Chapter 7 #4
Leo went home at around three in the morning, took a quick shower and slept for a small number of hours. He was back in the office by eight.
Around noon, just as he was smoking his one allotted cigarette of the day, Joshua called him for a status report.
Leo was glad that he didn’t have to lie because all things considered, it was a fairly positive reaction.
Granted, there were some low blows—the likes of the Westboro Baptist Church had jumped on the news, salivating as though they’d caught a case of the rabies—but the echo in the relevant European, American and Commonwealth papers ranged from neutral to positive, and many of the customary jokes in talk shows revolved around suitable husbands for Prince Joshua.
Alan Carr was planning to introduce a section to his show called Who Wants to Marry the Prince?
, where two male celebrities were pitted against each other.
“And guess who wrote about half of all those jokes?” Grinning, Leo tapped some ash over the balcony railing and didn’t wait for Joshua’s answer.
“Yes, that’s right. Me. I do hope you appreciate that I got Ian McKellen onto the list of your husband candidates.
Classy bloke. Out of your league, if we’re being honest.”
Other names Leo had put on the list were David Beckham (already married to a posh one), the guy playing that vampire (creepy and too much sparkle even for a gay prince), the Pope (celibate) and Justin Bieber (probably on the way to rehab or prison).
The fact that all of them were unfeasible candidates…
well, that was down to the simple logic of comedy.
“Don’t you think Ian is a tad outside my age range?” Joshua sounded bright, his voice airy with relief, and Leo wasn’t even going to think about how Joshua was on a first-name basis with one of Britain’s greatest actors. Nope.
“He’s Gandalf,” Leo said. “And age is just a number, love conquers all, yadda yadda.”
Joshua snorted. “Repeat that, but with conviction.”
“True love,” Leo went for a smarmy, overly dramatic tone, “conquers all. But if that doesn’t do it, how about some hard, honest work?”
“Not much of a romantic, are you?” While Joshua’s tone was still easy, Leo thought he detected an underlying hint of seriousness to it. Which—shit, no. If this was Joshua steering the conversation towards Leo’s line about wanting to kiss him? Then Leo needed to head it off right this very moment.
“Honestly?” he said. “Hard to get in the mood when there’s a Royal Communications guy with a quiff camped out in your conference room and remarking on your bum each time you walk past.”
“Wait, George is—sorry, he can be a bit inappropriate, especially when he’s stressed out.
I’ll tell him to stop.” Joshua sounded upset when Leo had intended for it to be a joke.
Really, he wasn’t that bothered. He and George would never be friends, but over the last few days of being forced into close collaboration, they’d found a common ground built on mutual bickering. No harm, no foul.
“Don’t worry about it,” Leo said quickly.
“It’s just good fun, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
No need for you to bring your white mare.
” He paused to take a drag of his cigarette before switching gears.
“Speaking of royal employees, I thought you might want to know that your Johnson bloke is now working as a doorman for some nightclub in San Francisco. Really looks like he’s trying to build a new life for himself, and as far as we can tell, it doesn’t seem like he’s about to sell you out to the press. ”
Joshua was quiet for the time it took Leo to squish the cigarette, pinch it between thumb and forefinger and drop it into the chipped cup Nate had set out for him, to keep Leo from snipping the stubs over the railing. When Joshua spoke, it was slower than before, deep and calm.
“I’m glad.”
Squinting into the blurry brightness of the sun, veiled by a semi-translucent cover of clouds, Leo bit his lip. “I still think you were too easy on him, just so you know.”
“People deserve a second chance,” Joshua said. “I mean, you of all people, with your street work thing… You believe in that, don’t you?”
Wait a second.
Leo strove for an even tone. “Are you comparing living on the street to someone maliciously abusing your trust? You can’t be bloody serious.”
“That’s not how I meant it. You know it’s not, so don’t take my words out of context, all right?” Joshua rushed to continue. “But a few of those kids have probably done questionable stuff, right? Shoplifting, breaking into a car to get at some money, doing drugs…”
“So every street kid is a lowly criminal or junkie, is that what you’re saying?”
“No. Jesus, Leo.” Joshua sighed, sounding tired all of a sudden.
“Stop twisting my words. I just meant that some of them are bound to have broken the law. And a lot of that is probably just… trying to survive, or, like, scavenging for food or a place to stay. It doesn’t make them bad people, just…
desperate people. And I think Johnson was, too. Desperate, I mean.”
The bitter taste of smoke lingered in Leo’s mouth and made him swallow twice, in rapid succession. “What do you know about desperation?”
“I never said—”
“No, really,” Leo interrupted. “Can I just ask—do you have the faintest idea what the price would be for a cup of coffee? Doesn’t have to be Starbucks, just a normal cup of coffee at some café.”
Joshua’s hesitation was palpable. When he replied, it was edged with unease. “I do my own shopping, you know? Most of the time. I bought you fairy cakes, remember?”
“So how much were they?”
Again, Joshua took a moment to speak. “They, um. They kind of told me they were on the house. At the bakery. I gave them a tenner, though.”
Ten quid for two fairy cakes. Seriously.
“I think you just proved my point,” Leo told him. Joshua remained silent, and several seconds stuttered by before Leo felt abruptly cold. God, that had been out of line. Yes, of course Joshua was naive about so many things, but he didn’t deserve Leo’s scorn. Not like that.
Leo was about to apologise when Joshua beat him to the point.
“I think you’re being rather…” Joshua cleared his throat, voice quiet. “Rather unfair, really. I didn’t mean to put those kids down. I said that I didn’t know what it was like, living that kind of life. It must be tough, and I didn’t mean… I’m not judging.”
“I know.” It came out gentle, and Leo drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Joshua. I just feel very, very protective of those kids, you know? To the point where I may overreact just a little. Or a lot. Especially when I’m tired. So, yeah. I’m sorry. It isn’t you.”
“I understand. To the extent someone like me could possibly understand, anyway.” Hurt shone through Joshua’s response, and Leo braced both elbows on the railing and rested his forehead on his arms.
Fuck, he needed to stop being a dick.
Tomorrow. He’d apologise tomorrow, when they’d all gather at Joshua’s place to watch the opening match of the World Cup—already a glorious event in its own right, it was made all the more relevant since they were counting on it to take precedence over Joshua’s coming out.
Yes. Leo would apologise again tomorrow, in person.
He’d give Joshua a hug and promise to be less of a dick in the future.
For now, he left it at, “Joshua, seriously, I am sorry. All right? Don’t take it to heart. Let’s just… I should get back to work, but I’ll see you tomorrow night for the match, okay? We can talk then.”
“You’ll be there?” Joshua asked, and Leo hated that he even thought to question it.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Leo told him. “I’ll bring the beer, and I fully expect to win my first three points in our little betting game. Take the lead right away, you see? There’s a fancy bottle of wine from the Palace cellar with my name on it.”
Joshua’s laugh seemed slightly forced, as did his, “Keep dreaming, darling.”
Darling.
Leo bit down on the inside of his cheek and raised his forehead off his arms. “See you tomorrow,” he said. “Stay away from the internet. And the telly. And the radio.”
“You’re basically telling me to become a recluse.”
“Aren’t Mo and Tristan keeping you company?”
“Tristan should be here any minute, I think.” Joshua’s tone had reverted back to something lighter, easier, and Leo felt his own mood lift. They were fine, then. Joshua wasn’t holding grudges, it seemed.
“Tell him hi.” Making his way back into the office, Leo found himself smiling and hoped it would translate. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Princeling. Chin up, okay?”
“Okay,” Joshua echoed.
“Okay.” Leo nodded to himself and shit, this was ridiculous.
He was meant to be smooth and eloquent. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, then tagged on a quick goodbye and ended the call.
He stood in the corridor for a moment longer, phone clutched in his fingers, before he took a calming breath, shoved aside all non-professional considerations and made himself move.
Back to work.
It happened before Leo had a chance to react.
One minute, he and Joshua were arguing about the match result, with Leo maintaining that of course, of bloody course referees could be bought—in order to appease the political climate, that FIFA would do anything in its power to ensure that Brazil would go far in the tournament.
The next minute, Nate, Tristan and Mo were calling out goodbyes, already halfway out the door, and Leo looked up and found himself alone with Joshua.
Well. So that had seemed like a well-executed plan. Et tu, Nate? Leo was impressed.
He was also alone with Joshua.
A moment of awkward silence stretched between them, the telly waffling on in the background, too quiet to make out single words. They started speaking at the same time, Joshua mumbling, “I really don’t think—” just as Leo said, “So, about yesterday.” Both of them fell silent once more.
“About yesterday?” Joshua asked after a gap that was even more awkward.