Page 9 of King of the Crease

“Are you still mad at her for not returning your jacket?”

“When you borrow a friend’s jacket and leave it in a cab like a drunken idiot, it’s common courtesy that you buy her a new one. How do you lose your friend’s jacket and make zero effort to replace it? That’s pure sociopathy.”

“And how many years ago was that?”

“That jacket was from Topshop! Lily Allen had the same one. You never forget a good jacket.”

There’s no better comfort in this world than sharing a laugh with a good friend. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this.

“How’s Ardenia?”

“Good. Right where I left it.”

“My boys still talk about the children’s museum.”

My mother insisted that the children’s museum in our capital city be as much of a jungle gym as a place of culture. Nearly all the art and displays are interactive, and it’s regarded as one of the best in the world. Her love is sprinkled across Ardenia.

Millie has this ability to peer into my soul when she looks at me. “What’s wrong, Nicky?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“You don’t have kids. Trust me, you’re not tired. Something else seems up. Gingerbread house?” She breaks off a piece of the roof and gobbles it up.

“I’ve had an exhausting schedule, that’s all.”

“That’s not it.” Her eyes are a state-of-the-art lie detector test. “I can do this all day if you want to keep going in circles. Being a mom has given me amazing stamina and an iron will. I have potty trained three boys. You will not break me.”

“I’m dreading going back to Ardenia,” I tell her with a much-needed exhale. “I love my country. I just…I want to walk into a store without someone calling ahead. I want to make a bad decision that isn’t a scandal.” I snap off a piece of the gingerbread house, wishing it was the hot pretzel from the hot dog cart. “I’m tired of being managed. Of being watched. Of being told which fork to use and who I might plausibly fall in love with.”

I find myself still wondering about those two guys holding hands and kissing yesterday. What did they get up to last night? Did they go out to dinner? Did they go to a club? Maybe they went to a bar and met up with their friends. Or other friends. They’re in a corner booth having brunch right now, yelling their opinions on Drag Race to each other over the din of the chatter. Or maybe they’re hanging out together at a coffee shop, or in each other’s apartments, getting into shenanigans.

I’d like to get into shenanigans sometime. I think I’d be quite good at it.

Tears sting at my eyes. The loneliness, the realization of this being the rest of my life, it all sets in.

Millie doesn’t say anything, letting the silence hang between us as she rubs my arm. I toss the piece of gingerbread back on the table, my appetite gone as I think about heading home, where I’ll face mounting pressure to find a wife and produce an heir.

“I went on a date last night,” I admit. “Her name is Grace. She’s lovely…”

“And yet you have zero desire for her.”

I nod my head yes.

“Her chest isn’t hairy enough,” Millie says.

“Not by a long shot. And she’s missing a crucial piece of anatomy.”

I look down, equal parts angry and embarrassed. I’m a grown man stuck in the same place as my scared teenage self.

Millie is the only friend I’ve come out to. Most of my social circle is made up of fellow royals and socialites, not the most trustworthy bunch. Would my “friends” sell me out to a tabloid for a gargantuan sum of money? It’s possible. Most of the people in my social circle have their finances controlled by their parents. They’re wealthy on paper but have little cash of their own.

“Nicky, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you’ve had to keep this secret in. I’m sorry that your only relationship has been with that fuckface Vincent. Most guys under twenty-five are terrible at sex.”

“Didn’t you meet Adam while in university?”

“There are exceptions to every rule.”

We descend into laughter, breaking up the misery and tension of my personal life. I can always count on Millie to cheer me up.