His Royal Favorite (30 page)

It worked: He earned a small laugh from Gavin. “Let’s say both.”

“Both! Very well. Obviously, I was concerned about how the British public would react. Too concerned, as it turns out. I’ve been deeply moved and gratified by the people’s support.” Just over half the people counted, James figured. “I knew there would be significant concerns, particularly regarding the Commonwealth and the Church of England. Regardless of my own commitment to the monarchy, I realized that if I came out, there would be calls for me to step down. That bothered me less for my own sake and more for my sister’s. Amelia was in no condition to consider taking the throne herself, not before she sought treatment, so I didn’t want to add to the pressures she already felt.”

Might that change, in the future? Could a healthy Indigo become a happy, confident Queen Amelia?

He and the interviewer spoke in more general terms about the changing public views of homosexuality—this part was half history lesson, except that nearly all the TV audience that night would have lived through it. But James could see the need for greater context. Then they moved on to Cassandra, whom James was happy to praise in glowing terms, and finally got around to the act of coming out itself.

“Not all the press coverage was kind, at first,” Gavin said.

“No. I was particularly angered by one headline”—James didn’t name the publication, though he remembered very well it was the
Express
—“which asked,
What would Princess Rose think?
That I found offensive. The rest was more or less what I had prepared myself for.”

Gavin surprised him again. “What would Princess Rose have thought, sir? How do you think your parents would have reacted, had they been here?”

“My parents knew. I came out to them during my gap year. Both of them were loving and understanding.”

“They knew?” This seemed to catch Gavin off guard. “Did they advise you to come out, Your Royal Highness? Would you have done so had they not been so abruptly taken from us?”

They were taken from Indigo and me
, he thought, but the irritation came nowhere near the surface. “When they died, we were still working out how best to handle it. My father was perhaps a bit more old-fashioned. He supported me and accepted me, but was very wary of my coming out at that time. I think he had hoped to help ease me through the transition, which tragically he did not have the chance to do. I would have given a great deal to have him at my side.” The sudden rush of sorrow James felt stayed nearly as well hidden as the annoyance. “My mother was more modern. She only wished for me to find love and be happy. So there’s the answer to that headline. Princess Rose would have been delighted.”

And now it was time for the next segue. During the next break, James quickly drank some water as Ben settled in by his side. “Don’t be nervous,” he said.

“Why should I be nervous?” Ben said wryly, as a makeup woman dusted across his nose with her largest puffy brush.

“Just be yourself.”

“Please don’t tell me to picture Mr. Carmichael in his underwear.”

That got Gavin to laugh, which was a good start, but James murmured, “I’m sure he’d rather be called Gavin. Let’s make it a conversation.” And eliminate any suggestion that Ben was deferring to a reporter, which was nearly as important.

The lights were readjusted. The crew scurried off. James took a last glance at Ben’s impeccable suit, at the way they sat side by side. To his happy surprise, Ben settled in calmly, even confidently. That was an act, but it was a good one. Very good.

Gavin smiled as the camera light came on. “Mr. Dahan, it’s highly unusual for a romantic partner of the royal family to consent to an interview, but we’re grateful you decided to join us nevertheless.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I suppose this is a highly unusual situation,” Ben said. James wasn’t sure about that wording, but nothing dimmed his smile as he looked at Ben. Whatever else might come to light during this interview, he wanted every man, woman, and child watching it to know how much he loved Ben, and cherished having him near.

“You’ve been the mystery figure in all this, Mr. Dahan. The British people would no doubt like a chance to get to know you better.”

“Mystery figure?” Ben cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds almost romantic. More so than the reality, I think.”

Good, good
, James thought.
Down to earth. Approachable.

“Let’s begin at the beginning,” Gavin said. “How did you two meet?”

Oh, crap, oh crap, can’t talk about having sex mere hours after we exchanged names
. James tried the neatest version of events: “We met in Kenya, on my tour there last summer. Ben was a reporter assigned to cover the final leg of my African tour.”

To his surprise, though, Ben continued, “Would you believe that I only got to talk to him one-on-one because of a rainstorm?”

Gavin picked up on it right away, like any journalist scenting a juicy anecdote. “Rainstorm?”

“It was rainy season,” Ben said. As a reporter himself, he obviously knew just which details would draw Gavin Carmichael’s interest. “Which, as you know if you’ve been there, means endless, torrential rain. One afternoon when there were no official functions, I was killing time at my cabin at the resort, and I saw this figure splashing around in the mud. I told him to come onto the porch and wait out the worst of it. I didn’t recognize James until he was on the steps.”

“Really?” Gavin seemed delighted by the idea—as much as James had been, that long-ago day. “What were you thinking, Your Royal Highness?”

“At first only that I wanted to get out of the rain!” James laughed. “Then Ben did me the courtesy of continuing to treat me just like anyone else, and before I knew it we’d got to talking.”

“We talked for quite a while,” Ben confirmed. He was smiling—a mellower, gentler smile than his natural one. For his first time in front of a camera, he was
great
at this.

Gavin said, “Obviously the two of you hit it off. But, tell me, Mr. Dahan, did His Royal Highness come out to you at that time?”

Tricky ground . . .

But Ben took it like a champion steeplechaser took a hedge. “If you mean, did he say the words,
I am a gay man
? No. But there
was
a certain chemistry.”

Absolutely true. Absolutely tactful. Absolutely working around the fact that James had more or less come out to Ben by putting his tongue in Ben’s mouth.

Gavin nodded seriously and said, voice almost grave, “Gaydar.”

Both James and Ben laughed out loud, though thankfully not so much that it would come across as ridicule, merely surprise. James said, “I confess, Gavin, that is not a word I ever expected to hear you say. But, yes, I suppose.”

“How long did the two of you speak that day?” Tom asked.

Ben fielded this one too. “Probably about thirty minutes, just at first. I very much wanted him to stay longer, but I didn’t know how to ask. Then James came up with an ingenious solution. He challenged me to a game of chess.”

“Chess?”

James nodded. “There was a chess set in most of the cabins at the resort. Ben took up the challenge, and we played for—goodness. How long?”

“Hours.” Ben’s eyes met his, and he knew they were both remembering the secrets they’d shared, the way they’d watched each other’s hands hovering over the pieces, the nearness of that broad four-poster bed that had tantalized them both. By now James knew Ben’s body nearly as well as his own, and yet he could still taste the sweetness of that first curiosity, the deepening suspense.

Gavin spoke at the very moment their shared gaze might have gone on too long. “Who won the game?”

Ben pointed at James, who made a small victory gesture with one fist. Softly Ben laughed. “Don’t think he lets me forget it, either.”

“But Ben’s won more of our games since,” James added quickly. He didn’t want anyone thinking Ben was thick.

“How many days were you able to see each other in Kenya?” Gavin asked.

James knew he needed to take this. “Actually, not long after the chess game ended and I left Ben’s cabin”—there, the crazy sex had been skipped right over—“I learned about the king’s stroke. My sister called me, oh, maybe not five minutes after I’d returned to my own rooms. So I departed in a great hurry, obviously much preoccupied. There was no question of seeing Ben again after that.”

Gavin nodded and smiled. This was the fluff part of the interview, for him; no doubt he little suspected that, to James, it felt like leaping over hurdle after hurdle. What must it be like for Ben? Was he nervous too? He seemed calm. He was handling it beautifully, better than James had ever dared to dream. Ben’s face remained genially handsome as Gavin asked his next: “How did the two of you encounter each other again?”

“Luckily I was transferred to London one month afterward,” Ben explained. “Not that it helped much at first. You can’t just call the Prince of Wales and ask him to a movie, can you? But then I was given an invitation to a charity event James would be attending. I thought—I hoped he would recognize me. He did, and he called me over, and we talked for a bit before he invited me to visit Clarence House sometime.”

As in, an hour later, so we could fuck each other’s lights out
. James hoped he was keeping the wickedness out of his smile.

To Ben, Gavin said, “You understood, at this point, that this visit would in effect be a date?”

“Yes,” Ben said fondly, as though he’d brought a picnic basket to their first encounter, instead of condoms and lube. “And I was very happy about that.”

“Was it difficult, conducting a romance in secret?” Gavin asked.

After that they were able to talk in more general terms for a while, about the difficulties of being in the closet, so on and so forth. Ben could switch into that less personal mode as smoothly as he could any other.

My God
, James thought,
he’s brilliant at this. Brilliant! Ben’s handling this interview as well as any of us who were born to it, and better than most. He’s really, truly got it.
It felt like the sun was rising inside James’s chest. This thing he had thought would be the greatest hurdle for Ben, the most impossible barrier—it was something Ben could manage almost effortlessly.

More pleasantries, more vagaries, until Gavin came to the conclusion: “Now, forgive me if I’m being premature, but will the new law about same-sex marriages apply to you two?”

Their response was so coordinated they might as well have practiced it: They each looked at each other, smiled like conspirators, but then said, in unison, “Premature.”

Close and good night. Camera off. Lights out. Nice chitchat with Gavin after about how well it had all gone. Moist towelettes wielded by makeup artists to bring their faces back to normal. Then they made their way out of the studio and back into the car.

The moment the door slammed shut, Kimberley said, “Your Royal Highness, Mr. Dahan, that was brilliant.”

“Did you think so?” James was beside himself. “It seemed to go very well to me, but then you never know when the camera lights are on you.”

“It wasn’t as tough as I thought,” Ben said simply, as though he weren’t some sort of Olympic interviewing champion.

Kimberley smiled. “Your Royal Highness, your solo section of the interview was impeccable, but I expected no less. I must say, Mr. Dahan, you surprised me, in the best way. The joint interview was—affectionate, articulate, personable, and even intimate without crossing any boundaries. You both came across very well, individually and together.”

James clutched Ben’s hand. “See? We make a great team in public too.” Ben smiled back, but he didn’t seem as inclined to gush.

“We can be reasonably confident of fair editing from ITV, sir.” Kimberley folded her hands over her bag. By now she looked nearly as delighted as James. “I predict very positive reactions from the public, regarding both of you, Princess Amelia’s treatment, all of it.”

“Let’s hope so.” James wondered what his security team would do if he rolled down one of the car windows and gave a victory yell. Best not to find out.

Once they were back at Clarence House, alone in the private suite, James couldn’t resist glorying in their triumph all over again. “You were so wonderful, Ben. So incredibly wonderful.”

“I don’t know,” Ben said with a shrug. He was sitting on the floor, receiving slobbery hellos from the corgis.

Although James felt a moment of irritation at Ben’s refusal to join in the celebration, he fought back the emotion. Something lay behind this reaction, and it was important to understand what. “What didn’t you like about it?”

Ben looked up at him, expression cloudy. “It was an act.”

James, whose life was made up of layers of public performance, took a moment to consider this. “To some degree,” he finally said. “But it was fundamentally the truth.”

“Fundamentally.” In Ben’s mouth, the word was hollow. “The pretense never bothers you?”

“No. Never.” James owed him honesty. “I was raised to it.”

“I wasn’t.” Ben shook his head, obviously trying to clear the cobwebs. “Never mind me. Come on, let’s get dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

So they saw to dinner, but all the while, James couldn’t put aside his growing fear that—no matter how well things went for them, no matter how skillfully Ben handled every challenge—Ben would never, ever adjust fully or happily to royal life.

Which meant, perhaps, that it was time for James to seriously ask himself if he were willing to leave royal life behind.

***

Was it cruel, to watch James struggle with this? Ben hoped not, because he understood, absolutely, that this was a stage they both had to go through.

After months of trying to live by the motto “no limits,” it was strange to give each other so much space, to not discuss the one question that hung over them every day like a domestic Sword of Damocles. Yet this was one matter that discussion would confuse rather than clarify. Ben loved James enough to live with the suspense . . . even if he wasn’t yet sure he could live with the burdens of royalty.

On the one hand, he wanted to mock himself.
Oh, no. You fell in love with a handsome prince. He wants you to live in his castle forever. Poor you. Meanwhile there are starving people in this world. Cue the violins.