an ‘and' or ‘but' coming?"

" Buuut ," he says, nudging my knee, "I'm worried too. What if cameras show up at the coffee shop? What if they find out where I live?" He frowns. "Fuck, what if they start following Dom around? I don't want that."

"I don't either."

"But you can't control it, can you?"

I lift one shoulder. "In some ways."

By not seeing you anymore , I don't volunteer.

It feels like there's no other way. I hate this part. Dating as a royal is nearly impossible. There's no such thing as privacy and discretion, because the media wants to document every first kiss, first date, first "I love you," and every messy, scandalous fight thereafter.

Samuel was right about one thing: it was easier with Léon. At least he knew what to expect.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I can—"

"There's something else I haven't told you."

My stomach knots. I run my eyes over him. The way his fingers are drumming on his knees again. His somber eyes. Is this what Morgan was talking about?

People have their secrets around here .

I try to swallow, but my throat's too dry.

"Thing is…" Reiss cracks his knuckles. "Well, I kind of have a side hustle."

When I don't speak, he continues, "I write essays. Lit papers. Personal statements for college apps. Whatever Willow Wood's upper elite need and are willing to pay for to keep Mom and Dad off their asses."

I finally blink, surprised. "Sorry, what?"

"It's great money," he asserts, the tops of his ears turning red. "You'd be surprised how much someone will pay for a solid B in a class." He lets out a long breath. "But, um, yeah. That's what I do."

It all makes sense. His hushed discussions with other students between classes. Nathan's suggestion that Grace hire someone to write her paper. But I wasn't expecting this to be his secret. It's not even bad.

Unethical? Yes. But I've done far worse.

It's almost kind of sweet. His leg jiggling nervously. The way his gaze barely stays on me, like he's waiting for me to shame him.

But I'm not going to. I ask, "What's the money for?"

"Half goes toward a college fund," he confesses. "The rest is for new fits. Better haircuts. Shoes,"—I clock the pair of recently released LeBrons he's wearing—"whatever helps me blend in around here."

"Blend in with people you don't like?" I say, confused.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Sometimes, I just want one less target on my back. Sometimes you have to play the game to survive."

It's like ice in my lungs. Hearing someone else say it. Knowing that's exactly what I've been doing at Willow Wood. Playing a game to get back home, at first. But now there's Reiss and I like him and…

I don't know what's next.

I recline deeper in my chair. "Your parents don't notice? The new clothes and shoes?"

Reiss nods toward his backpack on one of the desks. "Quick change before home or work. I'm good at hiding things too."

I snort. "Like how good you are at Skee-Ball?"

He shrugs listlessly. "Look, USC is hella expensive. Even if I win Oceanfront Film Fest, it's not a free ride," he explains. "I don't want my parents in debt forever because of me. Dom's only eleven. Not even in middle school. I can't afford to fuck any of this up."

"And dating me could ruin that," I offer, managing a neutral expression.

"Not you," he says. "The press. I can't have them following me around all the time. Being seen with you might—"

"What if you weren't," I say without thinking. "Seen. With me, that is."

He tilts his head, confused.

I am too. A little. The smart, doesn't-want-to-ruin-his-chances-of-going-home-again Jadon would walk away from this. The Jadon who knows if Kip Davies gets one whiff of my situation, it's game over. Yet, I can't get Samuel's words out of my head:

If you choose to continue this romance publicly …

"What if we weren't seen together," I suggest. " Publicly . No going places together. No kissing. No touching—"

He groans, clutching his chest melodramatically.

"We keep it between us. Private," I say, serious.

He studies the wall behind me. My heart kicks against my ribs, threatening to shatter bone. It's a wild, risky idea that absolutely no one would agree to—

"I mean," he starts, his mouth creeping higher, "It was a solid first kiss."

I let myself smirk. "Worth keeping things low-key between us? Until we figure the rest out?"

He pretends to think. "I could possibly be convinced?"

My eyebrow arches. "How so?"

"You're the prince." He rests his cheek on his knuckles, smiling innocently. "Aren't you supposed to be charming and creative and—"

"Cute?" I flash my dimples.

" Conceited ," he huffs. "I was definitely gonna say conceited."

I ignore him, standing. My heel sends the rolling chair across the room, and I close the small gap between us. Hands gripping his chair's armrests, I bracket him in, towering over him. His head tips back to look into my eyes.

"It was a great first date," I whisper.

And I find my new favorite thing—watching how Reiss gets right before a kiss. The way he chews his lower lip. Hunger dilating his pupils until there's nothing but a thin brown ring around the blackness. His short, tight breaths. Fingers wiggling in his lap, eager to touch me but still unsure where.

That soft, little exhale he lets out in anticipation.

I don't keep him waiting long.

"Ready?" Samuel asks.

I'm not. You'd think I was sweating through my button-up shirt, deeply nauseated, because of another interview. Making an unplanned, emergency television appearance. Or giving a speech. Not from a blank laptop screen.

There's one more conversation that needs to happen today.

I wipe my damp palms on my pants. "Yes."

The video call connects instantly. On-screen, my mom sits on an ornate teal sofa in one of the smaller palace rooms. Hands in her lap, hair down, face almost bare. It's late in Réverie, and she stayed up for this. They both did.

Next to her, in a tailored navy suit, shoulders straight, chin held regally as if this were being broadcast worldwide, is King Simon.

My papa.

I haven't seen him since the morning the video was released. He still looks the same as he did that day. Angry, disappointed. Heavy wrinkles in his forehead, stern lines around his eyes. His frown is outlined by a dark beard shot through with silver, like streaks of lightning, the same pattern in his low-cut hairstyle.

Samuel bows from his seat. "Your Majesty. Queen Ava."

They vaguely acknowledge him, then it's my turn. I clear my throat. "Bonsoir, Papa. Mom."

Papa gives a small nod. Nothing else. A great start.

Mom says to Samuel, "Thank you for arranging this," then to me, "I thought we agreed on staying out of the headlines unless it was for a good cause."

"To be fair, kissing a boy is a good cause," I offer, half-smiling. "I like him. He's American. Really nice."

"That's…nice," Mom says evenly. "But—"

"It's not that bad," I insist. "We just kissed. On a crowded street. And people saw. What's the big deal?"

Papa hisses, "?a suffit!"

My mouth clicks shut. That's enough . Two words. A month and a half without any communication, not a single phone call from him, and that's the first thing he says to me. Heat fills my chest.

"Son," Mom attempts, softer, but still as serious. "The photos are everywhere. It's a distraction. No one thinks you're taking this seriously. You're a representative of the crown. Of our people."

"So what I did is a bad look for Réverie?" My jaw tightens. "Sorry being seventeen and gay and kissing a boy I like—"

"You're a prince ," Papa interrupts. "Of royal blood. You're meant to represent our country at the highest level. Maintain a scandal-free reputation. That's what you said you'd be doing in America."

"I am," I attempt.

"Yet," Papa continues, "every time we turn around, there you are! Rebel Royal. Once again, the center of drama."

It's hard not to flinch when he says it. Rebel Royal . But the sting is so sharp. The cut, so deep. My eyes mist, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop anything from falling.

"You're there for a reason, remember?" Papa asks.

I nod stiffly.

"Is this the kind of prince you want to be? Is this how you want Réverie to see you? As a joke?"

"I want—" My voice cracks. I try again. "I want to show them I'm better."

"Better than what?" Papa challenges.

Than Prime Minister Barnard , I think to say. Than people like him who see my mom, my sister, me, as lesser. Unworthy. Better than the son you think I am. Better than who I think I am .

"I'll work harder," I get out.

"Your chances are running out," Papa warns.

"Simon," Mom whispers, squeezing his forearm. Her eyes flick to me. "Son, we want the best for you. I'm happy you met someone, but—the press is going to be watching you even closer now. Him too."

"He won't be a problem," I say.

Mom's forehead creases, concerned. Samuel clears his throat before she can ask me any questions. "Pardon me, Your Majesties, but I may have a solution."

My head snaps in his direction. What's he doing? I didn't tell him about my arrangement with Reiss, and we never discussed an alternate plan.

He smiles congenially. "Recently, I was contacted by a dear friend of the royal family. He can help redirect the media's focus. Show the world that, no matter what past difficulties have occurred, our prince is determined to maintain strong bonds with his people."

"He?" Mom says.

The front door chimes. I twist around, working through Samuel's words.

Who is he talking about?

Then, I hear a familiar voice speaking with Ajani in the foyer. A ghost I've been running from walks into the room. Tall, deep brown skin, perfectly square jaw and white teeth, a wide smile I know way too intimately.

"Your Majesties." After bowing, his sharp eyes fall on me. "Bonjour, mon beau."

Léon . Standing five feet from me in the living room. In fucking America.