Page 85 of How to Date a Prince

It’s her turn take a sharp breath. “Oh?”

“About Gav. I’m sorry, Anne. Even though nothing happened, I know you think you walked in on something. It’s just… well, Gav and I have known each other forever. And yes, when we were younger, in school, there was a kiss. But that’s it. He’s one of my closest friends. Like you. And I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry for that night.”

She tosses her long hair over a shoulder, frowning. “Auggie… I…”

“I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your relationship. And neither would Gav.”

Anne relents, her expression softening. “I know. He’s said the same thing. And I know he’s bi.”

“I should have said something sooner.”

“I know it’s complicated. And Gav is a flirt. I know that, too.” Anne relents, giving me a hug. “I’ll forgive you. I’ve just been so worried.”

“I know.” I give her a reassuring smile. “But I’m here, see? And getting better.”

“Thank God.” Anne shakes her head. And we head down to the reception room to wait for the others.

When Gav and Katie arrive, Gav hugs me tightly. The ferocity of his grip shows me he was truly worried, despite his casual demeanor. It’s the first time he’s seen me since the accident. He was away in Paris for an internship in the summer when he wasn’t off with Anne, away from London.

“So good to see you.” Gav holds me at arm’s length, giving me a grin.

“Good to be seen?”

He smiles, satisfied. “Excellent. This is the viewing party I was promised.”

“I thought we were watching a film,” I complain. “Not me.” I’ve mostly watched things in shorter bursts, mindful of too much time with screens. At least I’ve gotten over Gav’s cologne making me dizzy, which is some kind of personal growth.

We’re in a reception room, which is as cozy as it can be in a palace. The high ceilings give an airy feel, and the ornate walls are covered in paintings and photographs of various family members. I try not to look too closely in case I see my mother.

“Where’s the pizza I was promised?” Gav says lightly.

Instead of the takeaway order, Katie arrives before the pizza, but only by five minutes. When the pizza arrives, we dig in like it’s the last call ever for carbs and cheese on Earth. I’ve shaken off all the usual unease about my place in the world, buoyed by my visitors and, surprisingly, by food. Quite possibly because there’s nothing regal about pizza or something we would ever serve at a banquet at the palace.

“Nothing like cheese and carbs,” Katie says happily, biting into her next slice with enthusiasm, as if we’re back with friends in a college common room.

I’m on my next slice, cheered by the company. “Food of the night gods.”

It’s a little awkward at first, the group of us together, but very quickly, everyone eases into the conversation during the meal. At least, they do, with banter and jokes. I mostly listen in, but I’m smiling and laughing. And for a while, it feels like old times. Pre-accident. Pre-almost-kiss with Gav on New Year’s. Pre-fucking everything up.

We move to the plush sofas, which are legitimately comfortable, and we get ready to put on a film with the projector. The selection isThe Devil Wears Prada, Katie’s suggestion, because she knows I adore Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway.

Gav’s pouring drinks, which is wine for everyone else. I take a generous glass of sparkling water. Alcohol and I, in my current state, do not get on. They open snacks into bowls: popcorn, crisps, sweets. Katie’s distracted. She keeps texting.

Everyone settles in to start watching. We’re only fifteen minutes into the film when the door opens into the darkened room, and our heads pivot like one to the doorway.

Gav pauses the film. The frozen image is the only light in the room. I squint.

“Mr. Golden,” announces a butler, with two backlit shadows from the lighting in the corridor. And another figure enters, a silhouette I’m very familiar with, even in the darkness.

My chest tightens, an instinctive response. Meanwhile, my brain struggles to catch up.

It can’t be.

The door closes. And I can’t breathe.

Anne turns on a small lamp at the end of the sofa where she sits, casting a gentle pink glow.

It’s unmistakably Thomas.

---