Page 91 of King of the Crease

The absence of his rambling messages and emoji feels louder than shouting.

This is what I get for thinking I could be a regular guy who falls in love.

Millie gives me a big hug when I return home. Her sons stare out the front windows at the press.

“Boys, close the blinds,” she tells them.

“Listen to your mum. Do you know how easily a projectile can crash through this pane of glass?” Alfred knocks on the glass, shakes his head at its thinness.

“You’re a barrel of fun, aren’t you?” Millie shuts the curtains and directs her kids to go upstairs. She puts a polite but firm hand on Alfred’s elbow. “Go in the kitchen and have a snack, Alfie. I’ve injected one of the apples with rat poison. Let’s see if you can find it.”

Alfred darts into the kitchen. He’s trained for combat, but not for sarcasm, apparently.

“Millie, I am so sorry about this,” I tell her.

“It’s not your fault that the press are vultures. This will blow over.”

“Any damage to your property, I will personally cover.”

“Can I get you to put in a pool?” She guides me to the living room, where Agnes has set up damage control headquarters. She’s typing on a laptop while cradling her phone against her shoulder and scrolling social media on her tablet. On the coffee table is a mountain of Fig Newton wrappers and empty Diet Coke cans.

I’ve never been so grateful to have Agnes here. She is built for crises. I may be a mess, but she never is.

“How are things here?” I gesture to the scramble of devices surrounding her.

“A bit busy. I have the press and representatives from our different foundations wanting to know what the hell is going on.”

That’s as close to cursing as Agnes gets. She’s holding in much more. I hate that she’s having to clean up this shitstorm. I would help, but I have no idea what to do. Royals aren’t trained on how to solve their own problems. My helplessness is fully on display.

“No comment?” I suggest.

“They want to know what you’re doing in Sourwood alone.”

“Tell them he was visiting a friend. A sick friend,” Millie says, adding in a fake cough.

“They also want to know about the man you were dancing with…and the nature of your relationship.”

I wish I had an answer. I don’t even know the nature of my relationship with Hank anymore.

“Tell them to fuck off,” Millie says.

“I’ll tell them no comment,” she says kindly. She closes her laptop and puts it and the tablet on the coffee table. She gives me her undivided attention. “I know this isn’t how you wanted this month to go.”

“Up until the press descended, it was going great.” I flop down on the couch, a sense of defeat crushing my chest. “I fucked up, Agnes.”

“You did no such thing, Your Highness. I should’ve been on top of this.” Agnes wrings her hands. I’m not the only one in pain. The concern Agnes has for me goes beyond my schedule.

“Agnes, you can’t beat the internet. But I appreciate that you tried. I probably don’t say this enough, but thank you for everything.”

“I’ll never forget the courage you showed when your mother was sick and when she eventually…” She rubs my knee, a first. “I’ve known you for your whole life. I’ve been watching you all this time. And as an objective observer, I must say: you are stronger than you realize. You will weather this storm.”

I nod. Maybe I will, but when it’s over, I won’t have Hank.

I can only avoid talking to the king for so long. His secretary calls again and demands that Agnes put me on the phone. Agnes asks if I’d like privacy, but I ask her to stay.

“Hello, Father.”

The silence on the other end is painfully long, pretty much a form of torture.