Page 80 of How to Date a Prince

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I whisper. I catch his face between my hands. “I would have died to keep you safe.”

“I know. Don’t I know.” He kisses the inside of my good wrist, sending a shiver down my spine. Then he rises and goes to find my phone, handing it over wordlessly.

There’s a shocking number of missed calls and alerts and texts from nearly everyone I know.

I reel. Thomas puts a steadying hand on my shoulder.

I skim the last few notifications. “They’re sending a car to take me home. It’s probably here already. If I don’t leave now, I’m sure MI5 will turn up. If they aren’t here already.”

A weight like an iceberg settles on my chest. Listless, I put my phone down.

“Fuck. Right, okay.”

“There’s something about security plans, but I can’t read it. Too many words.” I hand the phone to Thomas. “I don’t want to leave. But I can’t stay… and you must return to the show anyway.”

Thomas says nothing for a long moment. His knuckles are white as he grips the phone.

“You can barely walk,” he protests softly.

I search his eyes. My voice is unsteady. “This is the real reality I’ve been talking about, Thom. Except I’m sure now with more paparazzi involved. And… you know what that means for us since I’m off the show.”

His eyes are bright with the shine of tears. “All I wanted was a chance to talk to you again, before the accident. I wanted to tell you to fuck off, that you were making another terrible mistake. After that last night together when you panicked again and cut me off. This isn’t fair. I can’t play make-believe anymore, Auggie. I can’t. Our worlds are too different. Like you said. And now everything’s coming down on us with a microscope. Plus, my father will murder me if he finds out about what’s been going on.”

“I’m sorry…” I swallow hard. “Nobody can know about us, I agree. I just wish…”

“Fuck. I hate all this. I wish… I wish things were different too.”

I hug Thomas close with my free arm, and he buries his face in my chest, gripping me tight.

Everything aches deep within me. We should have had more time together—at least the rest of the summer, a handful of weeks—if only I hadn’t been so wrapped up in myself before the accident. I rest my jaw on Thomas’ head, his hair soft against my skin, trembling like he’s already left.

And together, we cry.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

On the ride home, I fleetingly glance at my messages till the text blurs and I feel sick. My father’s messaged, of course. Also, Anne and Gav, even Katie with a million notifications in our chat like the chat with my father, even several messages from Theodor.

I’ll need to talk to them another time. I squeeze my eyes shut and press the heel of my good hand against my eyes in turn, my elbows resting on my thighs, bent over. Alyse rubs my back. Nick’s on the other side of me.

We manage to get away from the Golden residences without a paparazzi scrum or tail. Logically, they would assume I’m already at the palace.

In my room, after the palace staff help me to get there, I watch a footman put my bag down on a bench at the foot of my bed. Everything is as I left it a few weeks ago. Orderly, but lived-in. The bed is perfectly made, a mix of traditional and modern. My jewel-toned pillows are arranged against the headboard. It’s home, but I feel like I’ve been away for much longer than a few weeks, and I’m seeing it through new eyes after everything that’s happened. It’s home, but a cage too. Like everything this summer was some kind of dream, except for the headache, which lingers.

I’m left alone in my large room, with the curtains tied back. I go to release them to darken the room, then step on the back of my shoes to get out of them. Thomas helped me put them on and tied them. I suppose it’s slip-on shoes for me for the next while. I take off my trousers, letting them fall to the floor and stepping on the bottom of each leg to untangle myself. Bending over is too painful right now for my ribs. The thought makes me dizzy. I slide into bed in my boxers and Thomas’s hoodie. I can’t help but think of Thomas. How does he feel back in his flat? Or, if I let myself truly feel for a moment, I wonder if his heart aches like mine does.

* * *

“Auggie?”

It’s a voice. Not Thomas’s. Lower, deeper, older.

I open my eyes drowsily, then wake more fully, startled by the recognition. “Father?”

Trying to prop myself up, I wince and try again, more slowly.

My father sits on the edge of my bed, peering down at me with a concerned look. He touches my good arm. “I heard you returned safely this afternoon. I needed to see for myself. I imagine you’ve been briefed about the press coverage.”

“Yes.” Pressing my lips together, I nod.

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