Chapter 21

21

IS REISS PRINCE JADON'S MISSING PIECE?

After weeks of speculation, we've finally identified Prince Jadon's mystery boyfriend—Santa Monica native Reiss Hayes! While not much is known about him, we've learned he's into filmmaking, uses Lux Fox's Virgin Pink dye for gorgeous hair, and attends Willow Wood Academy, the same exclusive institution as Prince Jadon. The school has taken down unauthorized images of the pair on campus, but this SoCal romance has already stolen our hearts. Is an American happily-ever-after in Jadon's future like it was for his father, King Simon?

I'm running.

Wind whips through my curls. My lungs are begging for relief—and a weekly cardio plan moving forward. I'm lucky airport security even let us through, considering I'm not dressed much like a prince right now: label-less black T-shirt, Burberry joggers, AJ1 mids with plaid accents.

But I'm not stopping until I reach him.

"I came prepared!"

Ajani matches my pace, not nearly as breathless as I am. She points to her sensible pair of Nike running shoes. Impressive on such short notice.

We're on the tarmac now. The airport attendants offered an official royal car. But there wasn't enough time to wait.

The engines are whirring. All luggage has been loaded. In the distance, the airstairs are still down. I see Reiss, flanked by two Royal Protection Guards, their backs to us.

I force one last burst of energy into my burning legs.

"Wait! Wait!"

The guards spin around, moving into defensive formation. A sweet-faced attendant at the top of the stairs frowns as I frantically wave my hands. Ajani catches me before I fall over and eat hot tarmac.

"Reiss Emile Dorian Hayes!" I shout until my throat goes raw.

He turns, eyes bulging. "Jadon?"

I stop in front of the guards. When they recognize me, they bow, parting from Reiss's sides. Then, it's him. Confused, but here and not angry and so, so close.

"Sorry," I gasp out, heaving. "Not much of a runner."

Ajani snaps her fingers. In a flash, the attendant is down the stairs, passing me a cold bottle of water and a towel.

I dab sweat from my brow, then gulp half the bottle. Droplets dribble down my jaw. Over the front of my T-shirt. "How do people do this in the movies?"

"It's fake," Reiss says impassively. "No one does this in real life."

I nod, swallowing more water. "I need to tell you something."

He scowls. "And you couldn't message me? Or…I don't know. Maybe said it at the palace. In front of your parents ."

I grimace. "Maybe?"

He crosses his arms, unimpressed by the fact that I ran across a literal airstrip to reach him.

"I—"

The rest of the words don't come. My chest aches from more than just sprinting. From three months of hell and regret and countless mistakes. From wanting something so bad, it's going to destroy me if I can't have it. If Reiss walks away.

But I can't give up now.

He exhales an irritated breath. "Well? What is it?"

"You never asked me what I was afraid of," I blurt out.

Reiss's eyebrows wrinkle with confusion.

"For your film," I tell him. "You never asked."

"Why would—"

I cut in, urgent. Desperate. "For years, I've been terrified I'm not good enough. For my parents. Réverie. The whole world. I'll never be the royal they expect."

A frown overtakes his face.

"And I don't care anymore." I smile, weak at first. "No matter what, someone will always think I'm not good enough. But you—" My voice cracks, even through the grin. "I can't stop caring about what you think."

The corners of his mouth twitch up.

"You're bossy. Terrible at football," I start counting off. "You break the laws. Decent kisser for a beginner—"

"My prince," Ajani stage-whispers, "This isn't helping."

But it is. Reiss's shoulders are shaking. His cheeks are tinting that memorable shade of pink he gets when he's amused.

"I'm scared," I continue, "of not being enough for you."

White teeth catch the corner of his lip, pulling. It's like he's fighting a reply.

"I'm tired of the rules. Of being who they want. I like me." My chest warms. But not like it has for years and years. In another way. A freer way.

"I'm angry. Bad at apologizing," I list off. "Arrogant—"

"Don't forget adorable," Reiss whispers.

My lips inch higher. "I like Death by Chocolate ice cream. Funnel cake. Those delicious cinnamon rolls." I dare to step closer. He doesn't retreat. "I like standing up for what I believe in, even if that makes me the world's worst prince."

"You really are awful at it."

"I like that you're so far from perfect, it's funny."

"Is this still an apology?" he asks flatly.

"I like that you listen. Call me out. You have dreams," I continue, undiscouraged. "You go after what you want. You don't quit. You don't let me quit."

Cautiously, I lean in. Rest my forehead against his. I stare into his dark eyes, synchronizing my breath to his.

"But, Reiss, I'm not afraid to say," I whisper, voice almost giving out, "I love you."

His breath hitches.

I say it again: "I love you."

A beat. His gaze doesn't leave mine, but I can see it behind his eyes. He's thinking. Considering every moment we shared. Everything I just said on this tarmac with strangers around, in front of an idling jet.

I count the seconds—three, five, ten—and I don't know what I expected. Nothing in my life changes. The ending's always the same.

It takes all my strength to pull back, but just as I do—

"I love you too," Reiss says.

And then, when I'm speechless, too stunned to absorb his words, he whispers, "I love you, Jadon ."

My head tilts. Reiss closes the gap once more, and then his lips slide across mine. Smooth, soft, slow. Like a wave. Like the sea returning to shore.

We only quit when Ajani clears her throat over the engine's noise. "We're delaying takeoff, Your Highness."

I ease back. "Shall we?"

When we're in the air, our hands tangled, I say, "I hope your parents don't hate me. For keeping you away so long."

"They don't." He smiles conspiratorially. "You haven't seen the news, have you?"

When could I? I've spent the day being surprised by an ex, watching the prime minister's career crumble, being given love and life advice from my mom. Oh, and telling a boy I love him for the first time.

"Been a little busy," I say.

He googles my name. As expected, I'm trending. But it's not as bad as I anticipate.

Almost every article is about me and Reiss.

"I called Ma last night," he says as I scroll. "Reporters have been camping outside the café. Your loyal fans too. Everyone's dying to get a photo."

Eyes crinkled, he adds, "It's helping business. Just like when my dad proposed."

"Wow," I exhale.

"Dom's so excited," Reiss says fondly. "All his classmates love that his bro's dating a prince. No one's teasing him. Calling him a coward."

I grip his hand tighter.

"And this is okay? Your family being in the spotlight?"

He sighs, shrugging. "The one time the headlines are about me, and I have to share them with a prince."

I lean across the armrest, my nose brushing his. "Then I guess now isn't the time to mention I hate these photos of me? I mean, seriously. They didn't even get my dimples."

He groans against my lips, kissing me as the jet lifts us closer to the stars.

"And if you want to know who killed Mr. Boddy," I say with a teasing grin. I step over Karan's splayed body, staring into the dark. "It was me. Special Agent Green. In the hall. With my revolver."

Noel, the police chief, steps into the spotlight. "Great work, Green. Okay, officers, round 'em up!"

The orchestra plays as the curtains close. From the audience, I hear screams and laughter and chanting. Everyone gathers center stage. My heart is still thudding behind my chest when the curtain peels back. The house lights come up, and I finally see it.

I finally see… them .

A sold-out auditorium giving us a standing ovation. Their clapping cracks like thunder in an endless storm. I'm holding hands with Nadia and Mia as the cast bows over and over. Someone shoves Dustin forward until he's under the spotlight, hyperventilating at all the attention, but grinning so widely it looks permanent.

Backstage, Mr. June dances around in a sparkly pair of heels. Dr. Garza Villa shakes an elegant paper fan, proud tears wetting their cheeks.

It wasn't perfect. Vivian nearly fell offstage after tripping on a prop. Calvin missed his cue after intermission because of the line to the restroom. I forgot a line—or four. But we did it.

Opening night for Willow Wood's fall production wasn't an utter failure.

In the front row, my eyes land on Annika, hands cupped around her mouth, shouting. Luc whistles. Samuel got special permission from Headmaster Parker to record everything for Mom. And then there's Ajani, arms crossed, expression stony except for the tiny flinch at the corners of her mouth. Like she's fighting hard not to smile.

They're all here. My little Palisades family.

The cast steps aside. We let Karan take over center stage. He bows deeply, beaming brighter than any spotlight focused on him.

The noise level intensifies. I think the loudest cheers might be from his parents, who are also in the front row, waving bundles of flowers in the air. Or maybe it's Lo, who is pink-faced, but shamelessly screaming from backstage.

No, the loudest voice is mine.

I yell until my throat is raw and achy. Until he knows this is his moment. That no one deserves it more than him.

Hollywood, eat your fucking heart out.

I skip the cast party.

Before I leave, Nadia and Mia whine about how important it is. But, for once, I'm not ditching extra social time with my classmates because I don't want to be around them. Because I don't like them. I'm not maintaining a safe distance because it's easier than letting people in. This time, there's somewhere I need to be.

Someone I need to see.

"How'd it go?"

We ask the question at the same time.

It's dark outside, the sky over Willow Wood a blanket of indigo, but the quad's fountain is lit up. An ivory glow swims across Reiss's face. He's wearing the same clothes I've more or less seen him in for the last three days: worn-soft joggers, Based on a True Story T-shirt, a grungy beanie covering his hair. But there's something different about him. Something I've noticed since our return from Réverie.

He grins fondly. "Did you mess up your lines?"

I ignore his question, too anxious for an answer to my own.

"Did you finish?"

The moment the jet touched down, he holed up in the video lab. Or his bedroom. Working hard on his Oceanfront Film Fest submission. We've mostly seen each other in passing. Through brief FaceTime calls.

I made him promise to miss the play. Spend his time editing. The deadline is midnight.

He shrugs nonchalantly.

"Ugh." I step forward. "Just tell me."

"Is that an order, Your Royal Arrogance?"

I edge closer, smirking. "Yes. As your future king—"

"Excuse you. You're just the spare," he says wryly. "Also, America isn't a monarchy. There was a whole war. You should really learn your history—"

"Reiss Emile Dorian Hayes," I interrupt in my best commanding King Simon voice. "Stop rambling. Answer the question."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. I finished."

I don't hesitate. The quad's empty, but it wouldn't matter. The public knows about us now. I don't care if someone's hiding in a bush, under a table, with a long-range camera. I haul Reiss into my arms, swinging him off his feet.

"Ew," he halfheartedly complains as I press small kisses to his neck and jaw. "I haven't showered in like forty-eight hours."

"You did it! You did it!" I chant against his skin.

He laughs, a hand in my curls.

We spin and spin. It's dizzying, but not as nauseating as the thought of almost losing this. Or how I almost never had this. Too angry, too stubborn after Papa exiled me here. Swearing I'd never fall for an American boy.

Funny how life never goes the way you expect.

When I lower him to the ground, Reiss says, "Now answer my question. How'd you do?"

I settle my hands on his hips. Draw him in. While he waits, his eyes flit from my dimples to my lips, then back again.

"I was—" I pause, considering. Good? Great? Managed to make even Dr. Garza Villa laugh so hard, they almost fell over?

I settle on: "I was me."

Reiss crooks an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"It means," I singsong, grabbing one of his hands, "I want to celebrate! I made a call."

" You made a call," Reiss says, doubtful.

"Fine," I huff. "Samuel made the call. He arranged a special after-hours tour of USC's campus. The film school too."

There's a glow behind his eyes. A hypnotic swirl of hickory and obsidian and awe. It makes my stomach flip.

"I thought it'd be nice?" I say, almost bashfully. "You get a closer look at what your future could look like. And I get to see some of my past. The life my mom experienced."

It's been on my mind since we talked. Since Annika suggested it months ago. It's time I started discovering who I am. Who I can be here. Even if it's not permanent.

"You—" He swallows. "You did that for me?"

"For us," I clarify, then grin smugly. "Being a prince has a few privileges."

His lips purse. "Only a few?"

I hold up my thumb and forefinger, a tiny space between them. "So?" I prod.

Reiss gives my hand a squeeze. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

The new voice startles me. Approaching us, the silvery moon leading them like a spotlight, is Karan and Lo and—

I tilt my head. "Nathan?"

He beams, skateboard under one arm, his other hand gripping a violin case. All my nerves during the play made me forget he was in the orchestra tonight. "PJ! Or should I say, Mr. Green?" He does a comically bad eyebrow wiggle.

I snort despite myself.

Lo squints at us. "You two sneaking off without us?"

"I'm hurt ." Karan clutches his chest. "Betrayed by my own bestie, who didn't even show up for my breakthrough performance."

Lo sighs. "He's gonna be salty about this until graduation."

"You. Owe. Me," Karan says, emphasizing each word by stabbing Reiss's chest with his index finger. "What's the move? In-N-Out? Movie night?"

He's looking at me. There's no resentment for what happened with Léon in his expression. We haven't discussed it. Reiss mentioned clearing things up, but I still owe Karan an apology. Maybe not now, but soon.

I stare at Reiss.

He bites on a smile, shrugging. An it could be fun shoulder lift.

I was hoping for some alone time with him, exploring the campus. Holding hands as we walked through quiet halls. Posing for a selfie in front of the reflective pool like Annika and Luc did. But that can wait too.

I turn to the others. "Would you like to join us on a private tour of USC?"

A beat passes.

Karan sucks in a loud breath. "I don't know, bro. As a future UCLA alum, that's high-key disrespectful—"

Lo elbows him hard in the ribs. "We'd love to."

"Yeah. Sure." Karan coughs, a mix of anguish and adoration directed at Lo. "I'm down."

Reiss laughs into my shoulder.

In the background, I spot Nathan slinking away, chin lowered. Like he's aware this isn't his circle of friends. Like he doesn't belong.

"Hey." I catch his elbow. "Do you want to come, Nate?"

I don't realize why his entire face goes fond, a tenderness behind his eyes, until I think about what I just said.

That I called him Nate instead of Nathan.

An unexpected grin pushes at my cheeks. "You in?"

He shakes out his shoulders. "Most def." Then, he squeezes between Lo and Karan. "But only if I can get some audio for my next podcast. Tell me, Mr. Boddy, what's it like being a Bruin stepping into Trojan territory?"

Karan juts his chin. "Well—"

"Oh, shit. Wait. Let me get my phone out."

It all happens so quickly. Lo gliding through the quad on Nate's board. Karan waxing philosophically to Nate about his theater journey. Reiss tucked under my arm as we walk toward the waiting SUV. My heart backstroking through an ocean of warmth and affection and a freeness I can't name.

Looking to my left and right, knowing I'm not alone. That I have real friends .

That I can be just Jadon.