Stef sucks in a sharp breath. “He what? And you’re… going along with this?”
“I—”
“Weren’t you going to say something to me about this?” Stef’s voice wavers.
I consider him, my throat tight. “I don’t like the situation myself, Stef. I’m trying to think my way out of this, but I can see James has a point. Even with all his…” I wave a hand like there’s a neat way to sum up James’ perception of the world and, specifically, my place in it. “…stuff.”
Stef glares.
“I… yes, I was going to talk to you about this. At some point. But… we’re not actually seeing each other, are we?”
“I don’t know what this is,” Stef admits, gesturing between us, frustration spilling out, “or what the rules are.”
Sometimes, I forget that there are people in the world who like more structure and clarity, rather than my knack for finding situationships and messes and wildly inappropriate men.
“I don’t either.” My voice is subdued. There’re knots in my stomach. “If… if you’ve had enough of me, I get it. I burn people out. Or they get embarrassed by me. Or… something. And that was before the whole future King thing. Which, I admit, is a… er, challenge I’m struggling with myself.”
“The problem,” Stef says hotly, “is I realize I’m starting to like you a little too much, and then you fuck me like… like that and… and God, I have no fucking idea which way is up, Theo. Maybe this is normal for you, but it really, really isn’t for me.” His eyes are bright with tears. “And I don’t want you to fake marry some duke or someone. In fact, I hate it.”
I suck in a breath and just stare at him. “Jesus, Stef.”
He gets up, turning away, going to stand in the kitchen in front of the window overlooking the back garden. His arms are tight across his chest.
“What are we supposed to do, then, hmm?” I ask softly, distraught. “You’re not even out to date in public. And that’s before the whole yacht problem and everything else you pointed out. And… becoming the Danish King.”
“I know, Theo.” His voice is unsteady. “Don’t I know.”
Stef’s still not looking at me. I cross the kitchen to join him. He’s shaking. I reach out tentatively to touch his shoulder, and he whirls around, his face wet with tears.
“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.” I pull him into my arms, which he resists for a moment, then holds me so tightly it takes my breath away. I rub his back.
He breaks down and cries, his face buried into my neck. I hold him for a long time, breathing in his scent, tracing the hot tears on his cheek. When he lifts his head, he stares at me for a long moment before he kisses me fiercely.
I gasp, catching his jaw, pulling away. Of course I want to continue, but some kind of sense takes over.
“Now, hang on. I don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is,” I murmur to him and touch his tears with my fingertips. “Maybe we should go sit down.”
Stef nods reluctantly. He traces my lips, then releases me at last. And it’s scary to realize I don’t really want him to let go.
Chapter Forty-Three
We sit on the sofa. I flop in a sprawl, legs up on the ottoman, putting an arm around Stef. He leans into me. His head is on my shoulder, a hand on my chest. I draw in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his shampoo, the scent of his skin. Stef takes a few deep breaths too, steadying his breathing.
“Okay?” I ask.
“A little better.”
“Good.”
“I wish things were different…” Stef says finally.
Which makes two of us.
“They can be different to some degree,” I say.
“Like how?”
“Like… if you could do anything you wanted right now, what would that be?”
