Then Ben said, "Yes. We should. I mean, I'll come over tomorrow evening. Usual time?"
"Of course."
Kimberley would have contacted her outside media consultants by tomorrow afternoon, and maybe she had thought they'd pull an all-nighter to prepare. No doubt that was the wisest plan. But James didn't give a damn.
He would only have one more night with Ben. Nothing in the world could make him give that up.
After they rang off, awkward and unsure, James finally put his head down and wept--long, broken, wrenching sobs, the way he hadn't cried since his parents' death. Best to get it out now. He couldn't afford to break down tomorrow, not during his work with Kimberley, and hopefully not while he and Ben said good-bye. So he told himself he had a good reason to cry and cry until he was wrung out, used up, completely empty of everything but the hollows left behind.
*
Well, fuck.
Ben sat in his chair for a few long minutes, still holding the phone receiver. When he realized he was doing that, he hung up, but he remained in place, not moving, hardly even thinking.
The door to the newsroom opened then; Ben turned to see Roberto striding in, still wearing his blazer and necktie from the press conference he'd attended that afternoon. He felt himself smiling at Roberto as though his face were a mask he wore that moved of its own accord. "What are you doing back? Was the conference so vital you need to file the story right away?"
"Hell, no. I could do that from my phone." Roberto reached under his desk for a duffel bag. "It was the same old boring crap as ever. So now I feel the need to run. You not done yet?"
"I'm done." This wasn't exactly true, but he could finish this story as easily in the morning. Right now he thought he ought to move. "Want some company?"
"Yeah, we've still got to make up for our rain day, don't we? But you didn't look so thrilled about running that morning--"
"Nobody's thrilled when they've just gotten drenched. If you're only doing a few miles, I can keep up."
Roberto grinned. "Sure, all right. Come on."
Ben kept his gym gear at the office too, so after some quick changing in the men's room, he and Roberto headed out together. Roberto's usual path turned out to take him through Hyde Park . . . which led them past Buckingham Palace. They could reach Clarence House within minutes, if they wanted. Ben said nothing, simply kept matching Roberto's stride as they dashed past every royal residence like it was any other stretch of scenery.
However, matching Roberto's stride was no easy task. After his half-marathon at the top of December had gone well, Roberto had begun training for a full marathon. At six miles, he was still as swift and strong as ever, while Ben felt as though something sharp was sawing through his midsection. Sweat poured down his face despite the January chill, and his breaths came shorter and harder in his chest.
It was Roberto who jogged to a stop. Ben staggered to the nearest bench, panting, while Roberto stood there watching him with a bemused expression on his face. "What the hell was that about?"
"About--my not being--in top shape--anymore." Ben still lifted weights three or four times a week, but he'd let the cardio slide while he was busy with . . . while he'd been busy.
"I don't mean about you panting like a dog in July." Roberto's teasing grin didn't hide his genuine concern. "I mean, why are you driving yourself like this? It's like something's chasing you, man."
It took a few seconds for Ben to collect his breath, and his thoughts. He wasn't the type to spout off about his feelings, and of course it was impossible for him to get into details about this. But he felt as though he needed a sounding board. "Ever get dumped by someone just before you were going to dump them?"
"Oh, yeah, that blows. Mr. Dog Owner took off?"
"Pretty much."
"But you were going to split up with him anyway. So yeah, your pride took a hit, but the story ends the same. Right?"
"I guess."
Roberto gave him a look. "You don't talk like somebody who was about to break it off."
"I'd planned on it. But I hadn't--maybe I wasn't as ready as I thought."
"Sorry to hear it." After a moment, Roberto sat beside Ben on the bench. He didn't try to make eye contact, just looked at the city lights beyond the park as he took a gulp from his water bottle. "Is it just one of those things where, you know, you want the unattainable because it's unattainable? Or is it for real?"
With a shrug, Ben said, "I don't know. At this point, it doesn't matter."
After a few more seconds of silence, Roberto sighed. "Listen. I'm going to give you some advice. Once it's said, we can drop it. Good by you?"
"Fine."
"Is Mr. Dog Owner definitely out of the picture? Is that set in stone?"
"Set in stone." James's announcement would seal him back within the palaces, and lock Ben outside, forever.
"Then you need to admit it matters. You're not going to start getting over it until you do that."
"It's not that big a deal," Ben insisted, wondering why it didn't feel like the truth. "Nothing I didn't know was coming."
"Bullshit."
Ben felt somewhat annoyed. "You don't know anything about it."
"I don't have to know anything. All I have to do is look at you. Because you just got crushed, man, and it's written all over your face."
He glanced away from Roberto but said nothing else. They remained there in silence for a few long seconds.
Finally Roberto added, "You don't have to admit it to me. Just admit it to yourself, and let it out. I don't know whether that means crying to Morrissey or getting drunk or hooking up with the first hottie you can find at the clubs. Whatever works. The one thing that's not going to work? Acting like it's no big deal. Because it obviously is."
"Getting drunk sounds good," Ben said as he stood up. "Busy after this?"
"I'm just mentioning this to be clear. You get that I'm straight, right?"
Ben sighed. "Roberto, if I were hitting on you, you'd know it."
"Okay, okay. Just, you know, I realize all this is hard to resist." He gestured at his sweaty running clothes with such a flourish that Ben had to grin despite himself. "I've got an early conference call, so no getting drunk, but I'm good for a couple of pints."
"It's a place to start."
*
Even though the press were camped out in front of Clarence House, even though at least a hundred photographers snapped pictures the entire time her car drove through, Cassandra still came charging to James's door the next day at lunch time. He was able to wave Kimberley out before Cass descended into full apoplexy. "James, have you gone demented? What can you be thinking?"
"I see you got my message."
She paced back and forth, like some crazed thing. Ironically, this was one of her rare dressy days; here she was in wild-banshee mode while wearing a sleek fuchsia sheath and heels that made her tower over him. "I know you fancy the idea of playing white knight on charger, but honestly. You needn't come out on my account. Not for this bit of nonsense."
"It's worse than that and you know it," James said. Cass underplayed the public excoriation she'd endured on his account, and he'd let her do it, for years. How easy it was to pretend that even your best friend wasn't hurting, when the reason for that pain served your purposes. "What I've asked you to do the past decade--a decade, my God. It's unconscionable. But it's over at last."
"You mustn't rush into this, not for my sake!"
"It's not for you." He took her hand, stilling her pacing. "Not really. Even now, I'm being selfish. This is for me."
Cassandra's expression softened. "Do you mean it?" When James nodded, she had to pause for a moment. "Oh, darling. Really? You're ready?"
"Yes. Finally."
"Finally." She squeezed his hand. "You seem to have made your mind up in an awful hurry, though."
"Yes and no. It's been a long time coming." Sometimes it seemed to James as though it had been as sudden as a lightning strike; at other moments, it felt
like the final step of a journey he'd been taking for years. "But I'm sure."
"Absolutely?"
"Positively." He sighed. "And still it scares me half to death."
When she leaned against his desk, James joined her so that they were side by side, their arms crossed, regarding each other from a new vantage point. With a rueful shake of her head, Cass said, "I've been so ready to have done with this charade, for so long, and yet it's harder than I thought to let it go."
"It made me feel safe," James admitted. "Though I can't imagine what you got out of it."
"My long-awaited tiara, silly. Which I shall expect in the next post." But then she became more serious. "When the tabloids would say those awful things about me, I had to pretend they were true. That I was the sort of woman who could cheat on a prince in broad daylight and not bat an eyelash. A bit of a bitch, perhaps, but . . . also completely fearless, you know? Beyond remorse, beyond shame, ready to take on the world! Maybe I'm not ready for everyone to find out I'm just a woman like any other."
James leaned his shoulder against hers for a moment. "A woman like no other. You've been utterly courageous in every way. And it's high time everyone found that out. Time both of us told the truth."
"I truly think it will be for the best. You'll see. That wretch Richard won't get in the way, not if he knows what's good for him."
James imagined Cass walking up to Richard and punching him in the nose; it was the closest he'd come to smiling all day. "I hope you're right."
She brushed her hand through his hair, gentle and almost motherly. "You seem more worried than happy."
"There are reasons enough to worry, aren't there?" But Cassandra saw how troubled he was. She was one of only two people who could ever hear this truth, and as Indigo had enough burdens without carrying any of his own, James thought he might as well speak. "And I've had to break things off with Ben. It's been hard."
If he had ever needed more proof that Cass loved him, James would have had it then, when she betrayed not one jot of her distrust of Ben, not one moment of relief that a relationship she'd considered risky had ended. "I'm sorry. I know you cared for him."
James nodded, unable to reply out loud. It was seven and a half hours until Ben would come to Clarence House. Seven and a half hours until he saw Ben for the very last time. It seemed as though he could feel every grain of sand slip into the wrong half of the hourglass.
She turned brisk again. "When are you making your announcement?"
"Friday afternoon. Of course--you'll want to have a statement ready as well." He ought to have thought of that. "I'll call you Thursday night to go over our draft at that point. There might be changes after, but the part about you and me should be final enough for you to work with." James had known what he wanted to say to the world about Lady Cassandra Roxburgh for years.
"Then I'll come by some morning soon for the Running of the Tabs," she said, and James actually had to laugh. After big public events, he and Cass sometimes did this--a rundown of the tabloid headlines to judge which was best and worst--and the next round would no doubt be the greatest ever. When he laughed, she smiled. "How does that sound?"
"Sounds wonderful." He hugged her tightly, reminding himself that not everything good was lost.
*
Roberto gave terrible advice.
Ben had spent a long and restless night. The pints he'd drunk with Roberto at the pub hadn't numbed him. They had only loosened his emotional control to the point where he couldn't stop thinking about James, where he couldn't stop second-guessing every moment of the relationship, from the phone call yesterday to that first moment he'd glimpsed a figure running through the rain.
He should never, ever have "admitted" a goddamned thing to himself. He should have kept right on pretending the split wasn't a big deal. Because now he was left with knowledge as painful as it was useless.
It was as if his feelings for James had been an iceberg, silent, still, and cool, with only the smallest portion visible. Yet beneath the surface lurked something vast and unknown, something with mysterious dimensions, sharp edges and the power to rip him open.
Now he was sinking.
Ben moved through his day, writing forgettable copy for Fiona to sneer at, ticking through copyedits like a metronomic machine. His body felt heavy with exhaustion; his mind seemed to be imprisoned in it, restless and incapable. While his fingers typed and his voice spoke empty words, his brain kept going over and over the same inescapable facts.
You never meant to get in this deep. You realized you were in trouble and you didn't pull back. You've only yourself to blame. This is the best thing that could have happened to you--getting out clean, with no hurt feelings. The sooner you accept it, the better.
All absolutely true. That was the refrain Ben tried to listen to, the one he most needed to believe. But there was another loop for his thoughts. A trap in which he kept getting caught.
James must be in hell. He's been frightened of this his whole life. And the complications he talked about haven't gone anywhere. Does he believe his sister can handle it? What does he think the Commonwealth nations are going to do? Has he been able to sleep? He sounded five seconds from tears last night. He's going through some of the most brutal few days of his life alone.
Ben simultaneously wanted to be with James, to help him through it, and to never see James again.
His computer screen blinked; Fiona had turned around copy for him to edit. When he opened it, her notes glowed in the margin box: What's wrong with you today? This sounds like it was generated by a robot. Worse: an intern. No content edits, but can you try to make it seem as though it was written by a human being?
Time for a coffee break.
He went outside, hit a Costa, and walked around the block pouring yet more caffeine onto already frayed nerves. The London crowds streamed around him like rapids around a rock. Cold bit into his skin, exaggerating the contrast between his numbed face and hands and the racing heart inside.
This time two days ago, his biggest concern had been whether or not Warner Clifton was going to stalk him to his front door. That seemed laughable now. What would it have mattered whether he'd slammed the door in Warner's face or fucked his brains out? It would have ended the exact same way: chagrin, ugly words, and the same old game played out via e-mail again in two or three years' time. Warner had wormed his way into Ben's brain; he'd always be able to manipulate Ben, to make Ben vulnerable.
Ben had thought only Warner would ever have such power over him, and that this was only because Warner had gotten to him when he was hardly more than a boy. Apparently he'd been wrong.
But it would never happen again.
His footsteps quickened on the pavement as he circled the block. Nobody else will ever get to me like this, he thought. Nobody else will ever own a piece of my heart. I'll never again feel as if I belong to someone, or as if that person should belong to me.
Ben knew how to protect himself. He always had known; Warner had taught him that much. So he could know, absolutely, that he'd never make these mistakes again. If it hadn't been for the illusion of limits around his relationship with James, the literal castle walls that had made him believe in the figurative ones, Ben wouldn't even have messed it up this time--no, not for James's green eyes, or the terrific sex, or the way he looked at Ben when they woke up together in the morning. That exception to the rules was truly unique. From now on he'd be safe.
Nobody else will ever get to me like this. Nobody else. Never again.
*
"My team will work through the night, sir," Kimberley promised with more cheer than anyone should be able to say that sentence. She kept pace with him as they walked through the halls of Clarence House, heading toward the door to the private area of the palace. "Tomorrow morning you and I should have ample time to review before the meeting at Buckingham Palace."
A couple of hours earlier, James had come out to the rest of the royal family via Kimberley's request for a meeting to
discuss how the family as a whole should deal with his coming-out speech. He could well imagine the consternation this had caused, but the only ones who had reached out to him were Indigo (who had phoned just to tell him she loved him) and Nicholas (who'd called from his RAF base, promising not only to return to London for the meeting but to stand by James no matter what). Probably Richard was even now about to pull an all-nighter of his own, the better to see how to use this information to get him closer to the throne.
Maybe James ought to be working just as hard as Richard, but not tonight. Everything else he'd done today, everything else he would do for days to come, would be about fighting for his right to be king. Tonight was about acknowledging what he'd lost as a man.
"Thank you, Kimberley," he said. "Good night."
He went to his private suite, again let the valet undress him, ate a perfunctory dinner, and poured himself a drink. Then he stood in front of a mirror in the hallway--antique, spotted with mercury gray around the gilded edges--and tried to practice how he should look. But all his smiles were false.
Forget how he'd look. What the hell was he going to say?
Well, we had some fun, didn't we? How appallingly glib.
You brought a great deal of happiness to my life. Laughter and friendship and absolutely wonderful sex. Thank you for that. Simple and true, but so much less than he felt.
It's not as if we weren't headed in this direction, right? No hard feelings. Combative. Probably close to how Ben would behave. Yet inadequate.
Ben, I'm never going to forget you. Not one moment I spent with you, not ever. Fifty years from now I'll still remember what it was like to kiss you, the way your voice sounded, that afternoon in your flat when you held me close. I'll be able to recite the words we spoke to each other. I'll be able to sculpt your face in snow. Even though we'll never see each other again, you will be a part of every day I live.
No. Best not to be that honest. That would only make Ben pull back, and above all James didn't want to ruin their final night together.
Would they have sex? It would make the pain so much worse. Yet James knew that if there were any sign Ben was willing, they'd wind up in bed. He could never give up the chance to be with Ben one last time.
Right on schedule, he heard the telltale clicking of the lower door, Ben's footsteps on the stairs. James shooed the corgis into another room, all the time whispering, "You brought a great deal of happiness to my life. You brought a great deal of happiness to my life." He had to get it right, say it easily. He wanted so badly for this to go well.