Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
My next immediate thought after the door clicks shut is James—and what the hell he’s done this time. Pulling out my phone, there’re no new messages from James—or the Duke of Sussex, for that matter—and certainly not any messages with an explanation. Or a warning. I frown.
I immediately set to googling Duke Edward of Wiltshire for answers.
There he is, sure enough, sandy-haired and with a self-effacing sort of smile.
He doesn’t seem to have social media, as far as I can tell, or it’s well locked down to private, which is reasonable enough.
Though what if he doesn’t have any accounts?
What kind of sociopath doesn’t have any social media in this day and age?
I mean, I’ve heard of people like this, but it’s quite another thing to encounter them in the wild.
Then, I find James’ Instagram. And there it is, a bold announcement of his upcoming birthday celebration, with a hand-painted and lettered invitation in blue paint as the lead photo on a photo carousel.
I flick through: Windsor Castle, a banquet hall, a ballroom turned club—something I remember from another event at the castle—and a close-up photo of bottles of champagne. Somewhere, Auggie’s probably shaking his head. In the accompanying post, he’s got some key guests listed.
I’m very happy to soon celebrate my 25th birthday at Windsor Castle with friends and family, including Prince Auggie and Thomas Golden, Prince John, Prince Theodor of Denmark and Duke Edward of Wiltshire, Frankie Lee-Smith, Elsie Finnegan, Killian Jones Anderson, and more. See you all soon! xoxo James
I blink. My brow definitely furrows. Well, fuck me. Clearly, I was distracted by Stef and not paying enough attention to James and his shenanigans, which really is a 24/7 sort of job. It’s subtle but there, putting me and Duke Edward together like Auggie and Thomas.
James. Have you lost your mind?
No response comes in the next few minutes.
James is probably off busy living his life and getting into more scrapes as I’m standing here and Stef’s off hiding in the Ritz, probably trying to delete me from his memories.
I’ve got half a mind to go after Stef, but neither one of us can afford the media coverage.
And Miles would have my hide for running around in high-profile places in London without him. I groan.
Which leaves me contemplating the James situation and how to manage it. As if James can be managed.
Also, it’s very interesting to see Frankie included on James’ public-facing guest list. Is Frankie actually going to be there, or is this wishful thinking after what James last said?
As for Elsie, one of James’ longtime friends, it’s a while since I’ve last seen her.
There’s nothing romantic there between them, to my knowledge, but who knows.
“Well, fuck me.” I scowl at the phone, at a loss what to do next. I swipe to Stefanos in my messages and type.
I’m so glad you came to London x
And then I delete it, swallowing hard, because that’s not going to help him. Or me.
As I lean into the wall, my eyes suddenly sting. Fuck. I blink furiously and make myself breathe. This is all fine, I tell myself. None of it means anything, after all. Stef is free to take care of himself, and I’m free to… go meet the Duke of Wiltshire.
Shaking my head, I head back to the kitchen to tidy up, running over the last few hours together with Stefanos over and over in my mind.
About two weeks later, a text comes late in the evening.
Flopped on the sofa, I’m watching a terrible old zombie film, hoping it’ll help me sleep, but the equally terrible old effects have my full attention.
I crunch down a handful of buttery popcorn, wipe my fingers on a napkin, and reach for my phone to see what sort of bullshit someone wants at this unreasonable hour.
It’s Stefanos. After two weeks of radio silence.
Sorry I ran out on you like I did.
Well, well.
I sit up, running a hand absent-mindedly through my hair. In my efforts to breach said radio silence, I’ve tried writing messages and rewriting them but deleted them before sending to Stef when I lost my nerve.
Holding the phone up, I stare at Stef’s message, wondering how on earth to respond to him that’s not going to send him bolting into the ether again. It’s hard to breathe. Stop it, I tell myself. This is nothing. He’s being so polite he could be a Canadian, for crying out loud.
How’s the big apple? X
A moment later, I’m rewarded with a photo at sunset, capturing high-rises as far as the eye can see. Moody pinks and purples and orange are caught in thin cloud between the towers. He’s high up, wherever he is.
Gorgeous
Yeah. The view never gets boring. Sometimes everything else is though
Thought to check in with your friendly not-so-local prince for some excitement?
I imagine the pink blush creeping across his cheeks. Something I’d love to cover in kisses. Definitely not helping the situation, I tell myself. Yet I can’t bring myself to resist.
There’s a long time when he doesn’t respond. I start watching my film again.
Shit, too far, Theo. Now you’ve done it.
But then, a miracle. My phone lights up again as it buzzes in my hand. I lift my head from the sofa pillows.
International relations are important
Totally. Any other incidents lately?
Thankfully no
How boring x
Are you a thrill seeker?
Depends on the thrill
I see
I wrinkle my nose, waiting for Stef to come back with some kind of banter, but I can imagine him sitting there overthinking his response to me, trying to figure out what is safe. Safe, it has to be said, is boring.
How’s the duke?
I groan, shaking my head. “Come on,” I complain loudly to the room. “Flirt with me.”
Still duking
Have a tux picked out?
Oh yeah, got my fave ready to go, duke’s got expectations. Total baller.
Post something on your Insta from the party so I can see you all cleaned up
Now it’s my turn to stop cold in my tracks. I chew my bottom lip.
Gonna open an Only Fans actually
Sign me up
Fuck me. Well then. Shaking my head again to clear it, I decide to video call him, shifting against the plush sofa cushions to lift my head a little more.
It rings four times before Stef answers.
Then I’m rewarded by the sight of him looking sheepish, with a pink sky and high-rises behind him.
His hair’s rumpled and curling from the shower.
Stef wears thick-framed black glasses and is dressed in a white T-shirt—and who knows what else. An absolutely fucking delightful sight.
“Thought you were going to chicken out,” I murmur and lift my eyebrows meaningfully at him as I absorb his new look, “and not answer.”
Stef rolls his eyes, gesturing with a hand enough so I can catch it. “I’m not any kind of poultry, for the record.”
“Game bird?”
“No.” He looks at me intently.
My God, he’s hot.
“Real shame you’re on the other side of the Atlantic right now.”
“Why’s that?”
“My mouth has some things it wants to do to you.”
There’s the blush that I know so well. Stef rubs the nape of his neck, glancing away for a moment before refocusing.
“Your duke.” Stef stares me down again.
“He’s not real. I told you. He’s only a duke for optics.”
He has the nerve to lift an eyebrow at me. Who does that?
“Well, fine, he’s a real, legitimate duke. Who—yes—is my date for James’ birthday party. But it’s all James’ idea, not mine. Believe me. Generally, I take an anti-duke stance. Ask him. James, I mean. Not the duke.”
Stefanos just shakes his head, giving me a wry look. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
There’s a flicker of a smile, and then he continues to give me unyielding serious face, which doesn’t make me stop wanting to kiss his jawline and do naughty things to him to see how he reacts.
“My apology’s real, Theo, for the record.”
I nod. “I saw the text. I believe you.”
He licks his lips, and I admire him openly. Plenty to admire.
For a moment, I swear he looks distracted, but then he refocuses. “I didn’t… I should’ve…”
“What? You’ve got a duke of your own?”
A full-on blush now as a sweet, sweet reward. “No!”
“Then?” I ask archly.
Stef closes his eyes for a moment, his expression shifting to news anchor smooth. “My situation’s complicated,” he says at last.
“Yeah? So’s mine. And I’ve apologized—and will continue to apologize about—”
“It’s not that.” Stefanos waves me off.
I lift my eyebrows and make a very dedicated effort to shut my mouth. Unable to keep entirely still, I shift against the cushions once more, draping my arm over my head. I wiggle my fingers. He stares.
“Your situation?” I prompt.
“Um, yeah. Complicated. It’s…”
“Jesus, Stef. Out with it.”
Stefanos glares at me, and it’s fucking hot. There’s something really wrong with me that I love provoking people. Patience isn’t really my strong suit.
“Nobody knows I’m gay,” Stefanos confesses, looking away. “Well, almost no one. Maybe I’m bi. I don’t know.”
It’s my turn to stare at him. “Wait. What?”
“Obviously, you know, Theo—”
“Obviously.”
“And James does too. But no one else does. And… I’ve got to keep it like that.”
Frowning, I sit up and give him a hard look over the phone. “It’s not the Middle Ages, Stef. Princes can be gay. Even Auggie came out.”
Stef shakes his head, looking unhappy. “It’s not because I’m a prince. It’s because my father won’t understand. We’re Greek. He’s very traditional—”
“Greece is, like, the motherland of homosexuality, I swear. I mean, just look at the Ancient Greeks.”
To his credit, Stef keeps his steady gaze. Resisting the instinctive temptation to provoke him, I sit back and finally remove my arm from over my head.
“The irony hasn’t escaped me.” Stef sighs. “Listen. I should go. I just… I wanted to apologize to you for leaving the way I did when I was in London.”
“I can be discreet,” I say lightly.
Stef gives me a stern look. “You sank a yacht.”
“Oh, what happened to we sank a yacht, hmm?” I drawl.
The reward is a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth. “Theo…”
“So now what?” I frown. “That’s it? Are you freaking out because you’ve been with a man now?”
“No!” Stef shifts uncomfortably. “It’s just… you can get on with your life and getting ready to be a king, and I can figure out how to get a job as an archaeological tour guide, I guess.”
My frown deepens.
“You’ve got a party next weekend,” Stef says softly. “I’ve really got to go now…”
I sigh too. “Go. If you think that will help.”
Troubled, he nods. “Night, Theo.”
“Night.”
And I’m left staring at the ceiling on the sofa, trying to figure out how on earth I’m going to get through next weekend with the Duke of Wiltshire at Windsor Castle while trying to not think about Stefanos.
I’m totally, totally fucked.