Page 61 of How to Date a Prince

“Thanks. After he died, I wanted to do something positive, you know? I worked a lot on myself. Which is why I really got into content creation and made this new social media app about helping people be the best they can be, about watching out for each other. About renewal and I guess redemption too. I suppose I’m still trying to find a way for Chip to forgive me.”

“I’m sure he’d forgive you, petal.” I search his eyes. “After all, it was an accident, right? It doesn’t sound like it was deliberate or negligence.”

Thomas shakes his head. “We were always so careful. We had safety plans, did training and practiced, and still it wasn’t enough.” He gazes at me. “Last year, I summited Kilimanjaro with my father, for Chip. We’d always talked about doing that together. And I’m glad I could share that with my dad, at least.”

“You sound like you have a great relationship with your father. With your family. I wish I had that.”

Thomas searches my eyes. “Maybe one day, you will.”

I kiss him then, searching and soft at first, till everything heats up all over again, urgent hunger and want and need as we sink together into the sofa. Our clothes soon fall to the floor in a tangle of fabric. We’re all limbs entwined, endless kisses and gasps, as the city lights twinkle below us in our own make-believe world.

Later, I wake up in Thomas’ sleek bed, looking over at the silhouette of nighttime London painted in a million lights in the rain. The soft black sky is balanced off with the yellow-orange glow of city lights, with the traffic lights below changing to empty streets. A hint of orange peeks to the east. I suppose when you’re on the forty-fourth floor, there’s no point in drawing the blinds shut for modesty or fear of the paparazzi. He murmured earlier in my ear that the windows are tinted anyway. A moment later, we hadn’t cared about tints or anything other than each other.

I roll over to my other side and gaze at Thomas, sprawled out on his back, an arm flung overhead against the pillows. He’s out cold, his mouth slightly open. Totally hot, even so.

It would be terribly easy for me to slip out right now, unnoticed. It would be so much easier. My stomach tightens. Because being together like this is far too tempting. Too easy to grow into something more, too difficult to guard my heart from falling in love. It would be way too dangerous. And yet I crave him beyond reason.

Reluctantly, I get out of bed long enough to text for a car to come get me. Then I slide in beside him and trace his shoulder.

“Thomas…” I murmur at last, savoring the moment, the touch of his skin beneath my fingers.

His eyes open a fraction, and a sleepy smile crosses his lips. “You can call me Thom now. After that.”

“Thom,” I whisper, loving the intimacy of his nickname.

I smile and brush my mouth against Thomas’, hot against my lips. He reaches for me, but I shake my head and pull away, barely out of his reach.

Thomas frowns slightly, opening his eyes. He shifts in bed. The cotton sheets rustle. He tries again. This time, I give into the temptations of his arms and sink into his body. My heart thunders so loudly he must hear it too.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” I whisper, my voice caught in my throat. “You know why.”

“It’s 4:00 a.m.”

“Exactly, gorgeous. It’s the perfect time for me to leave. Exit stage right. But I didn’t want to go without telling you.”

He reaches out to trace my jaw, then my lips. “I’ll miss your face at breakfast. Your mouth. And everything else.”

I lightly bite his fingertips, a smile spreading across my lips despite myself. “That’s what memories are for.”

“Well…” Thomas frowns as I sit up. “When will I see you next?”

“About that.”

His frown deepens as he searches my eyes.

“Why did I have a feeling this was coming?” Thomas sighs.

I’m holding my breath.

“You know this can’t last, petal,” I say so quietly even I can barely hear my voice. It even sounds as raw as I feel. “The longer this goes on between us, you know the worse it’s going to be when it ends. You can’t forget who I am. Or who you are. And where we come from.”

“That’s what frequent-flyer points are for,” he teases, and then his smile fades. He interlaces his fingers with mine, his head bowed for a moment. “Fuck, Auggie.”

“You’ll see me next week, anyway. All the more reason to call me names, in earnest maybe next time. I don’t mind. Call me everything awful.”

“Are you… breaking up with me?”

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