Page 73 of How to Date a Prince

That explains where we are. I close my eyes for a moment.

“Auggie?” he murmurs, touching my shoulder. His eyes brim with tears. “Say something.”

I’m so relieved to see him I could weep too.

Even though my face is in agony, I try to smile.

“Jesse,” I whisper hoarsely. “You alright?”

He makes a muffled sound deep in his throat.

And I let myself slip away again.

* * *

Time passes weirdly. I remember a procession of medical people peeking and poking at me till I cry out, the relentless agony of my head, of being alone in a hospital room. I don’t see Thomas again for a while. But I hear his voice. Sometimes, I think he’s talking to me, but it’s hard to remember. Or stay awake.

I drift in and out. Eventually, I see my father, too, in the blur of faces, but I can’t follow what he’s saying, as though I’m lost in a fog, and sounds are distorted. Anne’s there, too, at one point. Or maybe I dreamed of my mother.

I try to ask for Thomas again, if he and everyone and the horses are alright. But I can’t remember what people are saying, and everything hurts, right down to my teeth.

In protest, I moan as they lift me to go off for another scan for the neurologist.

* * *

It takes a week for me to gather more of my bearings. I’ve been moved out of the ICU into a private room around three days ago. There’s talk about releasing me to recover at Buckingham Palace, after a battery of tests. I stare vacantly out the window.

“Auggie,” my father tries again. “You absolutely cannot return to the show. It was a dreadful idea to sign you up. I don’t know what I was thinking. And a steeplechase! I don’t know what they were thinking, either. God’s sake.”

“I must go back.”

All I can think of is Thomas. My eyes well up with tears.

“You have a serious concussion and neck injury and cracked ribs. A broken arm. And more.”

“Please. I’m begging you.”

“No.”

He goes on about the importance of my position, that he can’t risk losing me again, that he needs his heir.

I only hear no.

* * *

The next day, I could sob with relief when I see Thomas come in. He’s in street clothes this time, no hospital gown. His cheek is bruised, and he has a fading black eye.

“Thomas!” I try to sit up. I regret it and ease back into the mattress with a groan.

“Don’t move.” Thomas shakes his head and sits beside me. He gives me a strained smile. “God, I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper, turning my head ever so slightly. Everything still hurts.

He takes my hand, interlacing our fingers.

I squeeze, looking anxiously at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Fine enough. I’m not supposed to be here,” he murmurs. “Only your family is permitted to see you. One of the nurses took pity on me and snuck me in since she knows what’s happened, but I’ve only got five minutes.”

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