My Prince (29 page)

“It’s a serious question!” George shouted. “Since the very first time we hooked up? Yes. I told you about that, though.”

“Since we got together. Since that first date.”

“No. I haven’t been with anyone apart from you.”

“Well, I got tested after you told me about the chlamydia, and I was all clear. So unless you’ve been fucking other people behind my back, you’re clear too.”

“I haven’t been fucking anyone else,” George said. He felt his fists curling into balls and unclenched them, wiggling his fingers to release the tension. “It’s all about you, Alex. It’s all you.”

“I’m the same. I haven’t been with anyone else. So you’re all clear, George. It’s fine.”

“I am not going to be the guy who gives fucking Dutch royalty the clap!” George yelled, his temper finally snapping.

“Unless you’ve been sticking your dick in someone else, you won’t,” Alex screamed back.

They snarled at each other across the kitchen, both breathing hard. George broke first, shaking his head and rubbing his hands over his face.

“Can you not see that I’m doing this to protect you? Because I fucking love you, and I don’t want you to get hurt?”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me, George. You’re doing it for yourself, you just said so.”

“You are so… fucking…
stubborn
,” George growled, his frustration spilling over again.

“Me? You’re like a brick wall!”

“Just let me get tested again,” George said. “That’s all I want. One more all clear, then I’ll bareback you until my come is running down your legs.”

“Ew.”

George couldn’t help himself—he snorted with laughter. “That’s it, then. Me and you and no one else.”

“That’s all I want.”

“Me too.”

Something was still fizzing between them, frustration and annoyance, the desire to fuck or fight to get all of this out of their system.

“Come here,” George said, opening his arms, and Alex stumbled across the kitchen to fall into his embrace.

“I fucking hate you,” Alex said as he buried his face in George’s neck. “I fucking hate that I had to argue with you when you’re looking sexier than I have ever seen you.”

George huffed a laugh as he rubbed his cheek over Alex’s silky soft hair. “I look like a mess.” He tightened his arms, squeezing Alex hard, lest he forget what this meant.

“Oh sure,” Alex said, his words muffled but the sarcasm crystal clear. “Look at me, I’m a fucking rugby player and my stomach is so fucking ripped and my chest hair turns my boyfriend into a puddle of goo.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, you stupid fuck. I bought breakfast for us.”

“Oh?”

“Well, bread and bacon and eggs.”

George rubbed his blunt fingertips through Alex’s hair and felt his stomach rumble indelicately. “Sounds good to me.”

“I’m going to make you cook it.”

“Princess,” George muttered, because he could, because he wanted to get a rise out of Alex, because….

Alex dug his fingers into George’s ribs, and George grunted and twisted out of the embrace. “Scrambled or fried?”

“Scrambled,” Alex said. “Your fried eggs suck.”

George sighed. Apparently they were back to their usual brand of good-natured bickering.

He couldn’t think of anything better.

Chapter Sixteen

I
T
WAS
late on a Friday evening when their inelegant sprawling on the sofa was interrupted by a knock on the door.

George looked at Alex, a silent “you expecting anyone?” exchanged between them.

Alex shrugged and held out a fist.

They both bounced a
one-two-three,
and Alex’s paper covered George’s rock.

The knock sounded again, and George hauled himself off the sofa, disentangling his limbs from Alex’s as he went.

Framed in early-evening light was Alex’s mum.

“Olivia,” George said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “Hi.”

“Hello, George,” she said, leaning in to kiss him once on each cheek.

She was dressed in a long, pencil-thin black dress, her hair twisted up at the nape of her neck, with a few fine jewels dotted over her ears and resting on her collarbone. She had a huge handbag hanging from her elbow, but no suitcase, or anything that suggested she intended to stay.

“Sorry, come in,” George said. He stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind them. He was a little self-conscious of his own clothes; they had agreed not to go out again tonight, so George was wearing navy blue pajama bottoms with little red reindeer prancing over them. And an England rugby shirt.

“Mum,” Alex said from the doorway to the living room.

“Hello darling,” Olivia said, opening her arms to hug her son.

“What are you doing here? You should have called. We would have, I don’t know, not dressed like actual slobs.”

“I don’t mind. I wanted to surprise you.”

Mission accomplished
, George thought, deciding—probably wisely—not to voice this particular sentiment.

“Where are you staying?” Alex asked as he led his mum through to the kitchen, going automatically to the kettle and filling it. Tea first. “We’ve got the spare room all decorated now.”

“I’m at the Scotsman,” she said. “My usual suite was available, so I took it. I didn’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” Alex said, frowning.

George leaned against the kitchen table and folded his arms over his chest, not wanting to get in the middle of this particular familial argument.

“I’m here for a bit of business as well as wanting to stop by and see you both. I’ll be in and out over the next week. Having the suite makes sense.”

“Is Dad not coming over?”

“Not this time, no.”

Alex nodded and moved easily around the kitchen, collecting mugs and milk and tea bags and sugar, and making three mugs automatically. Like no thought went into the process at all.

George loved to watch him like this. So easy and natural, un-self-conscious, beautiful.

They took the tea through to the living room and Alex put the TV on mute. They’d only been watching the news; nothing good would be on for a few hours yet.

“Part of my business is you, actually,” Olivia said, setting the mug on the arm of the chair and crossing her legs at the ankles. Her heels were impressively, shockingly high and sharp. “Both of you.”

George’s head snapped up. “Me?”

Olivia grinned, and the dimple in her cheek dented the smooth skin in the exact same place her son’s did. “Yes. I’ve spoken to Alex before about our support of certain charities, attending local events—”

“Oh, Mum, not this again,” Alex groaned.

George elbowed him in the ribs. “Okay,” he said. If Olivia was here to use George to get to Alex… well, he’d probably let her. The woman terrified him in the way only a mother-in-law could achieve.

“There’s a fantastic charity right here in Scotland that supports gay men’s sexual health. I’d like for Alex to become patron of the charity.”

There was no need for Olivia to know George was familiar with that particular charity, that they’d been the ones to prescribe the antibiotics needed to clear up his own STI. Nope. He wasn’t going to tell her that at all.

“I don’t have time, Mum,” Alex whined.

Her eyes hardened. “Alex, we don’t ask you to work. Your education is paid for by the family, as is your home and your living allowance. You wanted independence, you wanted to step away from the obligations that were being pushed on you back in London, and we let you have that. Since you’ve lived here, there’s been a handful of things. I need you to do this. It’s important to us.”

“We’ll do it,” George said. “Both of us. That is, if you want me to be involved?”

She sighed and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”

“George,” Alex said, and George could tell he was annoyed. “If we start doing stuff like this, then all the effort to protect you from the press will be wasted. We can’t go out and schmooze and wave at the crowds and all that crap, then ask the press not to report on it. On us.”

“We can deal with that when it happens. I don’t want to hide, Alex. I’m not ashamed of you.”

“This has nothing to do with shame or hiding or being out. It has to do with protecting your family.”

“If I may interject,” Olivia said in a voice that said she was going to do exactly that. “I think it would be good for you to do an interview, George. A joint one, if you can get Alex to agree to it. We’ll pick the journalist and make sure he’s in pocket. We’ll put our spin on it and sell the story to a liberal publication.
The Observer
, or
The Guardian
. A nice Sunday supplement read.”

“Mum—” Alex started, but Olivia kept talking and ignored him.

“I’d love to meet your family. I have time while I’m here if we have a chance to set that up, or I can come back when it’s more convenient. I think it would be far more beneficial for us all to face this head-on, stand together as two families supporting their children. A united front, if you will. You claim you have nothing to hide, Sander, then you insist on hiding.”

Alex tilted his head and rested it on George’s shoulder. It felt like acquiescence. George titled his head enough to press a kiss to his forehead and linked their fingers together.

“Can we talk about this, the two of us?” he asked Olivia. “I think it would be good for us to decide on our boundaries. Then we can decide how to move forward.”

“Excellent,” she said. “I have several business meetings this week to talk details, but the two of you can take your time and let me know what you decide. I won’t take up any more of your evening.”

Alex sighed, apparently resigned, and showed his mum out. From his place on the sofa George could see the sleek black car that had waited for her, and lifted his hand in a wave, not knowing if she could see him or not.

“Am I in trouble?” George asked when Alex came back in. He crawled into George’s lap, so George decided it probably wasn’t too bad.

“No. It was going to catch up with me sooner or later. I was hoping to get out of uni first, but, you know. It’s fine.”

George rubbed his lips over Alex’s temple again. “You don’t have long to go.”

“Nope. One more year.”

“Are we going to stay in Edinburgh after you graduate?”

“It depends. Do you want to stay here?”

“I think so. Yeah.”

“Then yes.”

They didn’t hear from Olivia for the rest of the week, other than the offer to take them out for dinner on Thursday. Alex agreed, on the condition that he picked the restaurant, which was how George found himself eating pizza at Mamma’s. George wasn’t sure if she was behaving herself, or giving Alex room, but Olivia talked at length about her own business dealings and didn’t once mention anything about Alex’s.

“I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon now,” Olivia said as they walked back out onto Grassmarket with a box of leftovers for lunch the next day. “So if you want to get away for the weekend, the room at the Scotsman is all booked up until Sunday.”

Alex snorted with laughter. “Thanks, Mum.”

“I’ll be back in a few weeks. Would that be a good time to meet with your mother, George?”

He nodded. “I spoke to her earlier in the week. She’s going to make sure my dad and brother can watch the kids and come up for the weekend.”

“Fantastic. I’m going to book us a spa session for the afternoon, just us girls. It’ll give us chance to gossip about our sons.”

“I’m sure Bev will love that,” Alex said, smiling sweetly.

Olivia regarded him for a moment, then pinched his cheek. “Mhmm. Call me, darling, you don’t do that nearly enough.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Take care, George.”

He hugged her, thinking he really did like this woman, even if she did terrify him. She was far too much like her son for him
not
to like her.

Alex hailed a cab and held the door until Olivia was inside, then slammed the door and banged on the roof with his fist. It was a cool evening, but not bad enough for them to want to take their own taxi back to the flat. In silent agreement they headed back up the hill, falling easily into step alongside each other.

“So,” George said, speaking first when they got to the Meadows. “Want to go recreate our first night at the Scotsman?”

Alex grinned and bumped their shoulders together. “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

S
INCE
THERE
was nowhere around North Bridge to park a car, Alex called a taxi to take them over to the hotel. He wasn’t about to pass up a night away with George, even if they did only make it ten minutes away from home.

His mother had been in touch with details of several journalists for him to check out. One was in America and had written several coming-out interviews over the year. Alex was prepared to put his foot down when he read about the option of a video interview. This wasn’t fucking
Oprah
.

George, for reasons Alex couldn’t understand, no matter how hard he considered it, was all for it. That was his thing, though, and Alex thought it might have something to do with all the years George had spent either suppressing or hiding his sexuality from the world.

“Good evening, sir,” the doorman said in a sweet Scottish drawl, and Alex nodded his thanks. Like last time, someone was waiting with the room key. Like last time, they took the stairs instead of the lift.

“I’m looking forward to this,” George said as Alex fumbled to get the key in the lock. “I’ve been thinking about it for days.”

“We haven’t known about it for days, you muppet,” Alex said affectionately.

“We haven’t had sex in for
ever
.”

“It’s been less than a week.”

“
Forever
,” George insisted.

They stumbled through the door, George already tugging at Alex’s T-shirt, his hands stealing up underneath to press his strong hands against warm skin.

Alex stepped back and grinned, then peeled his T-shirt off slowly.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” George said. Alex only laughed.