Page 105 of How to Date a Prince

I gaze at him wistfully. “Someone to love. Someone—a man—who loves me as much as I love him. Being open about my sexuality. Being able to create and not walk on eggshells about everything. The truth is, I suppress a lot, right down to my clothes and how I present myself. I’m pretty sure I’m gender nonconforming, at least, if not nonbinary. But I haven’t let myself go there, so how can anyone else accept me? My father would burst.”

“I accept you,” Thomas murmurs. “And I’ll use any pronouns you want. Just let me know.”

I give him a wry smile. “Thanks. I’ll keep with he/him for now. I’ll tell you if that changes.” Drawing a deep breath, I hold his gaze. “What do you want?”

Thomas gives an expansive shrug, reaching for his tea once more. He studies it like he reads tea leaves into the future. “Want.” He pauses for a long moment. “To be in love with the man of my dreams by my side. Openly. Who will support me, and I can support him, just as openly. And maybe, one day, we can have a family of our own.”

I smile, my expression softening at the idea.

“Maybe one day, you can have those things,” I say carefully. “That sounds wonderful. You deserve them.”

“Maybe.” He looks resigned. “So do you.”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the hollow within me. But it’s too easy to shove those hollows and aches away and to run. So, I sit with that feeling, even if it hurts. At least I’m sharing it with Thomas. I reach for a sandwich. He follows suit. We eat in silence for a long time. Rain drums on the metal roof of the stable. In the tack room, the heater’s warmed things up nicely. Even if my heart aches sitting beside Thomas.

“It’s not going well with Adam,” he admits at last.

I blink in surprise.

“Does Adam make you happy?” I dare ask. My hair falls in my eyes, and I brush it away. My chest is tight as I brace against whatever he might say. “Is he what you want?”

He opens his mouth and shuts it again, looking away. Which tells me everything I need to know.

Finally, I have the courage to speak, tasting each word. “Thomas, I would love to share those dreams with you. If we can find a way to make things work.”

He looks at me, troubled. “It’s impossible, from what you’ve told me. We’re on different paths. We’ve been over this?—”

“Let me see what I can do. Let us see.” I search his eyes. “Please.” I take his hand, kiss inside his wrist. He shivers, watching me. His fingers are soft in my hair, tracing the nape of my neck before it’s my turn to shiver too. And he’s close and warm, and for a moment, I can imagine him as mine.

“I don’t see what you can do differently… you’ll be King one day.” Thomas’ fingers continue. He flushes, struggling. “And—you just gave thatRenaissance Maninterview to protect yourself!” he blurts, raw. “It’s not like you chose to do that on your own. It’s not like I matter.”

“Wait. What?” I frown at him. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“From the footage. I saw it all too, Auggie. They have everything. And they’re never going to air it, I’ll bet. It’s just another game to get more out of us for ratings. And yet another game to you.” There’s a wound in his eyes as they flash a warning.

“Thom—” My face burns, heart thundering.

“It’s obvious you enjoy keeping yourself hidden away in the shadows and doing whatever your father wants?—”

“Let me explain, please—you’re overreacting again?—”

“No. It’s over, remember? For good.”

He just stares at me, shakes his head with eyes too bright, and storms out of the stables. And I sit trembling in place, listening to the rain, and bury my face in my hands at the table until Alyse comes.

ChapterThirty-Eight

The next day, I do my best to work out my angst at the rehab center in the afternoon. I run flat out on the treadmill till I’m light-headed. When I step off, I rest my hands on my thighs, leaning forward as I gasp for air. My trainer brings me a towel, and I wipe my face. My muscles ache with the earlier weight training, and my legs burn from running.

We repeat yet another set of cognitive exercises before I lie down for the massage portion of the day’s treatment, working on my neck and shoulders. After twenty minutes, I’m up and tugging on a grey hoodie track jacket over my sleeveless top, shivering. I pull on a wool hat, thank the receptionist at the front desk, and head out to the waiting car with my training bag and water bottle.

By the time I’m back to the palace, I’m ready for a shower. Back in my room, I set down my bag and start to find a fresh change of clothes when there’s a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I call as I step out of my runners.

My father opens the door. I’m startled to see him because he so rarely comes to my room.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, frowning. I put my bag down on my bed.

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