His Royal Favorite (20 page)

“He is,” Ben agreed, “and you’re glad you chose not to live a lie.”

“You could look at it that way, but I don’t. As I see it, I chose real love.”

He nodded, accepting that. Yet Ben knew, perhaps better than Cassandra did, the limits of what love could provide.

She turned brisk. “All right. That’s enough agony-aunt advice from me. I’ve put a good meal in you and made sure you won’t smell to high heaven when James gets home. The rest is up to you two.”

She smooched the corgis on their noses, collected her designer bag, and began to go. As she reached the door, Ben said, “Cassandra?”

“Hmm?”

How should he say it?  “You’re all right, really.”

“No shit,” Cassandra replied, and out she went.

***

James went through all his official duties in the Netherlands, from touring water-pumping stations to waltzing with the queen, with half of his mind somewhere else.

For him it was never a question of whether he wanted to go on with Ben. He did, desperately. But he knew his task wasn’t as simple as coming home and repeating vows of love. If he and Ben were to make this work, they had to find a more constructive way of going on together, both as partners to each other and as figures in the public eye.

And if Ben had decided he wanted out, then James had to find a graceful way to accept that.

Ben’s departure would devastate him. It might kill something inside him forever. But James had never forgotten what he’d said on that incredible night when Ben had first sworn to stand by his side:
I love you enough to let you go
. It would be the greatest act of love in James’s life, and he was determined to carry through with it if he must, and with kindness and understanding. Yet every beat of his heart told him
Fight for him, fight for Ben, you have to fight this
. The war in his heart was love versus love.

James didn’t call. They had mutually decided before the trip that it would be better to take these few days for reflection and only talk again at the end. In some ways that made the suspense hellish. Still, James figured that if Ben had moved back into his Islington flat lock, stock, and barrel, some glimmer of it would show up in the tabloids. No such headlines appeared, which gave him something to hang on to.

His private plane was unable to take off for hours after its scheduled departure due to inclement weather. This meant that James arrived back at Clarence House in the dead of night. He instructed Glover and Paulson to take his things up and deal with them the next morning, “so as not to disturb Mr. Dahan.” James said all this not knowing whether Ben was even upstairs.

The only item James took with him was one of the gifts he’d been given by a Dutch well-wisher. Invariably he received dozens of stuffed toys and banners and pins and whatnot, the vast majority of which he donated to children’s hospitals. This, however, he had kept: a beautiful, red-orange tulip in a ceramic pot.

Ben’s next book was about tulips, in part. So James would give this to Ben as a symbol of James’s belief in Ben’s future, whether with him or on his own. Even if Ben wanted to end things, even if he’d already taken most of his things back to the Islington flat, James would give him this one last gift. He thought he understood Ben well enough to know that Ben would keep the plant thriving no matter what.

As James went upstairs, ceramic pot in both hands, he tried to work out the algebra of their situation. If Ben was sitting up waiting for him, that was probably good. If Ben had gone to sleep in his bed, that was—uncertain. He might be willing to try and work things out, or he might simply be saving a difficult conversation for the morning. If Ben wasn’t present, instead spending the night of James’s homecoming at his place in Islington, that was pretty well the kiss of death.

James entered the private suite. Ben wasn’t sitting up waiting for him.

His heart sank, but James kept talking himself through it.
All right. You knew this might be coming. Steady on.

Desperately he longed to go to Ben’s room and see if Ben were sleeping there, or whether everything had been removed. But James told himself to respect Ben’s rest. The answer wouldn’t change if he waited until tomorrow morning, so he should just wait.

A lump in his throat, James set down the tulip and went to his own room. He opened the door and was just about to flick on the light when he realized Ben was lying in his bed, waiting for him there. That was the best sign of all.

Ben propped himself up, groggy. “James?”

James didn’t so much as kick off his shoes. Instead he simply crawled atop the bed and atop Ben, embracing him as best he could with the covers in the way. Ben hugged James back, and for a while they simply lay there, beyond words, comforting each other.

When James thought he could speak again, he said, “I was so scared you wouldn’t be here.”

“I nearly wasn’t. But Cassandra spoke with me.”

“You spoke with Cass?”
Of your own free will?
James had glimpsed one online headline suggesting that Cass and Ben had hit the town together but hadn’t even read the story, assuming it to be pure invention.

“It’s not like she talked me into staying. But she made me think.” Ben stroked one hand through James’s hair. “No, I don’t like this life. Still, I haven’t given it a chance, not really. I have to try to live like—like it’s forever. The habits we got into when I was your secret on the side, they don’t help us any more. I have to find out what it would be like to do this forever, really find out, before I can make any decisions.”

That meant Ben still wasn’t entirely committed to taking this on permanently, but James could accept that. Really, this was the conversation they should have had that night when Ben agreed to come out alongside him. This might not be their end, but at least it was a proper beginning.

“Is that all right?” Ben said. “My still not knowing?”

“Your giving it a real chance is the most I could ever ask for. And I’ve got to make some changes too. I realize that.” James’s head rested alongside Ben’s on the pillow. “We have to be more open with each other. More honest. I think we try to spare each other’s feelings, but it just sets up more misunderstandings.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t come naturally to me—not having limits.” Ben sighed heavily. “I think I should warn you about a steep learning curve ahead.”

“For both of us. I’ve never felt free to say exactly what I thought, not even with you. But I’ll learn. We’ll learn together.” James took a moment, then added, “Also I have to be more proactive about creating a niche for you within The Firm.”

Ben took a deep breath. Obviously he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of trying to fit into the royal establishment, but James could tell that he finally saw the necessity of it.

“Maybe we can find a way yet.”

Gently Ben took James’s hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss. He could be so gentle sometimes, so unexpectedly tender. As vulnerable and uncertain as this moment was, James thought he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. This was the foundation of their chance to build a happy life. They lay in the semidarkness, James still atop the covers and fully dressed, yet as intimately together as they’d ever been while making love.

James said, “I brought you a flower.”

“What?” Ben’s smile was incredulous. “You brought me flowers?”

“A flower. Singular. A tulip, like the ones you’re writing about.”

Ben understood immediately what it meant; James had known he would. “Thank you.”

“Shall I go get it for you?”

But Ben simply hugged him tighter. “I can see it in the morning. Stay here.”

James stayed.

***

They began again.

The first steps were simple. Ben resumed work on his book like a man who had a real vocation, not a hobby to fill the hours. He kept his things in “his room” but slept in James’s bed every night, regardless of when James was expected in. He submitted to being measured again by Paulson and to two new suits. James had told him to think of the royal purse paying for his clothes as “work expenses,” which Ben could sort of buy if he looked at it sideways, with a squint. And, with some trepidation, he called his landlord in Islington and got out of his lease.

No more escape plans. No more plan B or plan C. From now on, Ben intended to treat his life with James as the life he planned to lead for good.

He still had months left on the lease, but luckily for Ben the landlord was sick and tired of media harassment and so was willing to let his most famous tenant out of the deal.

Two weeks later they left for the holiday Kimberley had recommended, with Cassandra and Spencer alongside. Spencer turned out to have taken a chalet in Gstaad, very near an extremely upscale ski resort. Both Cass and Spencer had many friends there, and even James knew several acquaintances. Instead of retreating, Ben made a point of being as sociable as he could bear. Yes, it all felt incredibly false—but he’d been able to put himself out there at journalism conferences, so he could do it here too.

The first few days were too snowy to ski, but on day four they were at last on the slopes. Ben and James were both reasonably adept, which meant they could zoom down hills with ease, troubled by nothing more than the paparazzi.

“How are the photographers getting up here?” Ben said to James just after they’d hopped off the lift. “They can’t have walked all the way up the Alps.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” James smiled. His heavy dark sunglasses couldn’t disguise his good spirits.

“What are they after? I mean, if they’re so wild for shots of us in action, or just wearing parkas, you’d think they’d have those by now.”

James laughed. “Don’t you know? They’ll be on us like that until they get the shot. THE shot. The one the public’s waiting for, the picture they’ll love to hate.”

Ben finally caught on. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” He took a deep breath. “Shall we?”

“Do you mean it?” James slipped off his sunglasses, blinking in the glare from the white slopes around them.

“If that’s what they’re so wild to see—” Yes, the moment would be staged, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be real too. “They’ve kept their distance. Haven’t shouted anything rude. We might as well reward them. Besides . . . I want to.”

“Me too.” By now James’s grin was brighter than the snow.

Ben stabbed his ski poles into the snow. “Which way should we tilt? For maximum exposure.”

“Hmm. I’ll tilt to my left; you tilt to yours.”

“Okay. My hands will go to your waist.”

“Very photogenic.” James winked. “Ready if you are.”

“So very ready,” Ben said, and then he pulled James into a deep, enduring kiss.

It was as though he could hear the camera clicks, though of course that was an illusion. Tomorrow morning, every website in the world would feature an image of the Prince Regent of England locking lips with his boyfriend. People would be scandalized and titillated . . . and then they would move on. From that point onward, each public display of physical affection between James and Ben would be a little less controversial than the last.

Ben thought he could handle knowing they were being watched. Just so long as they got to kiss like this.

Chapter 6

The Last Act of His Reign

As spring came, James began to feel hopeful. Maybe he and Ben were going to make this work.

True to his word, Ben was really trying. Instead of being such a stick in the mud about theatrical events, he now picked out two or three a month for them to attend, ones in which he took a genuine interest—even a movie premiere or two. He now traveled with James for many events outside London, though he did not yet appear alongside James in any official capacity. That would have been inappropriate with anything less than a fiancé, even for a heterosexual couple. To James and Cassandra’s mutual amusement, Ben had made fast friends with Spencer, which meant the four of them were getting together more often.

The media quickly noticed the change. The
Sun
claimed that James was keeping Ben close out of fears of infidelity, but most tabloids preferred the idea of Ben slithering his way into a position of influence. BENJI MAKES HIS MOVE said the
Express
headline, echoing the other redtops.

However, the more responsible mainstream press reacted sanely, pointing out that James and Ben clearly “hoped for greater acceptance,” and noting “signals that Mr. Dahan is expected to remain at Clarence House for some time.” The
Daily Telegraph
even began referring to Ben as the “Royal Favourite”—a centuries-old term for a sovereign’s lover.

Ben’s reaction was to muse, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather be called Benji.”

One night they had a dinner party, one of the so-called private gatherings—supposedly informal parties at James’s house, which in fact involved the full kitchen staff, and at which precedence was observed all the more rigidly for not being announced. James had always hosted these, but very few. Now, however, they were tools he could use to wedge Ben into society, regardless of how either Ben or society felt about it. This particular dinner promised to be more informal and enjoyable than most. Nearly everyone James had asked was someone he especially liked. Even better, Indigo had promised to attend, which was rare for her. Out of deference to her anxieties, James invited one of her few close friends.

Then, midafternoon on the day of the event, James received a phone call from Kensington Palace.

“She’s not especially bad, sir,” said Hartley. “Not doing any harm to herself, not even in her closet, but Her Royal Highness is, shall we say, unsteady.”

James breathed out. “Does she need me to come to her?”

“I think she’s well enough, sir, but it shan’t be possible for her to come to the party. She feels sincerely regretful about it, and about not speaking to you herself.”

“I realize that,” James said. “Thank you, Hartley. I know you always look after her.”

After he’d hung up, he left his personal office and went down the hall, to where Ben had taken up writing in a space previously left vacant. Not only did having his own office give Ben a place in the palace proper, but it also made quick conferences like this one much easier.

James walked to Ben’s desk and said, “Indigo’s out for this evening.”

Ben looked up from his laptop. “She’s having another bad spell?”

“Appears so. It’s not a crisis, but she’s not dining with us tonight either.”

“Okay. I don’t mind. We’ll ask her over on her own soon.”

“The thing is, we’ve got to find a substitute. I invited one of Indigo’s few good friends, someone she got to know through her art studies, does all these avant-garde sculptures about sexuality. Some kind of Biblical name—”

“Like James?” Ben’s dark eyes shone with amusement. “Or Benjamin?”

“No, I mean,
really
Biblical. Oh, I remember, the woman’s name is Eden. Eden Starkey. Of course we can’t uninvite her, but with Indigo gone, that leaves us with an odd number for dinner.”

“Does that matter?”

Sometimes James wondered whether Ben had been raised on another planet. “Of course it matters. Now we have to get someone last-minute, and I did so want this to be informal and fun, but with Cass and Spencer in Mustique and Nicholas away on maneuvers, there’s nobody else I like well enough to pull in on a few hours’ notice.” When Ben didn’t suggest it, James made his request explicit: “Is there anyone you’d want to ask?”

He hoped it wasn’t a sore point. Ben had always been something of a loner, and James knew he’d made few friends here in London, by choice.

Slowly, Ben nodded. “There’s someone.”

***

Ben called the main switchboard at Global Media and hoped the operator wouldn’t recognize his voice. Apparently she didn’t, because instantly he was put through. After three rings, he heard, “Santiesteban.”

“Roberto. Hi. It’s Ben.”

“Oh—hey! Hey there! Good to hear from you!” Roberto’s voice shifted from surprise to genuine pleasure. They hadn’t spoken in the ten weeks since Ben had left Global Media, and Ben had wondered whether Roberto felt blown off. But now he knew it was okay—and more than that, Roberto was clearly not using Ben’s name, so nobody else would take notice and eavesdrop. Roberto still had his back. “How are things going?”

“Better,” Ben said, which seemed the safest way to put it. “Listen, it would be great to catch up.”

“Definitely. You want to try to get together sometime?”

“I was wondering if you were free tonight, actually. And whether you had a suit you could change into and still get here by 7 p.m.”

“Still get where?”

“Here. Clarence House. We’re having a dinner party and hoped you could come.”

“Whoa.” Yet Roberto recovered quickly. “Uh, yeah, sure. I can ditch the evening run for one day.”

“That would be great.” It was the first time Ben had ever invited a guest of his own to the palace. He hadn’t known it would feel this good.

“This is probably the world’s stupidest question, but should I bring anything?”

Ben managed not to laugh, “No need. Just bring yourself.”

Roberto arrived on time, and even handled it beautifully when Ben finally introduced him to James. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” Roberto said, his smile genuine. “Ben told me a lot about you—without telling me it was you.”

James grinned. “I believe your name for me was Mr. Dog Owner. Am I right?”

Roberto laughed. “Absolutely right, sir.”

“Furry devils. They nearly gave the whole game away. Now, I read one of your stories last week that sounded like something out of a science fiction movie. Talk to me about this amazing theoretical engine.”

It turned out the theoretical engine in question was a concept for a form of propulsion that could power spacecraft at previously unimaginable speeds—swift enough to reach Mars in less than a week, and Alpha Centauri in less than a century. Ben and the other guests were quickly outpaced as James and Roberto spent a solid half hour “geeking out,” as James put it later.

“Were we rude?” James said that night after the guests were gone and they were getting ready for bed. “Sometimes I do get carried away with my enthusiasms, and one of the downsides of being me is that nobody will actually call me on it.”

Ben laughed. “You weren’t rude. The point was for me to get to know the others, right? Well, I did. They couldn’t pay attention to you, so they had to talk with me.”

“Whom did you especially like?”

“David. Or should I call him the Marquess of Rockingham?”

“David’s fine. He was a friend of mine at school, the sort of good-natured boy who would make a point of defending bullied kids. Glad to know you like him too.”

“And I realize Eden Starkey is Indigo’s friend first, but she’s worth knowing in her own right. I looked up some of her artwork before the party, but now that I’ve heard her talk about it, I want to check out one of her exhibitions. Have you spoken with Eden much before?”

“Not particularly, but I’ll have to change that.” James sat on the edge of the bed, next to Ben. “So both Roberto and Eden go on the Clarence House short list.”

Ben grinned. “Roberto made the cut?”

“He’s lovely. Plus, I need someone to talk science with. And you’ve missed him, I think.”

“I have. Besides that—”

“Yes?”

“It’s going to
kill
Fiona that Roberto gets to come to the palace and she doesn’t.”

Such were the smaller satisfactions of royal life, Ben realized. They weren’t quite as satisfying as airing the wrongdoing of corporate fat cats, but they were enjoyable all the same.

This transition was still strange to him. He’d thrown himself into the work of creating a place for himself at James’s side, but this remained
work
. The various social gatherings were becoming easier to navigate, and he was surprised at how much the company brightened his moods; maybe he wasn’t quite as much a loner as he’d always thought. Improved spirits led to improved writing. Ben even liked his new office. Yet none of it came naturally yet. At times he felt as though he were forever speaking in a language he barely knew . . . able to comprehend, able to make himself understood, but forever longing for the comfortable fluency of his mother tongue.

As part of this ongoing effort to integrate their lives, James had begun handing a few of his own tasks over to Ben each day, “for review,” or “to get your input.” It was merely makework, and Ben knew it, but he tried not to let it grate. Instead he reminded himself that James was attempting to include and educate him in the work of the monarchy.

Then one day near the beginning of May, the file sent to Ben’s desk was about some projects in Africa about to be undertaken by James’s charitable trust. Ben was first startled to see the sheer size of the funds involved; James was a more generous philanthropist than Ben had realized. As he began reviewing the projects himself, however, Ben became increasingly engrossed. The chapter he’d set aside “for an hour” lay still the rest of the afternoon, until he sent it all back to James and went into his office.

“The antimalarial nets—that project has a solid framework,” Ben said as he stood beside James’s desk, pointing at his tablet screen. “You need to work out the details of the supply lines in considerably more detail, though. I can tell whoever put this together has never attempted to ship large amounts of cargo in sub-Saharan Africa before. But that’s all beside the point. I want to talk about the women’s rights program.”

James managed to switch gears quickly enough to keep up. “All right. I hadn’t realized you were such an ardent feminist.”

Ben gave him a look. “Misogyny and homophobia are deeply linked, but that’s beside the point. This program is a mess, James. They’re sending a bunch of speakers around.
Speakers
.”

“Well, yes. To spread messages about birth control, AIDS prevention—”

“Which would be a hell of a lot more useful to women who have the clout to make their own choices about their reproductive lives.”

“Knowledge doesn’t help with that?”

“Knowledge is the steering wheel, but money is the engine, here as in everything else. Economic independence is the key. You see it time and time again: Where women make more of the money, women make more of the decisions.”

Leaning back in his chair, James said, “So what would you suggest?”

“You should be looking at boosting the profile of microfinance programs. Women’s agricultural projects. Training for the kinds of jobs that are beginning to blow up in African cities. These kinds of things. I got to know some highly competent NGO leaders while I was based in Cape Town; I’ve forwarded some information on a few of the best groups, and I could put your people in touch with them if you wanted. Educational programs are going to have a lot more traction if they’re paired with economic programs.”

“Of course.” A smile dawned on James’s face. “Why didn’t I think of this before? You’re an economist. You’ve spent most of your career working in the developing world, specifically studying exactly these sorts of things. You’re not only more qualified to judge this than I am; you’re also more qualified than most of the people we hire specifically for this purpose.”

“Wait. I didn’t mean to—I was just—” But Ben knew any objections he made were going to be useless. He
did
understand this. Besides, if this amount of cash was going to be poured into charitable projects, shouldn’t it be poured into the right ones?

“The next meeting’s on Friday,” James said, his enthusiasm warming more by the moment. “You can come with me—to observe, let’s say—but it should be natural enough for you to get in the general conversation. Once they’ve heard your ideas, they’ll realize you’re more than qualified to be there.”

“And then I do what, exactly? Make more suggestions? Take on more responsibility?”

James shrugged, still smiling. “If you like. It seems like a perfect fit, doesn’t it?”

Ben tried to imagine having some sort of executive charitable role. Wearing a suit to meetings. Presiding over a staff of lifelong professionals, primarily because he’d had the balls to hit on the Prince of Wales on a long-ago rainy afternoon.

“Ben?” James rose so that they were both standing, establishing their equality despite their place in James’s well-appointed office. “Tell me what you’re thinking. No limits.”

This was becoming a catchphrase of theirs. “I wouldn’t want to overstep anyone who’d earned their place.”

“You wouldn’t be taking work away from them. You’d be taking it away from me, and let’s face it, I’m not qualified in the slightest.” James looked rueful. “It’s awkward having responsibility handed to you; I’d know. All you can do is your best. Your best is likely to be better than mine.”

That was fair. “I guess I’m also trying to get used to the idea of wearing a tie every day for the rest of my life.” Which wasn’t really about the necktie itself . . . but James would understand that.

“It’s a new idea to us both. Maybe I’m being overeager, but it seems worth a try.”

“It is. You’re right.” Ben had always liked being in the thick of things, out in the field rather than analyzing from afar. The idea of having a secretary or a staff, consulting reports and giving advice, didn’t appeal to him. But maybe he was merely being childish. Did he want to simply report on inequality in the world or actually do something about it? When he put it like that, the choice seemed clear. “You’re right,” he repeated, and the difference in his voice brought James’s smile back to his face.