John is James’ equally havoc-wreaking younger brother, and the pair of them together is more than enough for any one man to deal with. Or any monarchy, for that matter.
“I thought this plan wasn’t going anywhere beyond the three of us and Frankie.” I stare him down, frowning. “That’s not what we agreed.”
“John doesn’t count,” James says breezily, “as he’s another royal. He’s exempt.”
“Fuck me.” I bury my face in my hands. “This is a terrible idea. And no, the more people that know—including royals—the greater the odds of this whole fake debacle getting out. Which definitely won’t help.”
James peers at me. “The only one complaining right now is you.”
I open my mouth and look at Ethan for help, but he obviously thinks this is hilarious. He looks invested.
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Ethan tells me quickly. “More people knowing does open up more risk, it’s true. But as a royal, John understands the need for discretion.”
“John was photographed in his underpants last year, standing on a table at college,” I point out. “And it made national headlines when he mooned everyone.”
“That was last year.” James sighs. “And now it’s this year. He’s reformed. You, out of everyone, should appreciate this, Theo.”
“An important difference is John is what, nineteen? Twenty? And I’m practically ten years older. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that you’re trying to help me out, James. I just don’t know if this is the right way.”
“He’s twenty-one. And I’m always trying to help you out. Remember, I’m the one who introduced you to Stefanos—even if you did jump the queue, as it were, to meet him first. And now I’m providing distance from him and the yacht incident after you went off script again.” James shakes his head. “The Aidan situation was one thing. Property damage is quite another. Remember: the Danes need you.”
“Mm. That’s me told.” I sigh and finish off my chips. One thing about James is that when he gets an idea, it’s next to impossible to stop that train in its tracks. Which means again I’m going to need to come up with my own solution first if I’m going to avoid being shown off like a debutant at a ball for James’ birthday.
“Right.” James nods as if the matter’s settled. He sits back in his chair after he pushes his empty plate aside and pulls out his phone. “Which brings us to our next point.”
“Next point?” I ask warily, reaching out for James’ plate now that I’ve finished mine and Ethan has too. The ceramic clinks. I make a neat stack with our cutlery on top and put it aside. “What next point?”
“The esteemed Duke of Wiltshire.” James taps his phone and shows me a photo of a blond man with admittedly a great smile, standing by a stone wall covered in red climbing roses. “Edward. Eddie. He’s perfect, actually.”
The first problem is that he’s not Stefanos. As it turns out, it’s also the second problem.
I study the photo. On the surface, he’s not a bad-looking man. But he’s got to be in his forties at least. “A little old for me. What’s wrong with him?”
“Theodor, you’re being difficult. Don’t be ageist,” James complains. “He’s my second cousin. And there’s nothing wrong with him, for the record. He’s single. Possibly he’s a little eccentric, but that’s quite minor in the bigger picture. He’s a very kind person, which is what counts. Stand-up character.”
“Is he a ferret fancier?” I ask, handing his phone back. My mouth twitches. “If so, I’m out. I can’t abide ferrets.”
James frowns at me. “What? No, of course not. He’s some kind of chess champion, and I think he collects stamps too. Or coins. Or plates. I can’t remember.”
“So—he’s boring.”
“He’s not boring. He’s safe. Stable. Eligible. And he’d love to meet you.” James gives me a meaningful look. “Edward understands the importance of comportment and appearances.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” I roll my eyes. “Maybe you should have dated him. Though I guess you have Frankie. Speaking of which, why isn’t he here to rein you in?”
“Eddie’s my cousin, remember. We generally try not to date our first cousins these days.” James’ expression shifts. He looks down at his lap, retrieves the navy blue cloth napkin that’s still there, and puts it on the table in a crumple. “About Frankie.”
Exchanging concerned glances with Ethan, I shift in my chair. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, fine.” James glances at us. “He’s taking some time for himself.”
“Oh?” I ask, startled. “What do you mean?”
Ethan nudges my foot hard under the table.
“We’re taking a break,” James explains glumly. “For a little while.”
“Did something happen?” I try my luck. “I mean, I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but?—”
