Chapter Eight
WHAT HAD I done? I’d thought by brushing off Presti and never seeing him again, I’d forget all about him. How wrong I’d been.
I saw his soft smile when I closed my eyes at night. His striking eyes haunted my mind, and his gentle voice played on a constant loop in my head. I replayed the one night we’d spent in each other’s company repeatedly, holding it in my memories with a death grip. I was terrified I might forget a single second of those few short hours I’d spent with a man who’d left an extraordinary impression on me.
I’d grown pathetic enough to pour over official photos taken that night for any images of Presti that might exist. His handsome features peered back at me from the photographs, his face caught in a deer-in-headlights expression as though thoroughly disbelieving his circumstances in that frozen moment.
Along with the official portrait, I’d managed to find him in several other shots. One caught him laughing with Astrid. Another captured his quizzical frown, and I found myself tormented with curiosity over what had perplexed him so. I wanted to give him answers to smooth the troubled lines between his eyes.
And, though the thought might be immature, Prestidigitation Jones was the hottest man I’d ever met.
“James? Can I come in?” George bellowed through my cracked open door.
Following my miserable treatment of Presti, I’d practically shut myself away, hiding in my rooms. At the same time, the fallout from being caught in Astrid and Presti’s little protest rained down around me. Of course, the media had latched onto the possibility of something brewing between Astrid and me. She had given me a great hug after all. The possibility of a queer prince seemed inconceivable. Nobody suspected I’d been drawn to the man standing next to Astrid. Nobody questioned how long we’d held hands. As usual, the palace kept a dignified silence on the matter.
“Come in, George.”
My brother, whom I had not seen since that night, looked deliriously happy. I suspected I knew the source of his joy. “I’m guessing I need to offer you some congratulations, George,” I said as he bounced toward me.
George gripped me in a bear hug, lifted me off my feet, and twirled me about most un-regally. “She finally said yes,” he cried.
Only then did I notice poor Harlan standing in the doorway looking as miserable as George looked joyful.
“Congratulations, George. You’re a lucky man. I hope you strive to deserve her.”
George flinched as if I’d struck him. “You don’t think much of me, do you, James?”
“You’re my brother, and I love you. We’re just different people. I didn’t mean to offend you, George.”
George flicked a glance to Harlan before returning his steely gaze to mine. “I love Hannah more than anything, but I offered to walk away from her if that’s what she wanted. Did you know that, James? And did you know that I’ve known forever that you’re gay, but I’ve never said anything to anyone because I’ve been waiting—hoping—you’d come to me first? I’d hoped that you’d trust me enough to share that with me. Did you know that, James?”
“Christ,” I mumbled. “I am sorry, George. I… I don’t know what to say.”
George shook his head. “Forget it. I know I can be a bit of a pill sometimes, but I’m not a complete arsehole, James. And I will always have your back.”
My brother had struck me dumb several times in my life, but not like this. Not for a show of love toward me. “George…” I broke off, not knowing what to say.
“You liked that fellow. Didn’t you?”
“Presti? I did. But I’m not… I’m not ready to come out yet.”
George shrugged. “Then don’t. But if you like him, James, don’t let go of that.”
“I’ve spent a handful of hours with him.”
Again, George surprised me by laughing. “What did I say to you the day I met your sister, Harlan?”
I’d forgotten Harlan stood so quietly and solemnly at my door. If it had been anybody else, George and I would have been reckless to talk so openly in front of them. But Harlan was a vault; nothing he overheard would go any further. He didn’t need money, and he didn’t want fame.
“You said you could finally breathe because you’d found your missing piece.” Harlan flushed, his eyes downcast as he spoke. His sister’s marriage into my family would be a personal nightmare for Harlan—poor fellow.
“Wow. That was really…disgustingly sweet.” I laughed, jumping out of George’s reach as he playfully swatted at me.
“My point is, little brother, there is no set time frame for matters of the heart. I’m not saying you’re in love with him, but if you like this guy, contact him at the very least. Talk to him. Find out if you could more than like him.”
All I could do was nod and wonder who this man before me was and what he had done with my real brother.
“Anyway,” George continued, “I came here to discuss the engagement announcement with you, not to pull your head out of your arse, though you were sorely in need of it.”
“All right.” I chuckled. “What do you need from me?”
“Just your support. Oh, and one hell of a bachelor party when the time comes.” George winked while Harlan barked a laugh.
“Sure,” I replied. “Whatever you want.”
“The announcement is coming out tomorrow morning at eleven. Hannah will obviously be busy, so could you maybe…be somewhere with Harlan? If the press tracks him down, at least you’ll be there to take the heat off him.”
“I do not need to be babysat, George, as much as I appreciate it,” Harlan muttered, the ever-present flush staining his cheeks.
“I promised Hannah I’d do whatever I had to do to make this easier for you, Harlan, and I meant it.”
Harlan nodded. “Well, okay then. But you know James hates public life every bit as much as I do.”
“Oh, I know, but James has years of practice. Besides, maybe you can talk some sense into him about this Prestidigitation chap.” George smirked. I’d never seen him so happy, and he seemed set on making everyone just as joyful.
“We’ll look out for each other,” I added. “When will the big event be?”
“In the summer. Early June.”
Eight months away. Not long at all. The press would be too busy with Royal Wedding fever to look too closely at my life. I figured I had an eight-month reprieve before I’d have to think about making my big public announcement.
“I am happy for you, George. Hannah will make a perfect queen.”
George smiled, looking pleased with himself. My brother could often be boorish, prone to think too highly of himself, but I was happy for him. He clapped both me and Harlan on the shoulder and turned to leave. “I’ll leave you two to figure out some plan for where you’ll be tomorrow.”
“We’ll figure something out,” I promised. “Congratulations again, George.”
“Thanks.” George stopped and turned to me once more. “And, James, I’d like it if you brought a date to my wedding…somebody you want to date.” And with that, George winked and left me standing there with my mouth hanging open.
“Didn’t expect that,” Harlan said, breaking the silence following George’s departure.
“Not at all,” I replied, my gaze still fixed on the door my brother had so casually walked through seconds ago after flooring me with his behaviour. Had I been too hard on George all this time?
“I shan’t say anything about it,” Harlan murmured. “About your sexuality, I mean.”
I waved my hands about. “Pfft. I know that, Harlan. I trust you.”
“Well, I should hope.” Harlan smiled. “We are going to be family and all. And for what it’s worth… I think Mr Jones would look quite dapper on your arm at the wedding of the century.”
“Wedding of the century?” I laughed. “We’re only twenty years into the century. Who knows what grand nuptials might occur in the remaining eighty.”
Harlan nodded sagely. “Perhaps one with two grooms.”
Harlan’s words both thrilled and terrified me. “Perhaps,” I murmured, utterly failing to conceal a tiny grin.
*
GEORGE’S ANNOUNCEMENT THE following day went off without a hitch. Harlan and I watched live coverage before we braved the great outdoors on the grounds of Balmoral. We’d helicoptered away from Buckingham Palace to a military airfield early this morning before switching to a small aircraft, arriving at the castle in Balmoral just in time to catch the exciting news.
Predictably, the media were going quite berserk. At first, I’d thought we’d overreacted by whisking Harlan away from the capital and the ensuing fanfare over the engagement, but the gaggle of press camped out at the palace gates when we’d arrived disabused me of that notion.
“Quite silly, isn’t it?” Harlan said, his gaze shifting in the direction of the gates. “All this fuss because of a wedding.”
“I asked my grandma once why they didn’t abolish royalty now that we were nothing more than show ponies with no real power. She said we offered a distraction, a look into a fantasy. People still want to peer into the worlds of kings and queens, princes and princesses.”
“Maybe that’s all you are for some, James, but a lot of good is done too. Charity work. Focusing attention on causes.” Harlan smiled almost sadly. “You aren’t just show ponies.”
“Will you be okay, Harlan? With all the attention.”
Harlan shrugged. “It’s not what I would have chosen for myself, but I want my sister to be happy. And George makes her happy.”
“What about you? Your happiness.” Darkening clouds rolled towards us, an early winter storm rolling in, the air already damp with fog and mist. I envisioned a perfect evening around the fire, with a good book and fine whiskey in hand while my brother lapped up the world’s attention. I wasn’t jealous, not of that, but I couldn’t deny my envy of what he shared with Hannah.
“My happiness is simple, James. A quiet life. A home, a family. That’s all I crave.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“It could be yours too, James.”
“I’m not destined for a quiet life…or a family of my own.”
“Do you want it? That’s what you must ask yourself. Forget destiny. Forget what you were born into. Decide what you want, and go after it.”
We walked silently, lost to our thoughts, the dogs yapping and chasing squirrels.
“Do you think I can have what I want?” I asked. My life had been laid out for me since before I was born. Sure, I’d occasionally struggled against the plan, but mostly, I’d been content to ride the gentle stream. But what if I could fight the tide and get what I wanted?
“I don’t see why not. It is the twenty-first century. Politically expedient, arranged marriages are no longer the norm for royalty.”
“Yes, but what if… What if I wanted to marry a man?”
Harlan looked at me as if I’d asked him the most straightforward question ever asked. “I don’t see how that’s of concern to anybody but you and your groom.”
If only that were so. I suspected a great many would have quite a bit to say about it, but ultimately, Harlan was right. I should be with someone I loved regardless of who they were.
“James,” Harlan said, a severe frown creasing his forehead. “Take it from me. Life is short, over in the blink of an eye. Don’t waste a second of it caring what everybody else wants for you.”
Harlan and Hannah’s parents had been killed three years ago, wiped out of existence when a lorry driver playing on his phone ran over the top of theirs and two other cars. Six innocent people and a pet dog died in the fireball. The lorry driver walked away with hardly a scratch.
“You’re right, Harlan. And I have a letter to write.”
We shared a smile before continuing on our stroll around the grounds. Letter writing was not the done thing anymore, but something whispered to me that Presti would enjoy corresponding in that method.
Predictably, we were informed on our return that the horde of reporters camped out at the gates of Balmoral were still there. Harlan and I remained safely ensconced behind the perimeter walls. Truthfully, we could stay here for months, but I knew I’d be wanted back in London soon so the world could see how happy and supportive I was of my brother’s engagement. And I was. I just wished I didn’t have to display it publicly.
When a fierce storm rolled in just as dusk fell, I sat alone in my room, pen and paper in hand. My desk faced the window, offering me a terrific view of the dark clouds occasionally split by bright lightning. Heavy rain thundered against the windowpanes, the distant trees whipping about in the ferocious gusts. I’d always loved storms. When caught in the middle of a tempest, a person knew they were alive as the wind and rain tore at them.
At least an hour had passed since we’d returned from our walk. I’d excused myself from Harlan and retreated to my room with the intention of writing a letter to Presti. My page remained pristinely white.
“Damn,” I muttered to the empty room. “This shouldn’t be so hard.”
Yet it was. I hadn’t treated Presti well at our parting. Maybe he’d hate receiving any sort of contact from me. Perhaps I should just pen an apology and be done with it. With him.
That thought made me sick and scared all mixed together.
Just write something, anything.
Two hours later, I’d written a six-page letter of mostly gibberish with an apology and an added splash of pleading for Presti to write back. I sealed and addressed the envelope using the address I’d been given by my father’s onsite secretary before taking it to him for postage before I could change my mind.
The remainder of the night, I lay tossing and turning, wide awake and wondering how badly I’d messed things up and just how big of a fool I’d made of myself.