Would it really be so terrible to be ordinary?
Bryce wasn’t all polished marble and tailored suits.Underneath it, he was a man like anyone else — he got headaches, bitched about traffic, laughed too loudly at Chris’s terrible jokes.And me — Windsor or not — I stood here like every other man, half-asleep in a borrowed bathroom in the early hours, thinking about how blissfully normal it felt to be with Bryce.
Mundane.Necessary.What never made it into palace biographies.Every man did this, no matter how glittering his title.
My eyes drifted to the edge of the tub.Bryce’s razor sat there, balanced precariously on the porcelain lip.I thought about how often I reached for my own.I shaved like anyone else, worried about stubble in the wrong light, about morning breath, about my hair doing something odd on days when it mattered most.Sometimes I wished I were taller, and I thought my ears looked ridiculous in photographs.
Strip away the pomp, and we were just two men with the same quiet insecurities, the same routines, and the same longings.
I flushed, the sound loud in the tiny room, and washed my hands before slipping back out into the flat.The carpet muffled my steps as I padded toward the bed.
Bryce was sprawled across it, sheets tangled around his hips, hair mussed and sticking adorably to his cheek.A faint trail of saliva glistened down his chin.My chest tightened.
* * *
The morning light leaked through the edges of Eddie’s curtains, casting pale streaks across the sheets.I lay tangled in them, propped on one elbow, watching Bryce button his shirt with a precision that made me grin.He could make putting on a shirt look like a state occasion.
“Coffee is beckoning.Be right back,” Bryce said walking out of the bedroom.
I hated coffee — bitter mud as far as I was concerned — but it was his morning ritual, as natural as brushing his teeth.And if he was making coffee, he was making tea for me too.
A smile tugged at my lips.
Sure enough, a moment later, Bryce appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray.Steam curled from his mug, and beside it sat my tea in Eddie’s chipped mug, along with two sad-looking pastries that had clearly seen better days.
“Breakfast of champions,” he announced, easing his way in.
“You spoil me,” I teased, pushing myself upright against the pillows.
He rolled his eyes, grinning as he settled beside me, setting the tray between us.“Don’t get used to it.You’re lucky I forgot to eat these.”
The pastries were stale, the tea a little too strong, but it didn’t matter.What mattered was the way he leaned into me, his shoulder warm against mine.We traded bites and sips, murmuring about nothing important — how terrible the DJ had been last night, how Chris’s friend with the glittery jacket had definitely been hitting on Laurence, and how my shirt would need professional resurrection after last night.
It was blissful, and delightfully ordinary.
And then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Bryce froze, mug halfway to his mouth.The vibration rattled against the wood, insistent.
“Damn it,” he muttered, setting his coffee down too quickly, the liquid sloshing dangerously near the rim.He snatched up the phone, thumb flying over the screen.
His face tightened.“Oh, shit.”
A knot formed in my stomach.“What is it?”
He turned the phone so I could read.A message from Paula, his ever-efficient deputy.
Call me the second you wake up.Urgent.
ChapterNineteen
Bryce
Urgent.
There were very few reasons Paula Brooks used that word.All of them were catastrophic.
My stomach went cold.“Shit,” I said, louder than I intended.Arthur looked up from his tea, the cup halfway to his mouth.His face softened with concern first, then sharpened when he saw the way my hand shook.
