by Clare London
“Teresa.” He spoke carefully, trying to sound unconcerned and yet polite. God knew if he managed it, the way a virtual fist had his throat in its grip. “I know you’re just trying to be kind, but I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“I understand.” She nodded, her cheeks still pink.
He had told her something of his family life one night, when he was exhausted, when he was new to the job and striving to establish his credibility, when he was in need of a friend. Teresa had been—and still was—that friend. But he wished he hadn’t allowed anyone even a keyhole glimpse into his history. It was too painful to dwell on, even for him. Especially for him. It was his problem and his responsibility to keep things tightly buttoned away.
“Now get lost,” he said to her with a strained smile. “I can manage it all from here, and I’ll lock up the offices when I go. You have a family to get home to.”
She paused, her brow creased. “I wish you had someone too,” she blurted out.
“You mean, like a boyfriend?” He laughed softly, though it sounded shaky. “I don’t have time to date at the moment.”
He hadn’t for a long time. When did he break up with Felix, his last partner? He was startled to realize it had been over a year ago, when Felix gave up trying to get a decent proportion of Joel’s time and attention. Foiled again by that work-life balance, Joel supposed. But he’d always made his own choices. He’d be going home tonight to a beautifully furnished, exclusive apartment, where he could and would be his own boss. The rest of the night would involve a well-cooked gourmet dinner delivered from a local restaurant, maybe a glass of good wine, and inevitably another run-through of the portfolio. A comfortable, self-contained time.
A lonely time.
He mentally snapped at himself, Pull yourself together! “What are you wearing tomorrow?” he asked Teresa with a wink. “The little black number?”
“Heavens, Joel. I think you’re better at choosing my wardrobe than I am. I will be wearing that, yes. But as for accessories….”
“Definitely the blue shoes!”
She nodded, grinning as she made her way to the door. “As always, you know best.”
Staring at the empty doorway after she’d gone, Joel wondered whether that was really true.
Chapter Nine
SATURDAY night, a sumptuous private reception room at Hampton Court Palace, superior canapes and sparkling wine galore—and another planet, as far as Matt was concerned.
The room they were shown into was high-ceilinged and comfortably furnished—at least he assumed it was, by royal standards. The gilded woodwork was kept at a minimum, but the carpet had to be more than three inches thick, and the furniture had been polished so highly that the wood looked like liquid chocolate. And some of the stern expressions from the portraiture on the walls was enough to put anyone off the food.
Joel paused at Matt’s side.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Wow. Perhaps he thought Matt was a complete savage. “You think I can’t cope with an event like this?”
“Of course I don’t.” Joel’s eyes had narrowed. “But I worry you don’t want to. That’s a different thing.”
“I wouldn’t let Addam and the team down. I’m committed to Project Palace. Well, as long as it lasts, anyway.”
“Of course.” Joel’s face was studiedly blank. He tugged down the front of his jacket—not that he needed any adjustment; he looked perfectly and magnificently poised—and led the way forward.
That issue about letting down the team? Matt had completely forgotten Teresa told him to read up on the likely guest list. He’d spent most of the day getting ready at the farm, and when he did get online, he was distracted by an article on Hampton Court Palace’s magnificent art collection, and then something about a Neolithic settlement discovered in an archaeological dig in Wales… so here he was, none the wiser about the Royal Family and their nearest and dearest.
There was a huge table at one end, set with elegant buffet food. The guests’ voices were muted, and there were probably no more than fifty people, but that was forty-five more than Matt could face at one time. And the prince hadn’t even arrived yet. The room was full of those frocks and suits he’d been so dismissive of with Caro. Everyone looked fit, rich, and well made-up, the men included. He kept to the edges of the room and barely sipped his drink, terrified of getting tipsy or spilling the stuff down his new shirt. The bloody champagne flutes were as thin as paper and looked a hundred years old. Personally he preferred beer, but even he didn’t have the balls to ask one of the aides for a pint. His vision swam over all the faces, and he focused on one figure he knew much better: Joel Sterling, his new boss. Matt found himself transfixed even by Joel’s back view. Perfectly and magnificently poised. Matt had a feeling that was just his evasive way of saying Joel looked fit as fuck.
Joel launched into the group of guests as if he’d been born to it. Matt wondered briefly exactly what Joel had been born into—he knew no more about Joel Sterling than a sparse summary on Wikipedia, without benefit of photos, that Matt had bothered to read—and then he surrendered to being just an observer.
It was a rewarding view.
Joel Sterling was handsome, obviously. But his confidence was a physical feature in itself—the grace of his movements, the way he gave focused attention to whoever was speaking to him, his easy smile, his inclusive nod in all conversation. He had happily introduced his team to the palace staff and friends of the royal couple, making sure they were given the proper respect and notice, and then left them to mingle.
Matt didn’t mingle. He was oddly conflicted tonight, feeling righteously isolated from the Starsmith corporate image, and yet warmed at the thought he was sharing this evening with like-minded people who had made such an effort to accept him.
And most especially, conflicted about Joel. Matt had been from the start. He couldn’t seem to shake that first evening at Claridge’s from his memory. There’d been so little to the event—a couple of drinks, a joke, a discussion about their love of jewelry, a too-hasty kiss—yet it felt so huge in his memory, it was keeping him awake at night. Especially since they’d started working so closely together.
Matt wasn’t a complete naif when it came to a love life. He’d had a steady boyfriend back in Norfolk, though it had never amounted to a grand passion by any stretch of the imagination. It had been comfortable; it had been familiar. Robbie had come from a farming family as well but was working his way through a postgraduate degree and planning to travel abroad if he could get the introductions. He and Matt had gone to the pub together, played football, fucked enthusiastically and regularly. But their parting last year, when Robbie had finally got a contract in New Zealand, had been so amicable it was obvious the romance had run its course. Matt hadn’t been interested much in men since then. Though from the coy glances one of the waitstaff was flashing him every time he passed, he could dabble a bit there. But no one had fired him up for a very long time, making his heart race, his blood simmer, and his mouth go dry with need.
Not like Joel did.
Jesus. He had to get over himself. Any promise between them had been overwhelmed by the shock of finding out who “Joe” actually was. Joel was a slick corporate type and probably dated in his own peer group. Matt would be returning to his beloved Norfolk and his beloved dig as soon as this contract was over.
“Matt?” Teresa was beckoning him over. She looked fabulous tonight, and he loved the contrast of her sapphire-blue shoes with the simple yet stylish black frock. Her smile was the most enchanting thing about her, though. Beside her, Addam looked gorgeous too, with a suit that was cut far too stylishly to be off the peg and an extra splash of red in his hair. He winked at Matt, and Matt nodded at them both. He was reluctant to join the melee just yet.
“Your Royal Highness,” one of the aides murmured to someone who had entered the room behind Matt. “This is Matt Barth, of the Starsmith design team.”
Shit. This was it
. Matt had visions of royal disapproval that his hair wasn’t neat enough, that his shoes didn’t shine—though, God knows, Caro had made him thrash them within an inch of their leather’s life—and he was only the new boy, anyway—
“Mr. Barth!”
Even Matt recognized a prince of the realm, though the young man who greeted him so cheerfully looked about as ordinary as one of Addam’s eager assistants: slim, with ruddy, healthy features, auburn hair, and a strong build that suggested a lot of sports had been played throughout his life. His suit was beautifully cut but he was otherwise dressed conservatively. That is, apart from the twisted-link chain around his neck, which Matt recognized immediately as a popular Starsmith design in the very finest gold. Prince Arthur grabbed his hand and shook it, surely more enthusiastically than a prince should, when he must have to shake a million hands a month.
“Sir. I mean. Whatever….” Matt was floundering.
Joel hurried over and took his arm. “It’s Your Royal Highness the first time you meet, then sir,” he explained easily, with a smile that included His Highness himself. “That’s right, isn’t it, sir? We all studied the protocol for tonight—”
“But life’s too short for excess formality, I’d say.” The prince gave a very hearty laugh. “Please don’t concern yourselves. I’m not easily offended. As long as you don’t call me Ginger, that is. Though being a ginger hasn’t done my wayward brother Harry much harm to date.” The group of friends now gathering around the prince laughed at the joke.
Matt was both relieved and shocked when the prince grasped his hand again. “I so loved your Anubis Collection. I’ve always enjoyed jewelry. I haven’t seen any of your work since then, which is a pity. I was very excited to hear you would be on the team for the wedding commission.”
“It’s an honor, sir,” Matt barely stammered out.
“We’re really thrilled to have Matt on board,” Joel said, far more easily. “He’s been invaluable, though of course he’s only been with us a couple of weeks. With more time….”
“Who knows what can be achieved?” The prince laughed heartily again, loud enough that his nearest aide couldn’t hold back a wince. “Mr. Sterling, you are a master of the seductive promise. And yet, I believe you will deliver. I am so glad your company won the commission. Even my insistence—and that of my sisters-in-law, who have pieces of your exquisite jewelry—wouldn’t have guaranteed the deal if the damned accountants had found serious fault.”
Matt glanced at Joel—he looked as delighted as Matt felt.
“Please, have you eaten enough?” The prince gestured carelessly toward the table groaning under platters of smoked salmon, asparagus, and an extravagant selection of miniature pastries. “Considering the kitchens here served over fifteen hundred meals a day in Henry VIII’s time, I said these frilly little things wouldn’t be enough for the whole evening. I daresay you can get a burger on your way home.” The guests laughed again; Matt found himself grinning too. The prince’s easy good humor was charming. “Now, let’s have a look at these designs of yours. My secretary, Rogers, will clear the table behind us and give us some space. Rogers, please can you direct my other guests to the drinks while I have a confidential chat with Mr. Sterling and his crew?” He smiled engagingly at Joel and Matt. “I fully understand it’s early days, and I’m not going to hold that against any of you. My commitment is already placed with Starsmith. But you understand I’m beside myself with curiosity, don’t you?”
Chapter Ten
MATT moved slowly away from the group around the prince as soon as he was able. His head still buzzed from the praise and genuine welcome shown by their royal host, but he needed time to regroup his thoughts. Standing here, in a five-hundred-year-old palace swamped in beauty and heritage, he was questioning everything they’d brought with them. The art here transcended any jewelry Starsmith already had out in high street shops. Fob watches and brooches—how hackneyed were they in today’s modern world? How could such silly things give the true message of a high-profile, same-sex wedding?
A few quiet but alert men and women stood in position around the walls. Matt assumed they were for security. As far as he was concerned, the whole event was an indistinguishable sea of well-fitted suits and politely blank expressions.
One of the men by the doorway strolled over to Matt. “Mr. Barth?”
“Yeah. I mean, hi.”
Wow. The guy was gorgeous, in a dashing Mediterranean way. Matt didn’t think he was attracted to that look—he seemed alarmingly drawn to the handsome, British, executive type these days, despite himself—but the smile on this guy would have melted the snow on the Pyrenees. When he held out his hand, Matt shook it instinctively, still staring. He must have looked like a rabbit in headlights.
The man gave a small, slow smile. “It’s overwhelming, yes?”
He had a very attractive accent. Spanish? Greek? “A little. I’m not used to socializing. And not in a setting like this, you know?”
“I know.” The man smiled in sympathy. “I believe you are the head designer?”
“One of the team,” Matt muttered. Now he was blushing, dammit.
The man raised elegant eyebrows and said in a surprisingly lilting voice, “I think you are too modest. The palace recalls your Anubis Collection from a few years ago. It was all the market could talk about. And you brought some ideas for the wedding designs with you today, yes?”
Matt knew he couldn’t discuss the project work with all and sundry. “Just some initial ideas that we’ve been working on,” he said, deliberately vague. “You know about jewelry?”
The man laughed softly. “You cut to the chase. I like that. So many of these people are—” He paused, as if rephrasing his thoughts. “—too concerned with the political correctness.”
“Well, you’d have to be, wouldn’t you? I mean, you’re with the prince. You have to go where he goes, meet the people he does.”
The man’s mouth tightened. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I do.”
Matt took several more gulps of his champagne. He might be getting a taste for it. “So you’ve got to pretend to be the part. Don’t want to cause some kind of international incident because you let your urban roots show.”
“My…?” The man blinked rapidly, then smiled. “Yes, of course.”
“You’d be out of a job then, I reckon.” Matt grinned conspiratorially and nudged the guy in the ribs. “But then you can go off duty and relax. Be yourself. Put on your old sweatpants, lose the shoes, slob in front of the telly with a takeaway curry and a couple of beers.”
The man’s eyes were twinkling. “That sounds excellent fun. Where we are all the same, no status, no pretension.”
Something in the man’s tone alerted Matt. Maybe he, Matt, had been indiscreet. “I didn’t mean that exactly….” Bugger it, what had he meant? “I just think people should be honest.”
“And you think this isn’t?” The handsome man waved a graceful hand to encompass the room.
Fuck. Matt was pretty sure now he’d messed up somewhere. This man didn’t seem like one of the security detail anymore. Matt wished to God he’d spent more time on that briefing paper Teresa had given him. He put the glass down on the nearest table before he dropped it. His hands were shaking.
“Is that what you do, Mr. Barth? You act the part around Mr. Sterling and his business?”
“No. Not at all!” Matt was momentarily taken aback. Not just that this guy had asked such a blunt question, but that suddenly he wasn’t sure how to answer it. Was it true? Had he been seduced by the work on Project Palace, using his talents fully for the first time in years, loving the team spirit and support? What about his resentment for everything Starsmith had done in the past that had seemed so unfair? His heart sank. What was fair nowadays? Joel’s welcomed me into the team. I’m part of his world and his work. Matt couldn’t seem to reconcile his hatred of capitalist excess in the heart of London’s city with his grudging admiration and attraction for Joel, the self-made
man who embodied it whichever way Matt turned.
His companion was looking concerned. “You are disturbed. May I help?”
“God. No. I mean, I’ve behaved badly. I’m so sorry.”
“Why do you apologize? You have spoken freely.”
Yeah, and that was the problem. “I was… mistaken.” What would Dad have said? Here his son was, in with some of the highest people in the land, who’d treated him with nothing but respect and welcome. And Matt was calling them all pretentious impersonators. “Please. Forget what I was saying. You have your job to do, the same as I do. For our own peace of mind, we should do it the best we can.”
The man shook his head gently, still smiling. “You have underlying integrity, Mr. Barth. Even if you let your passions cloud it. What can you tell me about your commission?”
“It’s confidential,” Matt muttered. He glanced over to where Joel was stepping away from the table, closing the large binder. He was smiling at the prince and looked pleased. “But it’s going to be fabulous!” he blurted out in a burst of loyalty and pride.
The man laughed, freely, genuinely. “And that, Mr. Barth, is your true act. You come alive when you talk about what you love.”
“It’s a job.”
“Oh no. I think it is far from that.” The man adjusted his jacket, though it hung perfectly on his broad chest already. “But thank you.”
“What for?”
“For your refreshing company. For sharing your passion while still keeping your loyalty to the project, your boss, and the prince.”
Talking of whom… Joel was on his way over to Matt, with Addam and Teresa at his back, and Prince Arthur just in front of them all. To Matt’s shock, the prince walked another couple of steps forward, slipped his hand into the handsome man’s grip, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.
Matt’s whole body went into shock.
“Matt?” Joel looked puzzled. “Are you okay?”
Matt just stared at the couple, who so obviously… were a couple.