Page 82 of How to Date a Prince

Another text comes from Gav.

Better luck next time with the horsey set. Anne and I are back at the weekend and desperate to see you.

I ask Katie to come around to the palace, and she does, embracing me when she finds me sitting under a tree on a bench.

“God, Auggie. I’ve never seen your security like this before. I had to call Lauren to vouch for me.”

My eyebrows climb. “That bad?”

She nods. “He did, of course. Just—I’ve been worried sick. I’m so glad to see you.” Katie pushes her long hair over her shoulder as we sit on the bench near the pond. She squeezes my hand. She’s tanned from the summer sun, beaming at the sight of me like she’s discovered some long-lost treasure.

I squeeze back, giving her a warm smile. “It’s a real relief to see you too. I’ve seen way too many doctors and nurses and specialists lately.”

She takes in the sight of my cast over my wrist, the mostly faded scratches on my face. It’s what she can’t see that is the real problem, but I’ll keep that under wraps. She’s done more than enough worrying on my behalf.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner—” I begin in a rush, seeing the way she’s inspecting me in a way like Thomas had peered at me after the accident in the hospital. Like she’s taking inventory. “And I’m still very sorry about how I acted.”

She waves me off. “No, no, I understand. A lot has happened since. And you’ve apologized. Don’t worry about that. God. How are you?”

“I’m alright. Banged up, but here.” I shrug my good shoulder. At least I didn’t break the other one, but the bruising is epic. And my wrist wasn’t so lucky. Surgery was the result.

“A couple of photos were leaked to the press. It’s supposedly you,” Katie explains carefully. “All you can really see is an ambulance and a crowd of people in a field gathered around something or someone crumpled by a hedge. You can’t really tell who’s who or what’s going on. It’s super pixelated and zoomed in from far away, quite possibly taken on an iPhone 3.”

It sounds accurate enough.

“Someone decided to torpedo their NDA, I guess.” The uncharitable part of me immediately goes to Wilson, who seems like the sort who would enjoy profiting off the misfortunes of others. He certainly doesn’t need the payoff from the tabloid—he’d be in it purely to thrive off the misery of others. He has all the personality of a barracuda. Except I don’t want to insult barracudas, and maybe barracudas have very nice, respectable families and friends I don’t know anything about. Maybe if I’m up to it later, I’ll search the image online, though I generally try to follow the advice of our communications team not to look myself up in the paper. It’s rarely something I want to read about. “What about Thomas? He was in the accident too.”

Katie shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s too blurry. That photo just came out yesterday. I’m sure they’ll be analyzing it on the 6 o’clock news and in the tabloids.”

“I was truly hoping things had died down by now. I can’t be that interesting.”

“They’re escalating, I’m afraid. Princegate is growing legs.” Katie gives me a level look. “People want more. A lot more. Not less. They are, in fact, greedy for you.”

A groan escapes me. “Great. What else? Tell me.”

Katie’s lips twist, her gaze flitting away, then back again. “How do you know there’s more?”

“There’s always more. You just said Princegate, after all. Like, that’s really not good.”

“There are, um, rumors flying around about you and Thomas Golden,” she says as delicately as she can muster, turning a fine shade of pink. “And maybe there’s a photo of you together.”

“A photo? Together…how?” I cringe at the thought. Like us getting caught out at the bothy. All air evaporates from my lungs. It takes me a minute to suck back some air and reintroduce it to my lungs like long-lost acquaintances. “What photo? What kind of rumors?” I ask warily.

“You know perfectly well what kind of rumors. The tabloids are implying you were secretly dating. There’s a photo of Thomas looking smitten, but you can’t see the other person he’s fawning over, only the back of his head. Which I’m confident is your head, since I know you, but the average viewer doesn’t know that. So now, I’m sure everyone’s going crazy either trying to find actual proof of you together or making something convincing up if they can’t get genuine material.”

It’s yet to be seen exactly how diabolical Giselle is in her vision ofRenaissance Man—her instructions to the film crew—which I understood to be a talent show but instead seems to be a platform to pit me and Thomas against each other for ratings in the name of being either for or against the Crown. I mean, I can totally see how that would be great for ratings. It’s a real shame it’s not great for either one of us. Would she go so far as to leak a blurry intimate photo of me with Thomas to promote the show over everything else? Including NDAs?

I don’t want the real answer to that question.

Color drains from my face. If I wasn’t officially doomed before with Princegate, this seals the deal. It doesn’t make me feel one bit better that the rumor will be just as terrible for Thomas as it is for me. Somewhere, Daniel Golden’s got to be apoplectic, and I can’t imagine who would be more enraged, Thomas’ father or mine at the rumor mill. I glance around. At least there are no videographers here and no staff outside right now. My shoulders tighten, and then I try to shrug it off with a wince. “Where did you see that? I mean, I’m sure people have better things to do than manufacture some innuendo…”

Katie shrugs. “The usual places.Hello!,TMZ,The Sun, you name it.” She searches my eyes, biting her lip as she shifts. Color rises in her cheeks again. “But is any of it true?”

“I…” I falter, searching her eyes. Out of all the people I know, aside from Thomas, I owe Katie the truth. “You’re sure you want to know? I could come up with a whopper of a lie instead, which would be far more memorable.”

She presses her lips together, and then a smile peeks out for a moment as she rolls her eyes. “Come clean.”

“We were, err, involved. Briefly. But it’s over now. Very over.” I give her a sidelong glance, unable to help myself. My fingers tighten. I run a hand through my hair as the breeze rustles leaves overhead. The gardens before us bloom in a riot of colors at the height of summer: pink, purple, red.

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