Chapter 2 #2
She smiled. “I would think that with your background, you’d know a thing or two about International Relations.”
Bash grinned. “If by that you mean protecting someone from the UN, then yes. Unfortunately, that probably won’t get me far in these classes.”
We both had a good laugh about that.
“Don’t forget that those mini-apartments are for couples only,” Heather said when I was about to leave. “So be prepared to pose as a couple if needed.”
Right. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary. “Noted, thank you.”
After a quick dinner consisting of a massive plate of pasta bolognese with copious amounts of cheese on top in the dining hall, I settled in the living room, content with what I’d been able to accomplish that day. Now all I had to do was wait for the prince to arrive.
He was flying into SeaTac on a private plane to avoid the press, and he’d be dropped off by his own British security at the front door of Cascade Hall.
I’d wanted to pick him up from the airport, but I’d been informed that wasn’t necessary and that as soon as he entered Cascade Hall, he’d be my responsibility.
Around seven-thirty, I heard voices in the hallway outside, getting louder as they approached our door. A posh British accent that could only belong to one person, and what sounded like at least two other voices trying to help with something.
“I’m terribly sorry about this,” the British voice was saying. “I fear I may have overpacked a touch.”
The door opened. Prince Gregory Edward William Mountbatten-Windsor walked in, looking absolutely mortified, while two student workers maneuvered what appeared to be half the contents of a department store through the entrance.
Suitcases, garment bags, boxes, and what looked like an entire computer set-up were piled on a cart that was not designed for this much weight.
“You can set it down anywhere,” he was saying, his cheeks flushed. “I’ll sort it out later. Thank you both so much for your help.”
The digital impression I’d gotten from him through the Zoom call didn’t do him justice.
He was taller than I’d expected, probably six-foot-two to my five-eleven, with sandy brown hair that looked like he’d been running his fingers through it and the kind of aristocratic bone structure that belonged in a museum.
But it was his eyes that caught me off guard—bright green, and currently wide with what looked like genuine embarrassment at the spectacle he was causing.
“Hello, Bash,” he said once the student workers had left with generous tips that probably exceeded their hourly wages.
He stepped forward with his hand extended, and I noticed that despite his obvious discomfort, he stood ramrod straight.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. And I am absolutely, thoroughly mortified by this luggage situation. ”
I shook his hand, noting the firm grip and the fact that he met my eyes directly. “Nice to meet you too, Eddie. And don’t worry about the luggage. I’ve seen worse.”
That was a lie. I’d never seen anyone schlep this much stuff anywhere, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Have you really?” He looked so hopeful that I almost felt bad for lying. “Because I’m fairly certain I’ve brought enough clothing to wear a different outfit for the entire year I’ll be here, and I have no idea what possessed me to think I needed quite so many shoes.”
“Moving’s always complicated,” I said diplomatically. “How was your flight?”
“Pleasant enough. Thank you for asking. How was your drive? You drove all the way from North Carolina, right?”
I blinked, surprised that he’d remembered that detail from our brief video call. “Yeah, I did. Took me a few days, obviously, but it was good. I always love seeing more of my country, and I’d never been in this area. It’s very different from back home.”
“I imagine it would be.” He gestured vaguely at the windows. “It’s rather stunning, isn’t it? All those trees and mountains and of course, the Pacific Ocean. I’m eager to see it in full daylight.”
There was something genuine in his voice, a kind of wonder that didn’t match the jaded playboy image from the tabloids. He seemed less cynical than I’d expected from someone who’d grown up with that kind of privilege.
For the next hour, I watched Prince Gregory Edward William Mountbatten-Windsor—Eddie—attempt to move into a college dormitory like a normal person, and it was both painful and oddly endearing.
He clearly had no idea how to efficiently pack or unpack anything, approaching each suitcase like it might contain explosives.
But what surprised me was how he kept trying to help me with things I didn’t need help with, asking if I needed anything, making sure I was comfortable. Hell, he even offered to sleep on the couch. As if I’d ever let him.
“I brought far too much tea,” he announced from his bedroom, where he appeared to be setting up what looked like a small shrine to various British beverage brands. “I don’t suppose you’d fancy some? I realize Americans prefer coffee, but I thought perhaps…”
“I drink tea. My grandmother was big on sweet tea.”
His face lit up. “Sweet tea? How fascinating. I don’t believe I’ve ever had sweet tea. Is it very different from regular tea?”
That smile did something to my equilibrium that I absolutely could not afford to analyze. I found myself staring at his mouth for a beat too long before I managed to respond. “Probably nothing like what you’re used to. It’s basically cold sugar water with a little tea flavoring.”
“It sounds perfectly dreadful,” he said with such obvious delight that I had to suppress a smile. “I’d love to try it sometime.”
“I’d be happy to make you some. As a southerner, I live and die by sweet tea.”
Eddie was close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and understated that probably cost more than my monthly salary.
When he turned to put something on the kitchen counter, his shoulder brushed against mine, and I felt that contact like an electric shock.
I stepped back quickly, probably too quickly, and saw him glance at me with those impossibly green eyes.
My pulse kicked up a notch, and I had to focus on breathing normally.
By the time he was finally done unpacking, I was wondering who on earth had labeled him Prince Playboy because he was nothing like what I’d expected from a spoiled royal.
He was polite without being condescending, curious without being intrusive, and there was something almost vulnerable about the way he approached everything, like he was genuinely excited to be here but terrified of making a mistake.
It was when we were standing in the shared bathroom, both of us clearly realizing for the first time exactly how intimate this living arrangement was going to be, that it hit me.
I liked him.
Not just professionally—I could work with anyone professionally, even people I couldn’t stand. But I genuinely liked Eddie York, the awkward, overpacked, unexpectedly thoughtful British student who was trying so hard to fit in that it was almost painful to watch.
And that was a problem. A big problem.
Because somewhere between his mortification over the luggage and his genuine interest in sweet tea, my inconvenient bisexuality had decided to make its presence known.
That part of me I’d spent years carefully ignoring, the part that had been so much easier to suppress when I was surrounded by the aggressively heterosexual culture of the Marines and now the Secret Service, was suddenly wide awake and taking notice.
Eddie was attractive. More than attractive.
Tall and lean and aristocratic, with that posh accent and those impossibly green eyes and a smile that seemed to light up the entire room.
He was exactly the kind of man who might’ve caught my attention in a different time, a different place, a different life.
But this wasn’t a different time or place or life.
This was my job—the most important job of my career, the one that could set me up for life if I didn’t screw it up.
Like every Secret Service agent, my ultimate goal was to protect the president, and doing well on this special assignment could make a big difference.
Eddie wasn’t some guy I’d met at a bar or in a coffee shop. He was a protectee, actual royalty. And even if he hadn’t been my job, he was still so far out of my league, we weren’t even playing in the same universe.
Pretending to be a couple would be a challenge, to put it mildly, now that my bisexuality had reawakened, as if summoned by forces beyond my control.
I’d have to work hard to keep myself in check, to not let Eddie get even a whiff of what was going on.
It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d been through worse.
Thank baby Jesus Eddie was straight.