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"Roberto Santiesteban it is." Then Fiona began typing an e-mail to LONDON-ALL, which would no doubt lower the boom. Ben readied himself, but at that moment Fiona stopped typing and turned back to him. "I have to ask you this, not only as an editor, but also as a friend. Are you absolutely certain you want to go public with this? You guys could still sneak around on the side."
"We'd get caught."
"Probably. But this is one hell of a leap. You didn't strike me as the kind of man who'd change his whole life for someone. So I felt like I should ask. Are you absolutely sure? If you want, this whole conversation can be off the record, I can delete the statement, and we can go right back to the way things were. Otherwise, you're about to be at the center of the shitstorm of all time, and once you do this there's no going back."
James had said that too, about there being no going back. And Ben found himself unexpectedly moved that Fiona would ask. Here she was, being handed an exclusive scoop on one of the world's biggest news stories, and she was willing to step away from it for his protection. He'd never really considered them friends before, except in the most casual sense. Maybe he'd underestimated Fiona de Winter.
He had to admit it was tempting--this one last chance to turn around from the high dive, go back down the ladder, and stay put on the ground, in the life he knew. Now that he'd seen the media frenzy for himself, Ben was more unnerved about this than ever--
But he couldn't do it to James. How the world would laugh at him if the lover he'd mentioned simply failed to declare himself. How hurt James would be. There mere thought seared Ben with shame. No. That was impossible.
"I'm sure," Ben said, hearing the words as if someone else were speaking them. "Do it."
***
James made his way through the palace complex back to Clarence House. His legs felt wobbly from pent-up tension, and his empty belly reminded him he'd had nothing but coffee and toast to eat all day, and that at 7 a.m.
Kimberley kept up with his every step. "For the rest of the afternoon, I'll be calling and re-confirming every single one of your events for next week. Technically that gives them the chance to back out if they're not comfortable with you. Realistically, they'll be falling all over themselves to prove nothing's changed, sir."
"You're forcing their hand." As much as James hated to admit it, that was a solid next step. "Of course, any charity I visit in the next couple of weeks will get three times the coverage it would normally."
"An excellent point I'll be sure to mention, sir. Tell them they need to be prepared, so on, so forth."
James glanced over at her. "You really don't think anyone will cancel?"
"I strongly doubt it. If they do, Clarence House will of course say nothing, but unnamed sources will report on the cancelation, make the group appear to be backward and out of touch, so on and so forth."
"That's a bit vicious, don't you think? They've a right to cancel if they want."
"And you've a right to fight for your throne, sir," Kimberley replied fiercely.
At first James thought that she might be taking this a bit too personally. Then he realized that Kimberley had slept as little as he had the past few days and worked even harder. He wished he could give her the weekend off, but they would have to monitor the press situation far too closely for that. "So, which network do you want me to watch?"
"In my honest opinion, Your Royal Highness, I think it would be better if you didn't watch television at all. My team and I will put together a sampling of the main media coverage for you to review. We can give you a daily packet each morning with the key publications and video clips."
"Do you think it will be that bad? That I shouldn't even see it?"
"It's not that, sir. I think you haven't slept well in days and are on the verge of collapse." Her voice gentled as they entered Clarence House proper. "You need your strength right now. Take the evening to rest. I should say you've earned it."
"As have you, though of course I'll have to make the holiday time up to you later."
Her smile was wistful. "That would be lovely, sir."
"All right. Resting."
And waiting. And hoping.
James reached the door that led to his private suite. "Thank you so much for everything, Kimberley. Your work has always been of the highest caliber, but during the past few days, you've been nothing short of extraordinary."
She ducked her head. "Thank you, sir. And you should be very proud of your statement today. Well done, Your Royal Highness."
He smiled and went upstairs. He knew he would disobey her suggestion--but only to make one exception, the most important of all.
Paulson had been told to go home. So James stripped off his suit on his own and changed into black sweatpants and a thick jumper that would ward off the January chill. The cold was fierce today. Perhaps he should ask Glover to make the fire. He wanted to put on the Slanket, but that felt like magical thinking, as though wearing Ben's Christmas gift would make Ben more likely to reappear.
Obviously I need more sleep, James thought, if I'm trying to invest Slankets with magical powers.
2:40. James reminded himself of the arrangements he and Ben had made, the timing of the car. So he tried to calm down, making himself a pot of tea and turning to the offerings in the fridge, forcing down some food so he could keep going. Yet the whole time, he couldn't stop glancing at the nearest clock.
2:47.
2:52.
At 2:56 James could take it no more. He turned on his iPad; he'd reset his home page to the Global Media site a couple months before. That meant he didn't even have to see anything else in the news--but even this page showed him enough.
I'M GAY: PRINCE'S ANNOUNCEMENT ROCKS UK
Below was a picture of him from the press conference. He didn't look nearly as nervous and sweaty as he remembered being. That was a small mercy, he supposed.
Deliberately he didn't click on the headline. He just kept refreshing the Global Media homepage, over and over, telling himself he couldn't expect anything yet and yet feverish for the headlines to change.
Remember that you told him he could back out if he wanted to. It would be the best thing for Ben if he did. You mustn't judge him. You mustn't have expectations. You have to let him do what's right for him--
The headlines changed.
PRINCE'S PARTNER STEPS FORWARD
Next to the picture of him from the press conference was a picture of Ben. It was the first time James had ever seen their faces side by side.
That's recent, he thought, half in shock. I'd know that black turtleneck anywhere.
And then he started to laugh from silliness, then from relief and pure joy. James cradled the iPad against his chest, and for a moment he could believe there was nothing left to be afraid of.
***
Ben had prepared himself for anything his fellow reporters could throw at him. Accusations of secrecy, dirty jokes, demands for information: He'd spent most of the morning rehearsing responses in his head.
He hadn't been prepared for silence.
Well, not real silence. An explosion of shock had echoed through the newsroom after Fiona sent the LONDON-ALL e-mail a few minutes before Ben emerged, just before the actual news would be released to the world. The newsroom was its usual hubbub of activity, and everyone greeted him, but after the first series of Whoa and Wow and You played that close to the vest, Ben could sense the atmosphere subtly changing--as though a bubble were forming around him, sealing him off from the others.
He knew why. Before he had been only a colleague. Now he was a news story.
It won't last, Ben reminded himself. When I come back on Monday morning and get back to work, things in the newsroom will return to normal--well, semi-normal, at least. Surely people here have perspective about this kind of thing.
Ben sat at his desk. Roberto, next to him, remained very still in his own chair, meeting Ben's eyes with almost comically flat disbelief. "Mr. Dog Owner," he said.
"Yeah."
>
"The fur on your jeans--it was the corgis. It was the corgis all along."
"Yeah."
Roberto shook his head, obviously trying to snap himself out of it. "Okay. We gotta do this quick."
"It can't be an interview. I'm not talking on the record to anyone, not even you."
"I get that. Just want to confirm a couple of points." Roberto, who did things old-school, grabbed a notepad and pen. "You've mentioned being Jewish, born in Israel, but you never speak about going to temple, and on Christmas I know I saw you eat some ham."
Ben had to smile. "Say I'm a secular Jew."
"So you're an Israeli citizen?"
"Actually, I'm a German citizen. I was adopted by relatives there at age thirteen, after my parents died." He'd always meant to shed his German passport, originally thinking he'd take American citizenship while working on his doctorate, but when his plans for graduate school went up in smoke, so did that idea. Since then he'd never lived in any one place long enough to contemplate declaring it permanent. Should he apply for citizenship in the United Kingdom? That would help James, wouldn't it?
But he had no time to think it over; Roberto was off and running. "You did or did not get that econ degree?"
"I got the bachelor's. Just didn't go to grad school as planned."
"Fair to say you live in a middle-income area of Islington?"
"Sure." As though anyplace in London were priced for "middle-income" individuals. Ben only knew that he spent more than half of his take-home salary on an apartment he wasn't going to get to use for a while.
"You like classical music--"
"Do they need to know that?"
Roberto shrugged. "They're gonna want some personal detail. Either I talk about you always listening to Beethoven on your headphones, or I tell everybody about the corgi fur on your jeans."
"I like classical music."
"And the corgis stay out of it."
Ben glanced around the newsroom, where a couple dozen people were trying not to be obvious about staring at him, and being terrible at it. "Roberto? Thanks."
"For the pep talk the other night?" Roberto's grin was sheepish. "I had no idea what I was doing there."
"I actually meant for today. Right now." Treating me just like you did before.
Roberto got it. "They'll be all right. You'll see."
"Hope so," Ben said, and then his phone buzzed, telling him the car was waiting downstairs, and the story was about to go live. He slung his stuff into his satchel, shouldered it, and walked out of the office, aware of being watched the whole time.
As he sat in the back of the car, hearing not one word from the stone-faced chauffeur, Ben couldn't help glancing behind him. It felt like he wasn't just leaving the Global Media building and riding a few minutes in busy London traffic; it felt as though he were taking a far longer journey.
They pulled through the palace gates. Ben still wasn't used to walking in through the front door. He wasn't used to seeing half a dozen staffers and servants watch him the whole time he walked out. The butler, whom he had always found vaguely forbidding, was now a welcome and familiar figure as he showed Ben to the door of the private suite.
Even as Ben started up the stairs, he heard James call, "There you are!"
He took the steps two at a time, the quicker to make it to James, who immediately folded Ben into his arms. Ben hugged him tightly, trying to banish the rest of his fears in the warmth of their embrace.
"You're still so cold," James whispered, running his hands over Ben's ears and hair. "It's bitter out."
Ben had no use for small talk. "You were magnificent today. I've never been so proud of anyone."
James kissed his cheek. "Thank you for standing with me." Then he pulled back, bright and eager. His face shone with joy. "Come on. I've something I want to show you."
His hand in James's, Ben allowed himself to be led through the suite, into James's bedroom--but just when he thought he'd be tackled onto the mattress, they went into a small sitting room off to the side, one that didn't seem to get used much. James opened a door Ben had always assumed led to a closet. Instead they walked into yet another bedroom. It was more grandly furnished than James's own, with the sort of elegantly impersonal air that told Ben nobody slept there regularly.
"We really should have made this Cassandra's room," James said. "But she wanted a view of the gardens, so nobody's even pretended to stay here for years. Now it's yours."
Ben frowned. "Mine?"
James smiled. "Of course I hope you'll be in my bed most nights, or that we'll be together here. But I know it's hard, giving up your flat even for a little while. You should have some space of your own where you can settle in. Space that belongs only to you."
It was of course very considerate of James to have thought of it. Yet Ben felt himself balking. Having his own room felt a lot less like "staying over," a lot more like "moving in."
He stood in place, unsure what to say, as James went to the chest of drawers and pulled it open to reveal Ben's own clothing. "I knew you wouldn't want a valet or footman unpacking for you, so I did it myself," James said. Apparently it had never occurred to James that most people unpacked their own bags. "Hung things in the closet if they needed it, and your new suit's in there too."
Ben was on the verge of objecting. That suit probably cost five hundred quid. Maybe more. He had no idea how expensive things like that were. Shouldn't he pay for it himself? Even if it took him a few months, which at that price it would. No, they should send it back. Could it be sent back after he'd worn it?
"I wasn't sure what to do with these--you know, just for now--but I tried this." James pulled back one of the drapes on the four-poster bed to reveal that he'd hung the Thai silk from the upper rail of the bedframe. The two panels formed symmetrical stripes above the headboard. "You can take them down whenever. But I thought they looked nice like this."
"They do," Ben said, because it was true. But his old doubts were rising up again, stronger than ever, now that he was facing the reality of what he'd done.
Then James smiled and said, "For the time being, anyway, welcome home."
Ben breathed out so hard it was almost a sob, then clutched James in his arms. For a few long moments he could only hold James close, breathing in the scent of him, as he thought of those days when he had sometimes found himself wishing he had a home to come back to. Now he did.
This is why I'm doing this. He's the reason why. In the furor Ben had almost forgotten that. He'd remembered just in time.
When he trusted himself to speak, Ben whispered, "That was the exact right thing to say."
"Was it?" James kissed his lips softly. "I'm glad you like the room."
But it wasn't this room Ben was grateful for. Home was James.
Chapter 3
Benji
It all felt like a dream, the best dream James had ever had. His head rested on Ben's chest; the two of them lay amid sheets so white and rumpled that they might have been on a cloud floating high above the rest of the world. The only lamp lit had a deep golden shade, so the light around them was honeyed and soft. They hadn't made love that afternoon--they were both so tired--but they'd curled together in Ben's bed, napped in each other's embrace, woken as close as they'd been when they fell asleep. Now the entire world knew about them, and they were together, and happy.
"I really thought you might back out," James murmured as he touched his fingertips to Ben's, the two of them mirroring their hands against one another.
"I thought about it. I'm not proud of that, but I did."
"I don't blame you." In many ways it actually made James feel better, knowing Ben had dealt with his doubts. "What made you decide to go ahead?"
"Your courage up there. How brave and perfect you were, standing in front of the whole world." Ben's lips brushed against James's forehead.
"My God, I was terrified." The speech felt as if it had taken place a thousand years ago, in some other lifetime. "I felt as thoug
h my legs would give out from under me at any moment."
"You sounded steady. Strong. I know how scared you were, but you didn't let it show, James. Not even once. You gave me the bravery to keep going."
James rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could frame Ben's face with his forearms, look down into his eyes. "How could you get your courage from me when I get my courage from you?"
Ben smiled. "It's a paradox. Like those arcane scientific theories you sometimes go on about--the ones that make no sense but keep the stars apart."
The idea delighted James, and he kissed Ben softly before winding himself back into their embrace--one leg between Ben's, his arms around Ben's shoulders, and Ben's hands on the small of his back.
After a while, even this idyll had to end. Neither of them had eaten dinner, and their reunion had to give way to more pragmatic things, like having dinner, feeding the dogs, tucking themselves into robes and slippers. But James liked the prosaic moments too. Nothing made it more real that Ben was truly living here than seeing him yawn and scratch his head while absent-mindedly petting Happy.
Glover, good man that he was, had got the fire started, so the front room was now warm and glowing. After they ate, James poured them each a glass of wine and they curled in front of the blaze. At first he was content simply to watch the firelight play across Ben's handsome face, but he soon became aware that Ben was searching for words, trying to think of how to say something difficult.
"What is it?" James said softly.
"When Ms. Tseng and I were going over my past, we talked about Warner."
Warner Clifton wasn't unknown to James; he'd figured heavily in the secrets Ben had "lost" during their first chess match, and once in a while Ben had mentioned him, mostly to disparage some asinine thing Clifton had once said. But Ben had never opened up about the relationship, and James had known that to ask would shut Ben down completely.
That seemed to be changing.
Best to begin carefully, James thought. "What did you talk about?"
"She asked whether anybody from my past might try to hurt us. As soon as I heard the question, I knew. Warner. There's no way he's going to hear about this and just leave it alone. He's going to try to lord it over us somehow." Ben stared down into his wineglass, as though he could find answers there. "Threaten to sell the story of how I lost my virginity, maybe."
