Page 97 of How to Date a Prince

“I’m—I’m—well, I’m in love with someone else.” The words come out in a rush. And then I realize what I’ve said. My eyes widen in alarm. “Shit.”

She stares at me as if I’ve devolved from a frog to a tadpole. At least if I had been either, I’d be guaranteed a nice pond. “Sorry?”

“I—should probably go home. I’m so terribly sorry. It’s been a lovely night, and you’re beautiful, as well as an excellent host, but I don’t want to lead you on more than what I have already, and?—”

Her expression shifts, and it’s her turn to look flustered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have invited you if I had known you were seeing someone else.”

“I’m not seeing anyone else,” I say softly, shaking my head. “I didn’t entirely put it together till now. It’s been complicated, to say the least. And like I said, it’s certainly not you. This is my mistake. I’m… I’m actually in love with someone else, I’m afraid.”

“If you’re in love with someone else, why are you here with me?” Laura searches my eyes, looking hurt. She wrings her hands. “You should be with her, shouldn’t you?”

“I… I don’t have a good answer, I’m afraid.” I gently disentangle myself from her and button my shirt again. Everything is starting to take on that slight edge when I know a proper headache is coming. I’ve only had a glass of wine, and my head is starting to ache in earnest.

Laura sighs, holding my gaze. “Whoever she is, she’s very lucky to have you.”

Unable to find the appropriate response, I give Laura a half smile instead. We both rise, and she sees me to the door. This time, the farewell is definitely awkward.

It’s with no small amount of relief that I soon find myself back in my SUV, navigating London with the GPS back to the palace. My guts are in knots as we wind through the city. All I can think of is Thomas and how much I miss him.

I’ve been doing everything wrong.

ChapterThirty-Five

Even though I opened my heart up on theRenaissance Manstudio interview about falling in love, I pushed it all deep down—until the night with Lady Laura brought everything to the surface once more. And now, I can’t stop obsessing about Thomas.

For the second week’sRenaissance Manepisode viewing, I watch with Katie at the palace. Afterwards, I show her the figure of my mother I sculpted, kept down in my studio, still awaiting glazing. She tells me the sculpture’s even better in real life than on TV. Meanwhile, as soon as the show airs, the press goes wild, and Katie says the internet goes even wilder. My mother’s tragic death at a young age is rehashed all over again, analyzed, lamented. I avoid all news, except for the headlines on my father’s papers opposite me at breakfast as he reads. When I read his expression, all I see is the sadness in his eyes despite his stoic expression. When I ask if he wants to talk about it, he says he’s fine and soon disappears to his study.

What I’m really bracing myself for is the episode with the triathlon and the ill-fated steeplechase, which has already stoked the media into a frenzy. I hide away in my room for the third episode ofRenaissance Man. I watch from the comfort of my own sofa, alone with a duvet for company. My shoulders start knotting five minutes into the program. I sweat through the challenges during the heat wave all over again. Whenever I see Thomas, it’s hard to draw a breath in, my chest tight.

Then, it’s time for the steeplechase, and I brace myself. Naturally, Gisele has taken the TV-friendly option of dramatizing the footage as much as humanly possible. The cut I saw weeks ago in the studio had already been more than dramatic enough. Now, with music, sound, and voice-overs for added punch, it’s something else. It’s sickening, knowing the inevitability of what’s coming. Yet I can’t help but watch. But at least it’s honest, and it’s real.

And again, I see myself lying in an unmoving heap, with Thomas frantic beside me in the churned-up turf and dirt before the scene cuts, with medics running over.

It’s actually worse than I remember.

“Fuck.” I wince. My father will see that. And everyone else on the planet, for that matter.

And instantly, my phone starts blowing up with messages, chiming and buzzing to life in a digital meltdown. I have half a mind to shut it off till tomorrow, but?—

Thomas.

I scan through the messages as quickly as they come in, but there’s nothing from Thomas. His desperation on-screen has cut something raw in me all over again.

Well after the episode ends, it’s late, and I lie in bed, sleepless. I’ve been ignoring all the many messages, something for me to work through tomorrow with a clearer head. Instead, I text.

How are you? x

And then comes a message from Thomas. I sit bolt upright, clutching my phone as I huddle over it with the duvet wrapped around me.

It’s terrible to watch. It’s like being there all over again. Seeing you injured. How are you?

I prop myself up on my elbow, squinting at the phone, and switch to dark mode. My mind races to analyze his response. He didn’t say he was okay. Which means he’s not okay. Isn’t Adam the Influencer taking care of him tonight?

I ignore the pang in my gut that follows. Instead, I try to figure out how to respond. I start and delete my message several times over. Finally, I go for the simple truth.

I’m okay, mostly. I miss you. I’m truly sorry about everything. Ax

There’s no response. I wait for a long time. So, I decide to try another angle.

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