Sometime later, when I have another one of my recurring nightmares, again about my father dying, and I wake up gasping, Stef’s there. He tries to wake me. The shock hits me then, like it does every time: my father has died, and he’s not coming back. And I’m the King, and I don’t know what to do.
There’s a lump in my throat as I stare at him, in tears.
I can’t speak. Or explain. Stef holds me tight, and I press my face into his shoulder, into him, finding safety and comfort in his arms till we sleep again.
* * *
Pretending is one thing, and reality is quite another, and I’m not sure quite where I am between them both in the early morning light. In the dark, it was easier to imagine our private world where nothing else existed. Now, reality’s starting to creep in, like the nightmare was the harbinger, and I want to push it all away. Like I’ve stolen a few hours away—and they’re now being recalled.
Stirring, I’m face down in a sprawl in an unfamiliar bed. Opening my eyes and lifting my head, there’s a specific sound that I can’t immediately place. I squint.
And there’s Stef, standing in the doorway of the room with a towel around his waist, fresh out of the shower. He has a red apple in one hand, and he crunches another bite.
“Morning,” I say thickly, smiling at him.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought you were out cold. Did you sleep better eventually?”
“Yes.” I roll onto my side, the sheets pushed down to my waist, the cool air helping me wake up. “And I was totally out. C’mere.”
Stef comes to sit on the edge of the bed as I sit up. I reach for the apple and take a large bite. I’m starving. Which, fair, we missed dinner last night.
“Delicious.”
“You can finish it,” Stef tells me. “I’ve got breakfast in the oven. Brunch, really,”
I eat the rest, then lean forward to kiss Stef, who tastes like crisp apples. “Mm.”
He takes the core from me. “There’s a set of towels in the bathroom for you.”
“The best hotel,” I tease fondly. “Thanks. I’ll hit the shower next.”
I slip out of bed and stretch while Stef watches me. I’ve got to admit I like the attention, the way his expression eases as he looks at me. There’s the unsettled feeling that flutters in the back of my mind, about what we’re doing, and how this is definitely a capital-S Situation, and what we’re going to do about it. But I push that aside in favor of a hot shower and food.
After a shower and getting dressed in joggers and a T-shirt, I head out to the kitchen. Stef’s also dressed, taking an omelette casserole out of the oven, and some kind of delicious-looking apple turnovers wrapped in pastry sit on a wire cooling rack. My stomach rumbles in eager appreciation.
“Wow, you made all this?” I marvel. There’s a platter of fruit on the counter in front of the tall window looking out to a private back garden.
“Coffee’s over there and ready to pour.” He nods over at a french press, where two mugs are set out. While he plates up our food, I take care of our coffees, and then we’re settled at the table at the dine-in kitchen.
Starving, we attack the food with gusto, putting eating first over talking for a few minutes. At last, I sit back in my chair with a sigh, an arm draped over the chair beside me.
Stef leans back in his wooden chair too, fingers wrapped around his coffee. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” he says finally. “This is surreal.”
“You’re well worth traveling for,” I inform him easily.
He gives me a wry smile. “Well, thanks.” Stef draws a deep breath. “God. What’s the plan, Theo?”
“Plan? I don’t know her.” I shake my head, smiling, then consider him, chin in hand and elbow on the table. My expression softens as I watch him fidget with his coffee mug, pensive. The last thing I want is for him to stress. “What kind of plan do you want?”
“I mean… this is out of hand. The whole situation.”
“Mm,” I acknowledge, tracing the handle of my mug with my free hand. “I’m trying not to think too much about it at the moment, to be honest.”
“We need to figure out a plan,” Stef says, voice low and urgent. “Because… because this situation is too hard. Before it gets, you know, serious.”
“Serious,” I echo, gazing at him. My heart twinges as I catch my breath. Which is when I clue in on how far gone I am over him. Shit.
Stef frowns at me. “Yes, serious. Like… future King of Denmark serious. Duke of Wiltshire serious. Sunken yacht serious. Not being out sort of serious. Or even—know what I’m doing with my life serious.”
