by Lilah Pace
So much for breathing easy. "Why?" Ben said.
James answered first. "She means the press. You have no idea how relentless they can be. They'd be outside the door of your building every morning, every night. Throwing things at your window in hopes you'll look out, making your neighbors despise you. But you'll have to deal with it at work regardless, won't you? We'll arrange a car for your commute; that should help."
Ben didn't give a rat's ass about this and intended to say so, but then Ms. Tseng added, "My concern is more about your ability to see each other. While the public is still getting used to the news, the last thing we need are reports that Mr. Dahan has arrived to stay the night, or left Clarence House first thing in the morning--"
That was when James cut in. "You mean, it would be better if the tabloids couldn't report every single time we have sex. Because they would, wouldn't they?"
She nodded. "Precisely, sir."
Move in with James? As of tomorrow? This was all racing away from Ben so far, so fast. He'd told himself he knew what it meant to be with James publicly, but it was already a hell of a lot more complicated than he'd counted on.
But if the tabloids thought they could wrest Ben away from James, they were wrong. He was going to take pleasure in proving it.
"Of course," Ben said. "I'll pack my things tonight."
"Yes?" James looked so damned happy that it made the rest worthwhile.
So Ben smiled back. "Yes."
***
He looks like he's drowning, James thought.
He'd believed it would be best if he simply did what he naturally did when he walked out of his private suite--if he set his personal concerns aside and became The Prince, the person he had to be in his public role--then Ben would understand this and match it. Ben always came across as so calm, so worldly. James had assumed there was no situation he couldn't handle.
It wasn't that Ben wasn't handling it, exactly, but his unease shadowed every word he spoke. Now James wondered if he'd gone about this all wrong.
Did the persona he put on in his official duty come across as fake? It wasn't; it was part and parcel of the job James had been born to, and as natural to him as anything else. Would Ben understand that?
Once they'd finished with Kimberley and given Ben's measurements to the valet, they returned to James's private suite. Neither of them spoke until James had shut the door behind them. At that moment, Ben went still.
"All right?" James said, trying to smile.
Ben stood in the middle of the room, as if he no longer felt comfortable there. He didn't answer immediately. Finally he said, "I didn't realize you had a valet. Of course you do. As long as anyone in the world still has a valet, the Prince Regent of the United Kingdom has one."
"He's not full-time, exactly."
"You needn't apologize for it. This is your life. I just didn't understand."
Those words clamped around James's heart, colder than any ice. He just kept talking, almost babbling. "Paulson dresses me for public events, and oversees my wardrobe--you know, makes certain that things are clean and ready. The rest of the time he's a buyer for some menswear store, quite posh, I'm given to understand. Though of course not bespoke." He would have given much to bite back that last sentence, but too late. Best to quickly move on. "Now what do you want for lunch?"
"I take it a scotch would be inappropriate."
The only way to make the meeting at the House even worse would be to show up drunk. Tempting. But James said, "We can save all that for later."
He held out his hands to Ben, who took them for a moment before pulling James into his embrace. Once they were in each other's arms again, it was hard to remember what had seemed so worrying just a few minutes before.
Some awkwardness was only natural, James reminded himself. Everything had turned upside down for them both within the past twenty-four hours. No wonder they both felt a bit--short of breath. What mattered most was what bound them together like this, here and now.
"You know you don't have to move in," he murmured against Ben's chest. "Not if you're not ready."
"It's all right."
"We could arrange cars for you. Decoys too, so the press wouldn't always know your every move."
"I'd feel like a fool, with everyone going to so much trouble on my account. Really. Let's skip it."
"Only if you're sure. I know it's a lot."
"I can handle it," Ben said, though he sounded more stubborn than certain. Before James could press further, though, Ben grinned and added, "Besides, this way--more sex."
James laughed out loud mostly out of sheer relief. They kissed, long and sweet, and for a little while everything was more relaxed. During their meeting with Kimberley Tseng, one of the cooks had discreetly brought up a pot of creamy potato soup, which now simmered on the stove. James made them more coffee, because both of them were operating on about three hours' sleep. When Paulson arrived, James feared the mood would become tense again--but Paulson, ever tactful, hit just the right tone.
"I'll see to you first," Paulson said to Ben, "as you're the one who hasn't been to Buckingham Palace before."
Ben said, "You mean, I'm the one who'll need more help."
"Precisely, sir," Paulson replied, so crisply that it became a joke. Ben laughed, and James smiled at his valet, who had understood that Ben's well-being was James's first priority. Good servants cultivated that kind of intuition, until they very nearly came across as psychics.
Besides, it was true: Ben wouldn't have the slightest idea how to prepare for the palace, whereas James went for a dark gray suit he particularly liked and remembered the shoes, shirt, and tie Paulson most often chose to match it. His valet would only have to smooth out the details.
For a few seconds he stood there, considering himself in the mirror. What would his family see, when he stood before them today? His reflection revealed neither the soaring delight he'd known last night in Ben's arms nor the cold fear he felt at the thought that his place in the succession was now in serious doubt. He saw only the exhaustion of two near-sleepless nights in a row.
It was a welcome distraction to walk out and find Paulson knotting Ben's tie.
He'd seen Ben in a suit before, but only once, the Crimson Night event where they'd found each other again . . . when James's attention had been less on Ben's clothes and more on getting Ben out of them. Today, Ben didn't look like a man going to Buckingham Palace for the first time. He looked like a man who belonged there. Probably Ben would laugh at the idea that confidence could be borrowed from a fine coat and tie, but here he was, back to his usual bold self, and all it had taken was a little polish. With a smile, James said, "You look wonderful."
Ben pointed to Paulson. "Thank the miracle worker."
"Hardly, sir," Paulson said. "Not many men these days are comfortable in a double-breasted suit, but you've exactly the build for it."
The suit was dark blue, and it outlined Ben's body perfectly. James didn't even see any areas where custom tailoring would improve the fit. Paulson had chosen a paler blue shirt and charcoal-gray tie that softened the look. Even the shoes were perfect, buffed to a polish without being so bright as to betray their newness.
"You outdid yourself pulling this together on such short notice," James said to Paulson. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, Your Royal Highness." With that, Paulson came to re-knot James's necktie. No matter how well James thought he'd done it, Paulson always did it over, and better.
As Paulson worked, James glanced over at Ben. Ben, in turn, was looking at his reflection in the nearest mirror. Most men were unflatteringly broadened by a double-breasted coat, but Ben's suit outlined his trim-waisted, broad-chested form with all the flair of an Edwardian gent. However, Ben didn't seem impressed by how dashing he looked. Instead his expression seemed concerned, almost confused. As though he didn't recognize the man in the mirror.
Oh, God, James thought, but he buried that surge of panic, buried it deeply and fast. With the meet
ing at Buckingham Palace, he had enough to be afraid about already.
***
They made it through the palace gates, through the doors, side by side. But as they went toward the sitting room, footman a few steps ahead, James put his hand out in front of Ben's torso. "You have to hang back a bit."
"I'm not afraid," Ben said in a low voice that was half a growl.
"Of course you aren't." He was so much braver than James had ever dreamed. "But we're on royal protocol now, and I take precedence."
"They worry about that even here, when nobody's watching?"
"They haven't got much else to worry about." James had often thought that his family's prickliness about matters of etiquette was much like the old joke about feuds in academia: People fought so fiercely precisely because so little of substance was at stake.
The doors to the sitting room were pushed open. A booming voice announced, "His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and Mr. Benjamin Dahan."
All day James had been hyperaware of Ben--alternately thrilled by his presence or worried he'd still take it all back. Now even that faded. There was no room in his mind for anything but this moment, the first time he had ever stood before his entire family as his true self.
They were seated in a cluster near the enormous fireplace; oil paintings of monarchs from the past three hundred years hung on the wall, past generations staring in shared disapproval. The queen had, as usual, taken the place nearest the fire. She sat so regally straight, her face so stolid, that he was reminded of the photos of her long-ago coronation. His cousins sat on the long couch beside her, lined up like ducklings and about as likely to say anything of use. More promising, by far, was the fact that Nicholas had lived up to his word. His cheeks sported a day's worth of stubble, and he wore an RAF coverall, but he'd come. Nicholas was the only one who smiled when James entered the room.
And Indigo had made it. She looked terrible, pale and drawn. She'd probably slept even less than he had since he told her he wanted to come out. Obviously she'd let her maid pick out her clothing, one of the prim, lacy dresses that suited her so poorly but fit the part of the "perfect princess."
Just behind the queen stood Prince Richard, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't look upset. He looked . . . satisfied. That didn't bode well.
But something else struck James as far more disquieting. Instead of introducing Ben as he'd planned, he immediately said, "Where is His Majesty? I had been informed he would be in attendance." Grandfather still wasn't speaking much, but he could at least listen and understand.
"He's had a setback," Richard said coolly. "The shock, no doubt."
James felt a wave of horror; he had never thought he might physically harm his grandfather. But Indigo found her voice. "He's just sick, and he's been sick for three days, so James's news hasn't anything to do with it. And it's vicious of you to pretend otherwise."
The queen didn't seem to be paying either of them any attention. "James, you mean to tell the public that you are a homosexual?"
"Yes, Grandmother. Tomorrow afternoon."
She sighed. "I shall never understand this modern tendency to go airing dirty laundry."
"It's not dirty laundry." James found that anger steadied him. "It's who I am. Up until now I've been lying about it. I should think the public would appreciate being told the truth."
"The public will be appalled," the queen replied.
It was Nicholas who stepped in there. "Times have changed, Grandmother. Most people in the United Kingdom--"
"Yes, yes, I read the papers the same as anyone else," the queen interjected. "But our responsibility extends beyond the boundaries of Great Britain. Have you entirely forgotten the Commonwealth, James? Do you realize that those nations often hold rather more traditional viewpoints?"
"I have never forgotten that," James said. "But in the end, it is those nations' right to say whether they will or will not accept a gay king at the head of the Commonwealth. If I lie, if I essentially trick them into having a gay king whether they like it or not--it's condescending in the extreme. These are nations with their own leadership and their own viewpoints. They'll make their own decisions. Ultimately the strength of the Commonwealth should endure beyond the role of any individual monarch."
"Sounds very noble," Richard said, very evenly. "Did your new PR man come up with that for you?" And he nodded toward Ben.
James glanced at Ben, who stood only a few inches behind, as handsome as James had ever seen him, and still silent, expression unreadable. After a deep breath, James said, "This is Benjamin Dahan. He's--the man in my life."
Indigo gasped. Apparently she hadn't heeded the first name when they were announced. Her eyes searched Ben's face, though James couldn't guess for what.
The rest of the family looked equally surprised, but once again, Nicholas was the only one who managed to smile. The queen seemed to be swelling with indignation, while Richard said, "You actually intend to parade your lover about the palace?"
"I intend to tell the truth, first to my family, then to the public," James said. "Ben's willing to face the consequences. For the next few weeks, he'll be staying with me at Clarence House."
"In the palace?" The queen's eyes were wide. "You're admitting this to the press as well?"
"So this is what we are to present to the British people," Richard said, finally ruffled. "A would-be king more dedicated to his sex life than to his duty. And his lover, God knows who from God knows where, who has earned himself a place among royalty by submitting to God knows what. This is what you want the people to accept. Could this be any worse for our family? For the monarchy?"
There was a moment of mutually horrified silence, during which James was trying to think of which insult to hurl at Richard first. Then Ben said, "...I'm also Jewish."
Richard's eyes went wide. Nicholas bit his lower lip, obviously trying hard not to laugh. The queen looked over at one of the cousins and asked in all seriousness, "Is he joking?"
James turned to Ben and thought, with all his heart and strength, I love you. Ben's eyes crinkled at the corners, half a smile; he understood.
"Ben is a journalist and author," James said. "He's lived and worked all over the world, reporting on economic issues, especially in developing nations. I don't intend to apologize for him or for myself."
The queen apparently wanted to steer the conversation back to more familiar ground. "In my youth, this was the sort of thing people handled more discreetly. Have you never even considered that?"
All those years he'd lived a lie with Cass--as close as he'd come to marrying her, all the while knowing that both he and she would seek to have secret lovers to complete their lives--and still the queen could ask him this question. James sighed. "The truth is the only answer. I believe that absolutely."
She again looked irritated. "Our private lives are none of their business."
"Aren't they?" James replied. "The people have the right to know that I won't be fathering children, that Indigo will give birth to the next heir. Withholding the truth only leads to rumors, and distrust. I've lived a lie long enough. I'm done."
The queen clearly remained unconvinced. But that was when Ben spoke again. This time, his voice was steady and serious. "Discretion was easier to come by before the 24/7 news cycle. These days, secrets are much harder to keep. Consider how everyone in your family has to cycle through mobile phones to avoid hacking, Your Majesty."
Oh, thank God Ben remembered the title. Did that mean she might actually listen? James watched as the queen said, "We seem to have kept some things secret, don't we?"
Her gaze wasn't on James. It was on Indigo.
If Ben noticed that, he gave no sign. He simply said, "This news will be explosive, Your Majesty. No one questions that. But it's better if James tells the truth himself. Imagine how much worse it would be if the news got out in some other way."
The queen nodded as though she were weary. "Dear God. Winspear, bring me a brandy." A servant ducked out of a
side door in a hurry.
James knew his grandmother enough to know that her signaling for a brandy meant she'd admitted defeat. If the queen didn't absolutely forbid his coming out, then nothing else would stand in his way. He could and would have done it even if she'd forbidden it, but there would have been a price to pay.
Nicholas chimed in, "So, what was that with Cassandra, anyway? You seemed so close."
That allowed James to talk about how wonderful Cass was, and Nicholas, God bless him, kept asking questions as calmly and warmly as though they were having this conversation alone over a meal. Nicholas included Ben, asking about his background; Ben always answered politely but briefly, and only someone who knew him as well as James did could have sensed how much he was holding back.
What is Ben thinking? This can't be how other families talk to one another. Surely films and TV shows aren't all lying about that. Does he think we're horribly strange and cold? Does he think I'm more like him, or more like them?
Impossible to ask now. Difficult to imagine asking ever.
The rest of his family remained mostly quiet. A few of his cousins questioned the timing of the announcement, details like that; they were hedging their bets, wanting to look as though they were objecting to his move, in case he fell out of power, without actually giving him any real difficulty, in case he didn't. Indigo stared at Ben as though she didn't know what to make of him. James wondered whether she was happy for them, frightened of someone else having such an important role in her brother's life, or simply unable to believe anyone would willingly stand in the glare of public attention she hated so much. The queen sipped her brandy in resigned silence.
None of this concerned James as much as the fact that Prince Richard also said nothing. He watched the scene, no longer angry but--apparently--pleased.
James knew Richard would never be pleased by anything so simple as the truth, much less his happiness.
As the meeting ended, James turned to Ben and spoke only to him for the first time since he'd entered the room. "We'd best go. I know you've got to meet with Kimberley, and I have a statement to write."
"Ind--" Ben caught himself. "What about Princess Amelia? Should I speak with her?"