Chapter 24
BASH
The transformation was brutal to watch.
I watched Eddie navigate his family obligations with the kind of practiced ease that came from a lifetime of training.
He attended formal meals where every course was served with military precision.
He participated in carefully structured conversations about royal duties and charitable obligations.
He smiled and nodded and played the part of the dutiful prince with such perfection that I sometimes wondered if I’d imagined the man who’d laughed at my terrible jokes and fallen asleep in my arms.
But I knew him too well now to be completely fooled.
I could see the tension in his shoulders during formal dinners, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes when discussing future plans, the careful distance he maintained from everyone around him.
He was performing beautifully, but it was killing him by degrees.
The worst part was how little I could do to help.
My role here was purely professional—maintain proper distance, blend into the background, be available if needed but otherwise invisible.
The separation was excruciating on every level: physical, emotional, psychological, existential.
In this place, surrounded by the full weight of royal protocol, what we’d built together felt fragile as spun glass.
I couldn’t offer comfort or support or even basic human connection.
I had to watch the man I loved suffer in silence while pretending he was just another assignment.
It was fucking agony.
And my gut said it would only get worse now that we’d arrived at Sandringham House.
The estate itself was overwhelming—20,000 acres of perfectly manicured grounds, the main house looming like something out of a fairy tale, and security everywhere.
I’d studied the floor plans and protocols, but being here in person made me understand how impossible Eddie’s situation really was.
This was an entire world built around tradition, expectation, and the absolute subjugation of personal desire to institutional need.
“Welcome to Sandringham, Your Highness,” the head butler said with a bow. “His Majesty is expecting you in his private study at four o’clock.”
“Thank you, Peterson,” Eddie replied, his voice carrying the kind of formal authority I’d rarely heard from him. “Please see that Special Agent Puller is settled with the security staff.”
Special Agent Puller. Just the formal distance of a protectee addressing hired help. I knew it was necessary—knew that maintaining professional boundaries was the only way to protect us both—but hearing it still felt like a knife between the ribs.
“Of course, Your Highness. If you’ll follow me, Agent Puller.”
I was led through a maze of corridors to the security quarters, a series of small, efficient rooms that might as well have been on another planet from the opulent family areas.
My room was clean and functional, with a narrow bed and a window that looked out on the service entrance.
It was exactly what I’d expected, and exactly the opposite of the warm, intimate space Eddie and I had shared for months.
I dropped my bag and went right back to work. Even if I could do nothing else to help him, I could at least keep an eye on Eddie.
The day was, once again, filled with meeting after meeting, obligation after obligation, and I watched him retreat into a shell of himself. By the time dinner had concluded, Eddie looked like he was barely holding himself together.
I waited until the hallway was clear, then made a decision that violated every protocol I’d ever been taught—British and American.
“Your Highness,” I said quietly as he walked past. “A moment?”
He paused, glancing around to ensure we were alone, then nodded curtly. I led him to a small alcove off the main corridor—not private, exactly, but out of immediate sight lines.
“You okay?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry.
For a moment, Eddie’s careful mask slipped, and I saw the exhaustion and desperation underneath. “I’m quite alright,” he said automatically, then caught himself. “No. No, I’m not fine at all.”
“Talk to me.”
“I can’t.” His voice was strained, desperate. “Not here. Not like this. I have to be Prince Gregory here, Bash. I haven’t a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Have I?” The question came out harsh, bitter. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like every choice was made for me before I was even born.”
“Eddie,” I said softly, forgetting protocol entirely.
The sound of his real name seemed to crack something open in him. His carefully maintained composure wavered, and for a moment, he looked exactly like the man who’d curled up against me in our narrow university bed.
“I love you,” I said, the words falling out before I could stop them. “I love you, and watching you disappear into this place is killing me.”
Eddie’s breath caught. “Bash—”
“I know it’s impossible. I know there are things at stake that I couldn’t possibly understand. But I need you to know that what we have is real, and it matters, and you don’t have to face any of this alone.”
“I love you too,” Eddie whispered, and the admission seemed to cost him everything. “God, Bash, I love you so much, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
We moved toward each other at the same time, drawn together by days of forced separation and desperate need for connection.
The kiss was soft, careful, but filled with everything we couldn’t say aloud.
For just a moment, in that small alcove, Eddie stopped being Prince Gregory and became simply the man I loved.
Which was, of course, exactly when someone cleared their throat behind us.
We sprang apart like scalded cats, Eddie’s face going white as he spun toward the sound. Standing in the doorway was Princess Charlotte, Eddie’s older sister.
She was staring at us with an expression of complete shock, her mouth slightly open as she processed what she’d witnessed.
For a moment, nobody moved or spoke, the silence stretching like a taut wire.
“Charlie,” Eddie breathed, and I heard pure terror in his voice.
“I…” Charlotte looked between us, clearly struggling to process the situation. “I was looking for you. Father wants to discuss tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Charlotte, please—” Eddie started, but she held up a hand.
“Not here,” she said quietly, glancing around the corridor with the kind of automatic caution that came from a lifetime in the public eye. “Too many people around.”
She was right. Even as we stood there, I could hear footsteps and voices from other parts of the house, the constant bustle of staff and security that made real privacy almost impossible in a place like this.
“Your room,” Charlotte said decisively. “Twenty minutes.”
She walked away without another word, leaving Eddie and me standing in the alcove, both of us trying to process what had happened.
“Bloody hell,” Eddie whispered, running a hand through his hair. “Christ almighty, I can’t believe this.”
“She’s your sister,” I said, trying to inject some calm into the situation. “She loves you. That has to count for something.”
“You don’t understand,” Eddie said, his voice tight with panic. “Charlotte’s entire life is built around duty and service. She’s never put a foot wrong, never caused a scandal, never even been photographed looking less than perfect. If she thinks I’m jeopardizing the family or the institution—”
“Then we’ll deal with that when it happens. But Eddie, she asked us to talk. That’s not the response of someone planning to turn you in.”
Eddie nodded, but I could see he wasn’t convinced. The careful distance he’d been maintaining snapped back into place, and Prince Gregory reasserted himself with visible effort.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, his voice formal again. “We should arrive separately.”
The next twenty minutes felt like twenty hours.
I made my way to the guest room where Eddie was staying through corridors that suddenly felt hostile, every staff member and security officer a potential threat.
By the time I reached his door, my nerves were strung tighter than piano wire.
He opened immediately, then closed and locked the door behind me.
“No one will disturb us here,” he said. “The staff know better than to interrupt.”
Charlotte was already there, sitting in one of the ridiculously formal chairs—or maybe these were called settees? I wasn’t exactly a furniture expert. She’d changed from her formal day wear into casual clothes, jeans and a sweater that made her look a thousand times more accessible.
Eddie and I sat down next to each other on the hard, uncomfortable couch. The three of us stayed silent for a moment, the weight of the situation settling around us like a heavy blanket.
“How long?” Charlotte asked finally.
Eddie and I exchanged glances. “How long what?” Eddie replied carefully.
“How long have you been in love with each other? Because what I saw out there wasn’t the beginning of something. That was two people who’ve been together for a while finding a moment of connection.”
The directness of the question seemed to catch Eddie off guard. I saw him struggle with how much to reveal, and decided to take the lead. “Two months.”
Charlotte nodded as if this confirmed something she’d suspected. “You share an apartment, correct?”
“Yes. The apartment we have is for couples only, so we’ve been posing as a couple as well,” I told her. “All under his assumed name of Eddie York, obviously.”
“I see.” Charlotte was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. “Greg, do you understand what this means? What you’re risking?”
“Of course I understand,” Eddie snapped, some of his desperation bleeding through. “Do you honestly think I chose this? Do you think I wanted to fall in love with someone I can never have a future with?”