His Royal Favorite (7 page)

He had to admit it was tempting—this one last chance to turn around from the high dive, go back down the ladder, and stay put on the ground, in the life he knew. Now that he’d seen the media frenzy for himself, Ben was more unnerved about this than ever—

But he couldn’t do it to James. How the world would laugh at him if the lover he’d mentioned simply failed to declare himself. How hurt James would be. There mere thought seared Ben with shame. No. That was impossible.

“I’m sure,” Ben said, hearing the words as if someone else were speaking them. “Do it.”

***

James made his way through the palace complex back to Clarence House. His legs felt wobbly from pent-up tension, and his empty belly reminded him he’d had nothing but coffee and toast to eat all day, and that at 7 a.m.

Kimberley kept up with his every step. “For the rest of the afternoon, I’ll be calling and re-confirming every single one of your events for next week. Technically that gives them the chance to back out if they’re not comfortable with you. Realistically, they’ll be falling all over themselves to prove nothing’s changed, sir.”

“You’re forcing their hand.” As much as James hated to admit it, that was a solid next step. “Of course, any charity I visit in the next couple of weeks will get three times the coverage it would normally.”

“An excellent point I’ll be sure to mention, sir. Tell them they need to be prepared, so on, so forth.”

James glanced over at her. “You really don’t think anyone will cancel?”

“I strongly doubt it. If they do, Clarence House will of course say nothing, but unnamed sources will report on the cancelation, make the group appear to be backward and out of touch, so on and so forth.”

“That’s a bit vicious, don’t you think? They’ve a right to cancel if they want.”

“And you’ve a right to fight for your throne, sir,” Kimberley replied fiercely.

At first James thought that she might be taking this a bit too personally. Then he realized that Kimberley had slept as little as he had the past few days and worked even harder. He wished he could give her the weekend off, but they would have to monitor the press situation far too closely for that. “So, which network do you want me to watch?”

“In my honest opinion, Your Royal Highness, I think it would be better if you didn’t watch television at all. My team and I will put together a sampling of the main media coverage for you to review. We can give you a daily packet each morning with the key publications and video clips.”

“Do you think it will be that bad? That I shouldn’t even see it?”

“It’s not that, sir. I think you haven’t slept well in days and are on the verge of collapse.” Her voice gentled as they entered Clarence House proper. “You need your strength right now. Take the evening to rest. I should say you’ve earned it.”

“As have you, though of course I’ll have to make the holiday time up to you later.”

Her smile was wistful. “That would be lovely, sir.”

“All right. Resting.”

And waiting. And hoping.

James reached the door that led to his private suite. “Thank you so much for everything, Kimberley. Your work has always been of the highest caliber, but during the past few days, you’ve been nothing short of extraordinary.”

She ducked her head. “Thank you, sir. And you should be very proud of your statement today. Well done, Your Royal Highness.”

He smiled and went upstairs. He knew he would disobey her suggestion—but only to make one exception, the most important of all.

Paulson had been told to go home. So James stripped off his suit on his own and changed into black sweatpants and a thick jumper that would ward off the January chill. The cold was fierce today. Perhaps he should ask Glover to make the fire. He wanted to put on the Slanket, but that felt like magical thinking, as though wearing Ben’s Christmas gift would make Ben more likely to reappear.

Obviously I need more sleep
, James thought,
if I’m trying to invest Slankets with magical powers
.

2:40. James reminded himself of the arrangements he and Ben had made, the timing of the car. So he tried to calm down, making himself a pot of tea and turning to the offerings in the fridge, forcing down some food so he could keep going. Yet the whole time, he couldn’t stop glancing at the nearest clock.

2:47.

2:52.

At 2:56 James could take it no more. He turned on his iPad; he’d reset his home page to the Global Media site a couple months before. That meant he didn’t even have to see anything else in the news—but even this page showed him enough.

I’M GAY: PRINCE’S ANNOUNCEMENT ROCKS UK

Below was a picture of him from the press conference. He didn’t look nearly as nervous and sweaty as he remembered being. That was a small mercy, he supposed.

Deliberately he didn’t click on the headline. He just kept refreshing the Global Media homepage, over and over, telling himself he couldn’t expect anything yet and yet feverish for the headlines to change.

Remember that you told him he could back out if he wanted to. It would be the best thing for Ben if he did. You mustn’t judge him. You mustn’t have expectations. You have to let him do what’s right for him—

The headlines changed.

PRINCE’S PARTNER STEPS FORWARD

Next to the picture of him from the press conference was a picture of Ben. It was the first time James had ever seen their faces side by side.

That’s recent
, he thought, half in shock.
I’d know that black turtleneck anywhere.

And then he started to laugh from silliness, then from relief and pure joy. James cradled the iPad against his chest, and for a moment he could believe there was nothing left to be afraid of.

***

Ben had prepared himself for anything his fellow reporters could throw at him. Accusations of secrecy, dirty jokes, demands for information: He’d spent most of the morning rehearsing responses in his head.

He hadn’t been prepared for silence.

Well, not real silence. An explosion of shock had echoed through the newsroom after Fiona sent the LONDON-ALL e-mail a few minutes before Ben emerged, just before the actual news would be released to the world. The newsroom was its usual hubbub of activity, and everyone greeted him, but after the first series of
Whoa
and
Wow
and
You played that close to the vest
, Ben could sense the atmosphere subtly changing—as though a bubble were forming around him, sealing him off from the others.

He knew why. Before he had been only a colleague. Now he was a news story.

It won’t last
, Ben reminded himself.
When I come back on Monday morning and get back to work, things in the newsroom will return to normal—well, semi-normal, at least. Surely people here have perspective about this kind of thing.

Ben sat at his desk. Roberto, next to him, remained very still in his own chair, meeting Ben’s eyes with almost comically flat disbelief. “Mr. Dog Owner,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“The fur on your jeans—it
was
the corgis. It was the corgis all along.”

“Yeah.”

Roberto shook his head, obviously trying to snap himself out of it. “Okay. We gotta do this quick.”

“It can’t be an interview. I’m not talking on the record to anyone, not even you.”

“I get that. Just want to confirm a couple of points.” Roberto, who did things old-school, grabbed a notepad and pen. “You’ve mentioned being Jewish, born in Israel, but you never speak about going to temple, and on Christmas I know I saw you eat some ham.”

Ben had to smile. “Say I’m a secular Jew.”

“So you’re an Israeli citizen?”

“Actually, I’m a German citizen. I was adopted by relatives there at age thirteen, after my parents died.” He’d always meant to shed his German passport, originally thinking he’d take American citizenship while working on his doctorate, but when his plans for graduate school went up in smoke, so did that idea. Since then he’d never lived in any one place long enough to contemplate declaring it permanent. Should he apply for citizenship in the United Kingdom? That would help James, wouldn’t it?

But he had no time to think it over; Roberto was off and running. “You did or did not get that econ degree?”

“I got the bachelor’s. Just didn’t go to grad school as planned.”

“Fair to say you live in a middle-income area of Islington?”

“Sure.” As though anyplace in London were priced for “middle-income” individuals. Ben only knew that he spent more than half of his take-home salary on an apartment he wasn’t going to get to use for a while.

“You like classical music—”

“Do they need to know that?”

Roberto shrugged. “They’re gonna want some personal detail. Either I talk about you always listening to Beethoven on your headphones, or I tell everybody about the corgi fur on your jeans.”

“I like classical music.”

“And the corgis stay out of it.”

Ben glanced around the newsroom, where a couple dozen people were trying not to be obvious about staring at him, and being terrible at it. “Roberto? Thanks.”

“For the pep talk the other night?” Roberto’s grin was sheepish. “I had no idea what I was doing there.”

“I actually meant for today. Right now.”
Treating me just like you did before.

Roberto got it. “They’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

“Hope so,” Ben said, and then his phone buzzed, telling him the car was waiting downstairs, and the story was about to go live. He slung his stuff into his satchel, shouldered it, and walked out of the office, aware of being watched the whole time.

As he sat in the back of the car, hearing not one word from the stone-faced chauffeur, Ben couldn’t help glancing behind him. It felt like he wasn’t just leaving the Global Media building and riding a few minutes in busy London traffic; it felt as though he were taking a far longer journey.

They pulled through the palace gates. Ben still wasn’t used to walking in through the front door. He wasn’t used to seeing half a dozen staffers and servants watch him the whole time he walked out. The butler, whom he had always found vaguely forbidding, was now a welcome and familiar figure as he showed Ben to the door of the private suite.

Even as Ben started up the stairs, he heard James call, “There you are!”

He took the steps two at a time, the quicker to make it to James, who immediately folded Ben into his arms. Ben hugged him tightly, trying to banish the rest of his fears in the warmth of their embrace.

“You’re still so cold,” James whispered, running his hands over Ben’s ears and hair. “It’s bitter out.”

Ben had no use for small talk. “You were magnificent today. I’ve never been so proud of anyone.”

James kissed his cheek. “Thank you for standing with me.” Then he pulled back, bright and eager. His face shone with joy. “Come on. I’ve something I want to show you.”

His hand in James’s, Ben allowed himself to be led through the suite, into James’s bedroom—but just when he thought he’d be tackled onto the mattress, they went into a small sitting room off to the side, one that didn’t seem to get used much. James opened a door Ben had always assumed led to a closet. Instead they walked into yet another bedroom. It was more grandly furnished than James’s own, with the sort of elegantly impersonal air that told Ben nobody slept there regularly.

“We really should have made this Cassandra’s room,” James said. “But she wanted a view of the gardens, so nobody’s even pretended to stay here for years. Now it’s yours.”

Ben frowned. “Mine?”

James smiled. “Of course I hope you’ll be in my bed most nights, or that we’ll be together here. But I know it’s hard, giving up your flat even for a little while. You should have some space of your own where you can settle in. Space that belongs only to you.”

It was of course very considerate of James to have thought of it. Yet Ben felt himself balking. Having his own room felt a lot less like “staying over,” a lot more like “moving in.”

He stood in place, unsure what to say, as James went to the chest of drawers and pulled it open to reveal Ben’s own clothing. “I knew you wouldn’t want a valet or footman unpacking for you, so I did it myself,” James said. Apparently it had never occurred to James that most people unpacked their own bags. “Hung things in the closet if they needed it, and your new suit’s in there too.”

Ben was on the verge of objecting. That suit probably cost five hundred quid. Maybe more. He had no idea how expensive things like that were. Shouldn’t he pay for it himself? Even if it took him a few months, which at that price it would. No, they should send it back. Could it be sent back after he’d worn it?

“I wasn’t sure what to do with these—you know, just for now—but I tried this.” James pulled back one of the drapes on the four-poster bed to reveal that he’d hung the Thai silk from the upper rail of the bedframe. The two panels formed symmetrical stripes above the headboard. “You can take them down whenever. But I thought they looked nice like this.”

“They do,” Ben said, because it was true. But his old doubts were rising up again, stronger than ever, now that he was facing the reality of what he’d done.

Then James smiled and said, “For the time being, anyway, welcome home.”

Ben breathed out so hard it was almost a sob, then clutched James in his arms. For a few long moments he could only hold James close, breathing in the scent of him, as he thought of those days when he had sometimes found himself wishing he had a home to come back to. Now he did.

This is why I’m doing this.
He’
s the reason why
. In the furor Ben had almost forgotten that. He’d remembered just in time.

When he trusted himself to speak, Ben whispered, “That was the exact right thing to say.”

“Was it?” James kissed his lips softly. “I’m glad you like the room.”

But it wasn’t this room Ben was grateful for. Home was James.

Chapter 3

Benji

It all felt like a dream, the best dream James had ever had. His head rested on Ben’s chest; the two of them lay amid sheets so white and rumpled that they might have been on a cloud floating high above the rest of the world. The only lamp lit had a deep golden shade, so the light around them was honeyed and soft. They hadn’t made love that afternoon—they were both so tired—but they’d curled together in Ben’s bed, napped in each other’s embrace, woken as close as they’d been when they fell asleep. Now the entire world knew about them, and they were together, and happy.

“I really thought you might back out,” James murmured as he touched his fingertips to Ben’s, the two of them mirroring their hands against one another.

“I thought about it. I’m not proud of that, but I did.”

“I don’t blame you.” In many ways it actually made James feel better, knowing Ben had dealt with his doubts. “What made you decide to go ahead?”

“Your courage up there. How brave and perfect you were, standing in front of the whole world.” Ben’s lips brushed against James’s forehead.

“My God, I was terrified.” The speech felt as if it had taken place a thousand years ago, in some other lifetime. “I felt as though my legs would give out from under me at any moment.”

“You sounded steady. Strong. I know how scared you were, but you didn’t let it show, James. Not even once. You gave me the bravery to keep going.”

James rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could frame Ben’s face with his forearms, look down into his eyes. “How could you get your courage from me when I get my courage from you?”

Ben smiled. “It’s a paradox. Like those arcane scientific theories you sometimes go on about—the ones that make no sense but keep the stars apart.”

The idea delighted James, and he kissed Ben softly before winding himself back into their embrace—one leg between Ben’s, his arms around Ben’s shoulders, and Ben’s hands on the small of his back.

After a while, even this idyll had to end. Neither of them had eaten dinner, and their reunion had to give way to more pragmatic things, like having dinner, feeding the dogs, tucking themselves into robes and slippers. But James liked the prosaic moments too. Nothing made it more real that Ben was truly living here than seeing him yawn and scratch his head while absent-mindedly petting Happy.

Glover, good man that he was, had got the fire started, so the front room was now warm and glowing. After they ate, James poured them each a glass of wine and they curled in front of the blaze. At first he was content simply to watch the firelight play across Ben’s handsome face, but he soon became aware that Ben was searching for words, trying to think of how to say something difficult.

“What is it?” James said softly.

“When Ms. Tseng and I were going over my past, we talked about Warner.”

Warner Clifton wasn’t unknown to James; he’d figured heavily in the secrets Ben had “lost” during their first chess match, and once in a while Ben had mentioned him, mostly to disparage some asinine thing Clifton had once said. But Ben had never opened up about the relationship, and James had known that to ask would shut Ben down completely.

That seemed to be changing.

Best to begin carefully
, James thought. “What did you talk about?”

“She asked whether anybody from my past might try to hurt us. As soon as I heard the question, I knew. Warner. There’s no way he’s going to hear about this and just leave it alone. He’s going to try to lord it over us somehow.” Ben stared down into his wineglass, as though he could find answers there. “Threaten to sell the story of how I lost my virginity, maybe.”

Ben was so private, so guarded. Having something that intimate sold to the highest bidder would be even more devastating for him than for most. “Are you certain? It’s been a long time. Warner might have changed.”

“He hasn’t changed. Not him.” Ben shook his head. He was smiling now, but the smile was hard. “Every once in a while he still e-mails me. The last time was just days ago. I don’t answer, but Warner keeps trying to screw with my head. Prove he still owns me. That’s exactly why he’ll want to ruin things for us. You see that, don’t you? Warner will want to show the world who I really belong to.”

“He can’t show the world that you belong to him when you don’t.” James ran his hand along Ben’s shoulders, his back. “If he threatens you, just tell me. We can pay him off, you know. I wrote checks to protect myself from Niall Edgerton; I can do it to protect you from him.”

“I don’t want you to have to protect me,” Ben said. “Ms. Tseng says I shouldn’t engage with Warner at all. That I should just turn him over to her.”

James preferred the idea of dealing with Warner Clifton personally. He was curious to see this man who’d held such a grip on Ben, who had twisted him up inside, and to have one moment when he could put Clifton in his place. Yet Clifton had the power to hurt Ben, and James knew too well that it was easier to start paying off a blackmailer than to stop. He admitted, “If anyone can handle him, Kimberley can.”

“I don’t want Kimberley Tseng to have to ‘handle’ my problems.”

That was precisely Kimberley’s job, but James knew he needed to get to the heart of this. “You keep saying what you don’t want, regarding Warner. What
do
you want?”

Ben groaned as he shook his head. The firelight caught the nearly blue-black glints in his dark hair. “I don’t know. A time machine? Then I could go back and tell my sixteen-year-old self to steer clear.”

“Even I can’t give you that.”

“And if you could . . . without Warner I might never have become a reporter. If I’d never become a reporter, I’d certainly never have met you.” Ben’s eyes met James’s, and he saw some of the same wonder he felt reflected back. “On second thought, no time machine.”

“I’d take one,” James whispered as he shifted closer to Ben, wrapping one of his arms around Ben’s waist, resting his head on Ben’s shoulder. “I’d use it just to keep reliving this with you. Tonight after tonight after tonight, forever.”

“Then we’d better make the most of tonight, hadn’t we?”

When they kissed, half of Ben’s face was warmer, the half that had been facing the fire. Within minutes they were back in bed, Ben’s bed but their bed too, undressing each other between hungry kisses.

“We’ve got to christen the new bed,” Ben whispered as he slid his hands into James’s pants. “Break it in.”

James arched up to help Ben undress him, but he couldn’t resist laughing. “It’s christened. I had my first-ever sexual experience in this bed.”

Ben straightened his arms, as though he were doing a push-up over James’s body, smiling with openmouthed mock surprise that made James laugh harder. “You can’t leave it there. Come on. Confess. Who were you with?”

“I was all by myself. Unless you count the magazine picture of Liam Neeson.”

Now laughing with him, Ben dipped down for a kiss. Their lips had barely parted before Ben whispered, “I think I can top that.”

Strange, to make love to Ben and know that half the world was wondering about precisely this. Trying to picture it. But they couldn’t picture anything this good—of that James felt sure. He sprawled in the bed, Ben’s cock in his mouth, his cock in Ben’s, both of them sucking in the same languorous rhythm, getting each other hard but not yet driving to get off. James knew both of them wanted it to last.

You’re free
, James thought.
You’ve been set free together.
And then there was no separating the delight in his heart from the pleasure in his body, not for a very long time.

They fell asleep tangled together. James had never felt so safe, so loved. Once again he was wrapped in his perfect dream.

Then came morning, and Kimberley’s first media packet, and James had to call Cass and tell Glover to mix up mimosas to help them through it, because the dreaming was definitely over.

Hello, reality.

***

Ben understood that this was apparently a tradition James and Lady Cassandra had. That was why she was here, in their private space. She was going to help James endure this morning. Now if only he could endure her.

“The
Sun
wins,” James said between gulps of mimosa. “Absolutely.”

“You’re sure?” Lady Cassandra had become quite giggly. She sat closer to James than Ben did; he was all the way over at the other end of the newspaper pile. “They’ve all outdone themselves.”

James nodded. “Yes, but there’s no topping this.” He held up that morning’s issue of the
Sun
, with a cover headline that blared THE NEXT KING IS A QUEEN! “Simple. Direct. Catchy. But not too simple, like the
Daily Mail
. Close, but no cigar.” The
Daily Mail
’s cover read only QUEEN JAMES.

Ben ventured, “You don’t find any of this offensive?”

“I find this one offensive as all hell,” James said, tossing the
Express
halfway across the room. But it landed so that they could still see the headline: WHAT WOULD PRINCESS ROSE THINK? “As though they cared for my mother, after the way they hounded her. As though she didn’t know and love me anyway. Self-righteous pricks.”

Lady Cassandra poured more champagne into her mimosa without bothering to refill the orange juice. “I don’t suppose the recording will be in today’s packet, but I listened to Radio 4 on the way over. John Humphries had Matthew Parris on. It sounded good. Reasonable.”

“They would,” Ben said, leafing through the newspapers. Laughing at tabloid headlines was one thing, but he wanted to see a bit more substance. James did too, of course, but apparently he had to work himself up to it. Ben couldn’t stand putting it off any longer.

The
Guardian
seemed to be extremely positive about James’s sexuality—almost startlingly so, given the suddenness of the news. However, they also ran a long story about what this might mean for the Commonwealth. Ben scanned this while Lady Cassandra and James laughed, knowing that this issue was one of James’s main concerns. However, the story offered more questions than answers.

The
Daily Telegraph
was their peek into the likely reaction from the key “home counties,” but the paper’s temperature was difficult to take. They’d run two editorials, one gently positive, one politely negative. The positive one had a rally-about-the-monarchy-lads bent Ben found annoying, but at this point they had to take support where it was to be found. Certainly it was better than the negative one, which wanted to know how James’s gayness could be reconciled with his future position as the Supreme Governor of the Anglican Church.

James saw Ben’s browsing and sighed. “My Achilles’ heel, and they all know it.”

“Don’t fret, darling,” Lady Cassandra said. Ben fumed silently. Where did this woman get off calling his lover
darling
? But he told himself it was stupid to worry about that when they had more pressing issues to deal with.

The
Independent
: moderate and sensible. Too bad nobody read the damn thing. The
Times
: not negative, but Ben had the distinct sense that the reporters were less trying to bolster James and more working to be polite. Homophobia was gauche now, after all.

“Can’t believe
Hello!
got a special edition out so fast,” James said. “But you make a radiant cover model yet again.”

Cassandra held up
Hello!
and began melodramatically reading the cover line: “I’ll Always Love James—
As A Friend
.” As James began to giggle, Cassandra read off the rest in a more normal tone of voice. “At last we meet the real Lady Cassandra Roxburgh as she talks of her joy at seeing close friend James speak out and find love. Blah blah, always at his side to hear his private heartbreak, blah blah, misunderstood, blah blah, and at last she’s able to share her relationship with Spencer Kennedy with all the world.”

Unable to resist, Ben said, “You actually talked to them?”

“Of course not.” The look Cassandra gave him then let Ben know the distrust remained mutual. “They’ve pieced together old quotes out of context so that they’ll sound on-topic. It’s like Frankenstein’s interview, sewed together and brought back to life.”

That wasn’t a bad metaphor, but Ben refused to be impressed. Instead he turned back to Ms. Tseng’s press packet. She’d printed out several online-only stories for them: Global Media’s short bio, complete with punchy copy from Roberto that made him sound terrific. Some bits from the international press, especially the Americans, who’d had a full news day to work with the information. A well-considered piece from Al-Jazeera, questioning whether James’s gayness would interfere with his diplomatic efforts with Arab leaders and Muslim nations—and arguing it should not, pointing out that if the world of diplomacy could handle a lesbian president of Iceland, a gay king should represent no greater difficulty. Kimberley Tseng had even put together the tweets most quoted and retweeted. At the top of the list was Stephen Fry, who congratulated James but dryly said it was a shame about the sham. Some reality series star had got a lot of mileage out of a tweet that said, “I always thought Randy Sandy looked like a pantomime dame, but I never knew she really WAS one.”

Ben glanced at Cassandra. Obviously the public believed her relationship with James had been purely false, not even a close friendship. At the moment he half wished they were right. Thanks to Lady Cassandra’s lack of interest in fashion, she and James were even dressed alike: comfortably slouchy blue jeans, black sweaters, and loafers. Ben hoped this was merely coincidence and not actually a
thing
they did.

“We’ve got to watch the news clips now,” James said. “Are you in, Cass?”

“Sadly, no. Now that we’ve crowned a winner—” She rose to her feet, somewhat unsteadily. “Oh, gosh. Well, first I think a bit of a nap might be in order. Then Spencer and I have a big weekend planned, since we can finally leave his bloody flat. He says hello and good show, by the way. All is forgiven.”

“We’ll all get together soon,” James promised as he began to usher Lady Cassandra to the door.
All? Am I in for this too?
Good God.
He knew full well that James was too observant not to have noticed that Ben and Cassandra still had no love lost between them. Apparently he intended to get them to bond whether they liked it or not. Ben was willing to be polite, but beyond that—well, not everyone in James’s life had to be friends.