Page 16 of How to Date a Prince

His jaw’s set.

“It’s Auggie. And I’m terribly sorry.” I try again, in case it takes this time. I give him a tentative smile, lifting my eyebrows in the way that would always guarantee me a grin from Gav. Followed usually by some smart remark about me being a wanker, and we would happily trade insults. Those were the old days, anyway.

“Apology not accepted.”

It’s my turn to frown back. “I said I’m very sorry.”

“Not good enough.” His tone is crisp.

“Not good enough?”

“You were beyond rude, and I’m not accepting your apology at this time.” His gaze is ice, riveted as though he bores holes through me with the intensity of his glare.

“Well.” I consider him. “You’re entitled to your opinion. And I was beyond rude, yes. Please see previous apology.”

“Let’s talk about who’s entitled. Is that the sort of manners they teach you at prince school?”

“I regret to inform you that you’re also coming from a life of privilege.” I gaze at him meaningfully. “And now, here we are. And prince school, I’m afraid, is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Stalemate.

There are murmurs from the men at a nearby table, who listen in. Other conversations carry on in the background. Cutlery scrapes on plates, people laugh, and the yellow breakfast room is filled with sunlight. Except, that is, for our personal storm cloud with room for two.

Thomas Golden shakes his head and brushes past me to the tea and coffee station. I lower my head slightly and slink to an empty table by the back corner near an exit, both to be out of the way and to have an escape route, if needed.

My face gets hot, and my guts twist. I deserved that. I then hold myself tall, knowing people are watching and listening in.

Right, then. Five minutes into breakfast, and I’ve made my first enemy of the day.

With everyone keeping their distance, I draw out my phone and look Thomas Golden up again, my exile granting me privacy. For the moment, I ignore my breakfast offerings except for the tea, which is the most important part of any meal.

The internet confirms Thomas Golden is the heir to the Golden Hotels empire. There are photos of him looking rugged at times and at others sleekly entrepreneurial, suited at business presentations or in outdoor gear when scaling mountains.Thomas Golden summits Mount Kilimanjaro, reads a caption beneath a lofty peak. Because of course he scales fucking mountains.

I can’t even go to Hyde Park for a walk alone. It has to be said Thomas Golden’s spectacular in a parka and aviators. These days, I more often use my premium outdoor gear for aesthetic photo shoots in the city, given my schedule of public engagements and the Royal Family’s Communications team campaign for me as a Cool Young RoyalTM, where I need to keep my outdoor gear spotless. So, instead, I end up using vintage utilitarian items when out at Balmoral, left behind by generations of royals who also loved a moment of peace.

Then again, fifty years ago, things were different. We would release family portraits at Christmas and a few occasions throughout the year or for key events. Now, everyone’s online all the time, and the tabloids are digital as well as print. Plus, everyone has a camera on their phone, with plenty of people looking for some quick way to make some money if I do something silly. Like what happened with Katie. My guts twist. I miss my best friend. I would give anything to talk to her right now.

Meanwhile, on my phone, Thomas Golden’s taking selfies with his father in alpine settings with shocking blue skies and rugged peaks in the background. It’s enough to make anyone swoon just a little.

With my head down, I scroll and take reluctant bites. I can’t walk away from a tray of food because people will notice.

Thomas Golden’s based out of New York. This is a British show, so I have no idea what he’s doing here. In terms of branding, I get why having a prince on would be a major coup, but not an American businessman. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s a path into some awkward cross-cultural misunderstandings for ratings.

“Hi.”

Startled, my head snaps up from my involved study of Thomas Golden. I instantly lock my screen and put my phone face down on the table. Jax stands there, giving me the same friendly grin as yesterday.

I relax, telling my fight-or-flight instinct to take off without me. “Hi. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Auggie. Mind if I join you?” Jax offers. He’s wearing a lavender shirt with the sleeves rolled up like he’s all ready for business and jeans. He lifts his mug of tea in greeting.

“Of course. Please.” My manners make an appearance, and I gesture at the chair beside me. Jax hasn’t either actively despised me or given me a wide berth so far. Maybe Jax is being strategic. He must be.

“What do you think of all this so far?” Jax gives an expansive gesture, encompassing the room and presumably the estate. And the show.

“I’ve never had an experience quite like it.” It’s an honest answer, if a bit obvious.

Jax laughs and nods. “Me either. I think Wilson’s the only one who’s done a reality TV show before. And Travis is a serious influencer. And of course, Thomas too.”

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