“And I can’t get caught being seen with you,” he whispers, “So I should go.”
“Stef… wait.” I reach out for his hand, but he pulls out of reach. I frown, not liking where this is headed, not liking the stress across his face. I want to reach out and brush away the creases around his mouth with my fingers.
Stefanos clears his throat. He glances away. “I mean, you’re already seeing other guys anyway and?—”
“I promise it’s only a cover.”
Stef shakes his head impatiently. “Even if it is a cover, the whole future Danish King thing is not. And, well, the accident coverage doesn’t help. Being seen together definitely won’t help either of us. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
“I’m so glad you did.” My voice catches somewhere deep in my throat.
He gives me an uncertain look. “I like you, Theo. I don’t know anyone like you. But… we’ve got very different lives to live.”
“Yeah, maybe, but?—”
He rises, coming over to me and taking my jaw in his hand. I lean into his fingers, tilt my head into his stomach, take his thumb into my mouth, and suck. When he gasps, I feel his breath ripple through his body as if it is my own.
Stef shifts, and I stand to kiss him, catching his face between my hands. He tastes of salt. And I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t messed up his life for him in the last few weeks, if we would have had a decent shot. Or, more likely, I’m totally delusional because I’m in reputation overhaul mode already, what with Freja’s plans to abdicate. There’s no way to make this work.
Unhappily, I release Stefanos with great reluctance. It would be far better to wrap him up in my arms and take him back to bed to continue where we left off in our lustful explorations of each other.
His expression is soft. “I really ought to get back to my hotel. My father’ll call later. And I can’t have people wondering where I’ve been. Or… risk getting caught.”
“I wish you could stay longer,” I murmur. “There’re so many things I’d love to know about you. About your life. It’s amazing, having you here in my flat.”
Hesitating, Stef brushes his mouth against mine, the warmth of his lips intoxicating. “I miss you already.”
“Fuck.” That definitely doesn’t help make this situation easier. With a wry smile, Stef returns to the bedroom to dress. And I’m left to stare out the window at the Mayfair night beyond, the movement of traffic in the street below, the life that continues day and night in London, which I ordinarily love so much. A life I’ve become accustomed to. Even if, I admit, it’s lonely sometimes. Especially after everything that’s happened.
After Stef emerges again, dressed, albeit rumpled, I walk him to the front door, watching him put on his shoes and coat. As he buttons his coat, I shake my head and lean against the wall. It feels like I’m watching him from outside of my body.
“You’re welcome here anytime.” I tilt my head slightly, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “You know that, right?”
His smile is tight. “I don’t know if the Duke of Wiltshire would approve,” Stef whispers, his hand on the door. As I gawp at him before I can say anything else, he slips out into the early spring night.
Chapter Thirty-Three
My next immediate thought after the door clicks shut is James—and what the hell he’s done this time. Pulling out my phone, there’re no new messages from James—or the Duke of Sussex, for that matter—and certainly not any messages with an explanation. Or a warning. I frown.
I immediately set to googling Duke Edward of Wiltshire for answers. There he is, sure enough, sandy-haired and with a self-effacing sort of smile. He doesn’t seem to have social media, as far as I can tell, or it’s well locked down to private, which is reasonable enough. Though what if he doesn’t have any accounts? What kind of sociopath doesn’t have any social media in this day and age? I mean, I’ve heard of people like this, but it’s quite another thing to encounter them in the wild.
Then, I find James’ Instagram. And there it is, a bold announcement of his upcoming birthday celebration, with a hand-painted and lettered invitation in blue paint as the lead photo on a photo carousel.
I flick through: Windsor Castle, a banquet hall, a ballroom turned club—something I remember from another event at the castle—and a close-up photo of bottles of champagne. Somewhere, Auggie’s probably shaking his head. In the accompanying post, he’s got some key guests listed.
I’m very happy to soon celebrate my 25th birthday at Windsor Castle with friends and family, including Prince Auggie and Thomas Golden, Prince John, Prince Theodor of Denmark and Duke Edward of Wiltshire, Frankie Lee-Smith, Elsie Finnegan, Killian Jones Anderson, and more. See you all soon! xoxo James
I blink. My brow definitely furrows. Well, fuck me. Clearly, I was distracted by Stef and not paying enough attention to James and his shenanigans, which really is a 24/7 sort of job. It’s subtle but there, putting me and Duke Edward together like Auggie and Thomas.
James. Have you lost your mind?
No response comes in the next few minutes. James is probably off busy living his life and getting into more scrapes as I’m standing here and Stef’s off hiding in the Ritz, probably trying to delete me from his memories. I’ve got half a mind to go after Stef, but neither one of us can afford the media coverage. And Miles would have my hide for running around in high-profile places in London without him. I groan.
Which leaves me contemplating the James situation and how to manage it. As if James can be managed.
Also, it’s very interesting to see Frankie included on James’ public-facing guest list. Is Frankie actually going to be there, or is this wishful thinking after what James last said? As for Elsie, one of James’ longtime friends, it’s a while since I’ve last seen her. There’s nothing romantic there between them, to my knowledge, but who knows.
“Well, fuck me.” I scowl at the phone, at a loss what to do next. I swipe to Stefanos in my messages and type.
