My Prince (17 page)

“You could be,” Alex agreed. He dodged George’s attempted poke in the side and stepped under the water to wash his hair.

“We haven’t been together that long.”

“Nope. But you spend so much time here anyway. And I know you don’t like where you live now. Case in point—you escaping to here yesterday, turning up on my doorstep with a face like a wounded puppy.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I want you here.”

“Hmm.”

Alex moved out of the way so George could scrub his body down. This was another one of those times when George was going to do his silent thinking thing. It drove Alex mad.

“How about,” Alex said, desperately trying to fill the silence, “you move in here for a few months, and we see how it goes? You can still keep your room at the other place until you’re happy that you’re ready to stay here.”

“I can’t afford to pay rent on two places,” George said immediately.

They switched places again so Alex could rinse his hair through.

“You don’t have to pay me rent,” Alex said. “I own this place.”

“But….”

“It’s fine, George.”

“Okay, we can split the bills, then.”

“My family takes care of that,” Alex said, waving away George’s concern.

“I’m not letting you pay for everything,” George said. He reached around Alex to shut off the water and stepped out of the cubicle, then passed a towel to Alex before taking his own.

“It doesn’t matter, George.”

“It does to me,” George snapped.

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said softly. “We can work something out.”

George nodded and went to the sink; he wiped away the condensation on the mirror before reaching for his toothbrush. Since he didn’t need to shave this morning, Alex brushed his lips over George’s wet shoulder, then went through to the bedroom to get dressed. His first class was at nine on Monday mornings, which sucked, but having someone else in the flat who also needed to get up and get moving helped. Having George around all the time would be good. Alex was pretty sure of that.

For the next week, he didn’t bring up the subject, not once. He met George for lunch on Wednesday, since he was in the right area and didn’t have any classes. And pointedly
didn’t
mention George moving in. He didn’t bring it up in any of their very long text message conversations, or any of their good-night phone calls.

When George turned up on Friday night with only his weekend duffle bag, Alex tried not to be too disappointed.

Apparently he wore his emotions all over his face, because George just said, “Not yet,” and brushed his lips over the corner of Alex’s mouth in greeting.

Not yet
, Alex thought, and tried not to be annoyed.

G
EORGE
WATCHED
the clock from three in the afternoon all the way until five, when he could pack up and leave. The last two hours on a Friday usually dragged, his mood and his energy low. The office was quiet on a Friday afternoon too; most people on his floor finished early or escaped after lunch. The team George worked on wasn’t part of that little conspiracy, they were expected to work all the way ’til five, or suffer the consequences.

As soon as that clock ticked over, George started shutting his computer down, stuffing his things back into his backpack, ready to race out of the door.

“Got plans?” Debbie, who sat opposite him, asked with a grin.

“Yeah. I’m staying with Alex this weekend.”

“You stay with Alex more than you do at your own place.”

“True,” he conceded.

“You’re not going to move in with him, then?”

For a moment George froze, and then he shrugged. “Maybe. Not yet.”

“All right. Have a good weekend.”

“You too, Debs.”

The weather was okay when he got outside, murky and gray but not raining, so he shouldered his backpack and prepared to walk across town. Traffic was horrendous at this time of day, and the buses would take ages, so it was often quicker to walk.

The rain started when he was halfway across the Meadows, a light mist that stuck to his hair and eyelashes. By the time he jogged up the path to Alex’s door, he was feeling uncomfortably damp, the fur around the hood of his parka sticking to his neck.

The door swung open before he had chance to knock, and George grinned, stupidly pleased that Alex was waiting for him.

Alex didn’t look pleased, though. He looked pissed off.

“Hey,” George said, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth.

Instead of responding, Alex grabbed George’s coat and dragged him inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

“What’s wrong?” George demanded.

“I… need to talk to you,” Alex said tensely.

George reached out and rubbed his thumb over the crease between Alex’s eyebrows. “Okay. Let me take my shoes off.”

He did, stripping out of his outdoor clothes and following Alex back to the kitchen in his jeans and socks. There was a paper on the kitchen table, and other than that, the place was spotlessly tidy. He crossed to the fridge and grabbed a couple of bottles of beer, twisted the tops off, and handed one to Alex.

“What’s up?”

“I had a call today from someone who works for my family,” Alex said. He sat down at the kitchen table, and George took the chair opposite him automatically.

“Okay.”

“This happens from time to time. We’re sort of used to it. But I obviously let my guard down and….”

“What happened?”

Alex sighed. “Some paparazzi sold pictures of us to
The Sun
.”

“Pictures of… you and me? Together?”

“Yes.”

Images flashed through George’s mind of all the things they’d done in the past few weeks: going to the cinema, coffee dates, walking around the city, going to the pub, Alex watching him play rugby. Then all the things they’d done when he hadn’t thought anyone was watching. The soft kisses. The intense ones. The things they did when George thought they were safe, alone in this flat.

“Is it bad?”

Alex shrugged. “I can’t answer that. If you think it is, then it is.”

“Are they in today’s paper?” George demanded, the panic rising. What if his nan had seen the pictures? His mum. His brother. Or any of the people who didn’t know a damn thing about him and who he dated.

“No, they’re going to run it on Sunday, as an exclusive.”

“Shit,” George said. “Shit!”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” George took a long pull on his beer and fought the urge to smash something. That wasn’t going to help either of them.

“We tried to stop the pictures going out, but it was too late to do anything. The papers don’t always contact us first, but my grandfather sued
The Times
back in the eighties over something they printed about my mum, so most of them do now. They don’t need to tell us. It’s more of a courtesy thing, or more likely looking for a reaction or a quote so they can print that too. We have a statement prepared ready to go out in response. I tried to get them to stop it, I really did, George, but they wouldn’t even take a pay-off.”

George reached over and grabbed Alex’s hand, squeezing it hard. “I need to tell my family.”

“Okay.”

“I want to do it in person.”

Alex nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

He watched as the expression on Alex’s face turned from resignation to shock. “Really?”

“Yeah. I can’t stop this, and I can’t hide or deny it without hiding or denying the fact that we’re going out. I think it’s better for them to meet you and know you, rather than finding out in a newspaper.”

“You want to introduce me to your mum?”

“Yeah,” George said. He still felt sick, like the edges of panic were clawing at his chest. But this felt
right
, like the right reaction to this shitty, shitty situation. He’d take Alex home. That would be good. “I’ll call her. I don’t think she starts work yet.”

Alex practically crawled over the table and deposited himself in George’s lap. That was good too—the familiar, reassuring weight of Alex in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, the warm lips that suddenly crashed into his own.

George kissed him back, wanting and needing that connection too, then broke away to rest their heads together.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Alex asked.

“No,” George said with a laugh. “Not even a little bit. But, you know. It’s now or never.”

Alex nudged their noses together. “Go call your mum. I’ll call mine.”

“Did you tell her yet?”

“No. Not yet.”

George gave him a little push, then went through to the living room and shut the door behind himself. He was sure Alex wouldn’t mind; he understood.

Pictures. Of him and Alex. In a national newspaper. Soon.

Well, that was one way to come out of the closet.

T
HE
ALARM
went off at seven the next morning, nudging them out of bed, into the shower, and on the road before half past. Alex decided to let George drive his car, either as an olive branch or because he couldn’t be bothered to drive it himself, or maybe a little bit of both.

He made George drive through McDonald’s for breakfast muffins and coffee, then turned the radio to the Radio 2 breakfast show, kicked his feet up onto the dash, and insulted George’s driving for most of the trip.

In all honesty, he was shitting himself.

He had been expecting George to flip out when he heard about the pictures and the newspaper, and Alex had been freaking out for most of the afternoon. He’d tried each of the weapons in his arsenal against the newspaper in turn—first bribes, then threats, then begging. Nothing had worked. It wasn’t like the story was going to be front-page news, but apparently the editor was taking the opportunity to tie in an op-ed piece and another timeline of Alex’s dating history with the story, and they weren’t going to pull it without a court order.

The city slipped away as they headed out, down to the English border on the motorway. It was a nicer day than the day before. The weatherman had promised blue skies and even some warm sunshine down in Manchester. Alex hoped it would put George’s family in a good mood.

He’d done this a few times before with boyfriends, meeting the family. It never got any less nerve-wracking. The last time was with Harrington’s family, but he’d already bumped into most of them back in their school days so it wasn’t such a big deal. Harrington’s family were more similar to his own, which took the pressure off that first interaction.

George was the first person Alex had dated—seriously dated—outside of the social circle that had been given to him. Harrington’s family were connected to his mother’s, although very loosely, going back generations. When he was at school, he’d dated Jonah Wiltshire on and off for most of their last year. Jonah’s mother was a friend of his mother’s too. They’d known each other since they were at primary school.

He didn’t have to be a mind reader or a social commentator to know George’s family would be different. Not necessarily different in a bad way, just enough to make it awkward. Alex had spent the past year trying to undo everything private school had taught him, chipping away at all the snobbishness and superiority that was ingrained in those institutions. He didn’t want to be one of
those
people, the ones who looked down on working-class people and sneered. He did not want to be like Laurence Harrington. Not anymore.

George reached across the divide and squeezed Alex’s knee. “You okay?”

Alex nodded. “What if they don’t like me?” he asked, lacing his fingers with George’s. They had just passed Carlisle, meaning they were about halfway there.

“They will,” George said, looking over and grinning. “How could they not? You’re the Prince of the Netherlands.”

“One of them,” Alex muttered.

“My nan will think you’re wonderful,” George said. “And we don’t even need to tell her if you don’t want to. My dad will think you’re posh and will probably take some convincing.”

“And your mum?”

“Mum will be fine. Do you want to meet the girls too? Mum’s getting rid of them all for the afternoon, but we can go track them down if you like. I think Maggie’s taking them to the pub.”

“We’ll see,” Alex said. He looked down at the outfit he’d stayed awake agonizing over: a blue-and-white striped shirt over a white tank, dark jeans, white Adidas Superstars. “Do you think I look okay?”

“You’re fine,” George said. “More than fine. You’re fucking hot.”

“I wish I had a chance to get my hair cut.”

“Are you seriously freaking out about meeting my family? You’re fucking rich, Alex. They’re going to think I’ve hit the jackpot.”

“That’s exactly it,” Alex said, frustrated and annoyed. He pulled his hand away. “I don’t want them to like me because of who I am, I want them to like me for me.”

George was quiet for a minute, then signaled and pulled into a service station. Alex had seen signs for it miles back and had almost asked George to pull in anyway so he could go use the bathroom. He felt sick.

After he’d parked the car up, George got out and walked around the car, then dragged Alex out of the passenger side. He reached up and gently pushed his fingers through Alex’s hair, then leaned in and kissed him hard.

“I like you,” he said emphatically. “Exactly the way you are. If my family don’t, then that’s their issue as far as I’m concerned. This weekend… it’s our chance to tell them about us before they read it in a fucking tabloid rag.”

Alex leaned in and kissed him again. “I know. I still want them to like me, though.”

“And they will,” George said softly. “Because I do. Because I think you’re wonderful, and because you’re the first man I have ever taken home to meet them. And you might be the last, depending on how this goes.”

Alex ducked his head to hide his smile. Those words could be taken one of two ways, and he had a feeling George knew it. He might be the last man George took home because it might go so disastrously wrong he never wanted to again. Or it might be the last time because there would never be another man.