Chapter 5
EDDIE
I woke up the next morning with the kind of bone-deep mortification that usually followed dreams about showing up to state dinners in one’s underwear—my personal variation on the naked-in-school nightmares most teenagers had.
Except this wasn’t a dream, and what I’d done was so much worse than any breach of royal protocol. I groaned as the mental image of him played through my head again, like it had been burned into my mind.
The sight of him had quite literally stolen my breath.
Water droplets had clung to his shoulders and chest, highlighting the lean muscle definition that spoke of years of military training.
His chest was perfectly defined and smooth, making me want to slide my hands across it to feel it.
The only hair he had was a narrow trail from his stomach downward that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the white towel that hung precariously low on his narrow hips.
And those hips…
Bloody hell and back, he had two of those mouthwatering…
I didn’t even know what they were officially called, but Floris always referred to them as cum gutters.
Which was wrong on so many levels and yet wholly right at the same time.
I’d wanted to lick them, kiss them, worship them…
and then continue on to the rest of his body.
He had a scar along his left shoulder that I wanted to trace with my fingertips, and another smaller one below his collarbone that made me wonder what stories his body could tell.
The way the bathroom light had caught the angles of his face, the strong line of his jaw still slightly damp from his shower, the unconscious confidence with which he carried himself even in nothing but a towel—it was overwhelming in the most delicious way.
I’d seen attractive men before, of course, but never one who seemed designed specifically to make me forget every lesson in propriety I’d ever learned.
As a result, I’d been caught staring at my bodyguard’s nearly naked body like some sort of…
Well, like someone who found men attractive.
Which, to be fair, I did. But Bash wasn’t supposed to know that.
No one was supposed to know that.
I lay in bed listening to his morning routine through the walls—the familiar sounds of him coming back from his workout, then his shower, shave, and efficient preparation for the day—and tried to formulate a plan.
Perhaps if I timed my emergence from my bedroom carefully, we could avoid any awkward morning-after conversations.
Perhaps I could pretend it had never happened.
Perhaps Bash would be gentleman enough to never mention it.
And perhaps I was deluding myself.
In approximately five minutes, he’d emerge ready for breakfast, and I’d have to face him while pretending I hadn’t spent the night replaying the moment when his eyes had met mine over that dangerously low-slung towel.
He must hate me for looking at him like that, for making what should’ve been normal so awkward. I’d never felt this ashamed in my life.
But worse than the embarrassment was the cold fear that had been growing in my chest since the moment I’d fled to my bedroom.
Bash wasn’t merely my roommate or even my friend.
He was my protection detail, employed by the Crown, with direct lines of communication to the very people I was trying to keep my sexuality from.
What if he reported back to Uncle Henry? What if this entire year of freedom was about to come crashing down because I couldn’t control my wandering eyes? What if—
“Eddie?” Bash’s voice came through my bedroom door, accompanied by a gentle knock. “Breakfast?”
I took a steadying breath. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”
“Sure thing.”
His footsteps retreated, and I forced myself out of bed. Whatever was going to happen, I couldn’t hide in my bedroom forever. Besides, we had classes to attend, assignments to complete, and a cover to maintain. I couldn’t let one moment of weakness destroy everything.
I emerged from my bedroom to find Bash sitting at our small table with two cups of coffee and what appeared to be a normal expression. No judgment, no disgust, no uncomfortable awareness of what had transpired the evening before. If anything, he seemed more relaxed than usual.
“Mornin’,” he said, offering me one of the mugs. “Sleep okay?”
“Fine, thank you,” I managed, accepting the coffee and trying not to read too much into the way his fingers brushed mine during the exchange. “You?”
“Like a baby.” He stood, gathering his textbooks. “Ready for breakfast and then study group?”
Right. The study group. I’d completely forgotten about that. The last thing I wanted was to sit in a small room with our classmates while trying to pretend everything was normal.
“Absolutely,” I lied.
The walk to the dining hall felt interminable. We maintained our usual easy conversation—Bash commenting on the morning fog rolling in from the Sound, me observing how the air already felt like fall was on its way—but I was hyperaware of every glance, every gesture, every moment.
Did he know? Could he tell what I was thinking? Was he regretting accepting this assignment?
Bash’s face, of course, showed nothing. He was his professional self, effortlessly managing to constantly keep an eye on everything that went on around us and making it look casual, while keeping up the conversation with me.
Breakfast was half an hour of forced normalcy that felt like two hours of pure torture, and by the time we reached the classroom where our study group was meeting, my nerves were stretched to their breaking point.
The others were already seated around the large conference table, chatting about the weekend’s reading assignment.
Sarah, a cheerful girl from Oregon who’d appointed herself the unofficial social coordinator of our group, waved at us. “Eddie! Bash! Perfect timing. We were just getting started.”
We found seats next to each other—Bash subtly positioning himself between me and the rest of the group—and I tried to focus on our review of post-Cold War NATO expansion.
But I kept catching sideways glances from our classmates, little smiles and meaningful looks that made my stomach clench with anxiety.
“So,” said Kolby, a California native, during a brief break in the discussion, “you two seem to have settled into campus life pretty well.”
“It’s a lovely university,” I replied carefully. “Very welcoming.”
“Oh, totally,” agreed Jessica, a senior whose baby bump seemed to grow by the week. She had that classic pregnancy glow, and I loved how she could sit there in silence and rub two hands across her belly. “And it’s so nice that you have each other. It must make the adjustment so much easier.”
Something in her tone made me look up from my notes. She was smiling at us with a kind of indulgent expression. “Right,” I said slowly.
“You two are adorable,” Sarah added with a grin. “The way you always walk to class together, sit together, finish each other’s sentences sometimes. It’s like you’ve been together forever.”
My mouth went dry. Together. They thought we were together. Dating. A couple.
Rationally, I’d known we were posing as a couple, but I’d imagined that to be more of a theoretical situation. Surely, no one would be rude enough to actually enquire about our exact relationship.
Apparently, I’d been wrong.
“You got so lucky with that apartment,” Kolby said. “Me and my girlfriend applied for one as well, but we didn’t get selected. There’s, like, a two-year waiting list.”
Which meant I couldn’t deny we were together because that would completely blow our reason for getting that apartment.
“It’s a great apartment,” Bash said, sounding far more cool and collected than I could’ve ever managed. “We’re really enjoying it.”
The response seemed to satisfy our classmates, who exchanged knowing looks and moved on to discussing weekend plans.
The rest of the study group session passed in a blur of academic discussion punctuated by assumptions about our relationship status.
Someone mentioned a campus couples’ trivia night, and Jessica asked how long we’d been dating.
Kolby told us how he met his girlfriend and reiterated how bummed they were not to get an apartment.
Through it all, Bash maintained his calm composure, easily deflecting questions without raising suspicion, all casual charm, while I sat frozen in mortified silence.
Our next class was even worse. Professor Chen droned on about Henry Kissinger while I snuck glances at Bash, trying to decipher his expression.
He seemed focused on the lecture, taking his usual careful notes, but there was something different about the set of his shoulders, a tension that hadn’t been there before.
Was he angry with me? Or upset about having to pose as a couple? As if yesterday’s debacle hadn’t been embarrassing enough, we now had to deal with this as well.
When class finally ended, we gathered our things in silence and walked back toward Cascade Hall.
The late-summer air was warm and gentle, and students were scattered across the quad in small groups, enjoying the gorgeous day.
It should have been peaceful, normal, exactly the kind of university experience I’d dreamed of having.
Instead, I felt like I was walking toward some sort of reckoning.
Back in our suite, I couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “About last night. About this morning. About everything, really. I’m terribly sorry.”
He set his textbooks down on the kitchen counter and turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “Sorry for what?”
“For…” I gestured helplessly. “For staring. For making things awkward. For forcing you to lie about us being a couple.”
Bash was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Then he sighed and moved to our small couch, gesturing for me to join him. “Eddie, we need to talk about the situation we’re in.”
My heart plummeted. Here it was, the conversation I’d been dreading. The one where he explained that my behavior was inappropriate, that he’d have to report back to his supervisors, that this arrangement wasn’t going to work.
“I know,” I said quietly, sinking into the chair across from him instead of the couch. Distance seemed safer. “I’ve made things complicated, and I’m prepared to face the consequences.”
“That’s not what this is about.” Bash leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “The problem isn’t what happened last night. The problem is what’s happening now.”
I blinked. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“These apartments are for couples only. We knew that from the start. Like you, I’d hoped no one would actually ask us about it, but they are.
We can’t deny it. Not only could they report us to the university for fraud, but it would also trigger massive curiosity.
People are going to wonder why two guys who are not dating are spending every moment together, why we never date anyone else, why we’re so comfortable with each other.
They’re going to start asking questions we can’t answer. ”
The implications of what he was saying slowly sank in. “You’re suggesting we truly pretend to be a couple?”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice. Denying it would complicate things big time.”
“But we’re both straight,” I said, then immediately felt my cheeks burn. The words felt like ash in my mouth.
Bash was quiet for a moment, and something shifted in his expression.
When he spoke, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.
“I’m not. Straight, I mean. I’m bi, but nobody knows.
Nobody back home, nobody here. It’s not something I’ve ever been able to be open about.
You’re literally the first person I’ve told. ”
The admission hung in the air between us, vulnerable and honest and completely unexpected. He wasn’t straight? Not in a million years would I have ever guessed.
But more than that, awe filled me that he’d entrusted me with this. He hadn’t told anyone, but he’d trusted me to be the first. Something loosened in my chest, a knot of fear and shame that I’d been carrying for so long, I’d forgotten it was there.
“Neither am I. I’m gay, but no one knows except my friends.”
Bash’s eyes widened slightly. “Yeah?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Jesus, Eddie.” Bash’s voice was rough with something that might have been relief. “How long have you known?”
“Forever. Since I was ten, probably. Don’t forget I went to an all-boys boarding school. Plenty of opportunity to figure that out. And you?”
“When I was fifteen and had the biggest crush on my new PE teacher…” He chuckled. “Nothing ever came from it but it gave me some interesting dreams for a while.”
I was all too familiar with those.
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of our mutual confession settling between us. I felt simultaneously exposed and relieved, terrified and liberated. Here was someone who understood, someone who knew what it was like to hide such a fundamental part of yourself.
“So,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Posing as a couple.”
“Fake dating for the sake of your security,” Bash confirmed, and something in his smile made my heart do a happy little skip. “Think you can handle pretending to be my boyfriend?”
The word boyfriend sent an entirely inappropriate thrill through me. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
But even as I agreed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking into territory far more dangerous than either of us realized.
Because sitting there looking at Bash—really looking at him, knowing that he understood me in a way no one else ever had—I knew that the hardest part about fake dating him wouldn’t be making it look real.
It would be remembering that it wasn’t.