Anna Martin's British Boys Box Set: My Prince - The Impossible Boy - Cricket

by Anna Martin

  “That was the state address,” Klaus interrupted. “With hundreds of foreign dignitaries and politicians. You were six, Hendrick was unwell, and your mother cried all the way there because you’d been a brat all evening.”

  “Really?” Alex said, looking over his shoulder at them again while George laughed.

  “I was crying because I didn’t want to leave you,” Olivia qualified. “Not because you’d upset me.”

  “Mama thought you were pregnant again,” Klaus mused, and Olivia broke into delighted laughter.

  “I remember! How funny. I’d forgotten. It took me weeks to convince her I was done at two.”

  “Were they a handful, then?” George asked.

  “Well, I’m sure I had it far easier than your mother. I suppose Sander and Hendrick were good boys. They’ve always had lovely manners. I can’t imagine having those two and half a dozen more. Your mother must have the patience of a saint.”

  “She does,” George said easily. “Our family is very close, which helps. We used to go on camping holidays—all of us, plus my dad’s brother and sister and their families.”

  “See?” Alex said emphatically. “Big camping holidays. That sounds like fun.”

  “Darling, you wouldn’t last five minutes in a tent,” Olivia said.

  “I went to Glastonbury,” Alex protested.

  “And stayed in a caravan. Come on, we’re next.”

  George stayed quiet as they were shown out of the car and into the huge palace building, not reaching for Alex even though he was desperate to.

  “Did you really stay in a caravan at Glastonbury?” he asked in a low voice, leaning close to Alex to whisper the words.

  “No,” Alex said. He was pouting. “It was a yurt.”

  George let out a bark of startled laughter. Olivia shot him a smile over her shoulder. She was clearly comfortable among all the opulence George was trying hard to ignore. It was difficult, though, when the ceilings were so high and the carpet so incredibly plush he felt like he was sinking into it with every step. Every few paces another enormous painting loomed at them from the walls.

  Olivia turned and led them into a room which was thankfully less crazy beautiful than the rest of the building. It still had pristine white walls and an incredible, vaulted ceiling, but the people standing around drinking and laughing softened the fear clawing at George’s chest.

  “Hendrick,” Olivia called, and a tall young man turned and smiled at her.

  George immediately understood what Alex had told him before about the differences between himself and his brother. Where Alex was slim and toned, Hendrick was broad across the shoulders and chest. His hair was darker, like his father's, and almost ginger in its tone. He wore a beard, shorter than Klaus’s, though it suited him too.

  Hendrick had heavy eyebrows, which gave him a permanent frown, though he had already abandoned his suit jacket and looked relaxed in a blue shirt and waistcoat. No tie. George grinned to himself.

  “Hey, little brother,” Alex said with a grin and pulled Hendrick into a bear hug. George watched, amused, as Alex ruffled Hendrick’s hair. Maggie did the same to him all the time. “This is George,” he said as he pulled away.

  “George,” Hendrick said. He nodded and offered his hand for George to shake, using the other one to straighten his hair. “You seem like a normal person. What on earth are you doing with my brother?”

  “Keeping him in line,” George said. He squeezed Hendrick’s hand and grinned. “Trying to, anyway.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Hey,” Alex protested. “I’m right here.”

  “You don’t have a drink yet,” Hendrick said pointedly.

  Alex rolled his eyes. “I’ll go get one, shall I?”

  “Excellent idea.”

  George huffed a laugh as Alex turned on his heel and stalked over to where a tuxedoed waiter was passing out glasses of champagne.

  “You know you’re the first boyfriend he’s ever brought here?” Hendrick asked as soon as Alex was out of earshot.

  “Yeah. He told me. For what it’s worth, he’s the first boyfriend I ever took home too.”

  “So it’s serious?”

  George shrugged. “I really wish I knew. Right now we’re just figuring things out. You know. One day at a time.”

  “This is a pretty big day.”

  “Look,” George said, struggling to keep the impatience from his voice. “I know I’m probably not what you expected or wanted for your brother. That’s fine. I get that. And I understand that I’m going to get a lot more of it if we stay together. But I care for him, I really do. He’s important to me. So… if you’ve got a problem with me—”

  “I don’t,” Hendrick interrupted.

  “Good. Because your parents seem to like me, and I like them, and I hope by the end of tonight the rest of your family will maybe be able to accept me, even if they don’t exactly approve of me.”

  “George, can I offer you some advice?”

  “Sure,” George said wearily, only just managing to avoid rubbing his hands over his face. He was sure some of the other people were watching his interaction with Hendrick, even though no one was directly looking at them.

  “Don’t wait for my family’s approval. Don’t wait for anyone’s approval.”

  George’s eyebrows raised all the way up without his permission. “Okay.”

  Hendrick nodded solemnly. “Alex is coming.”

  By the time George turned around, accepted his glass of champagne, and turned back, Hendrick had melted into the group of people.

  “What did Hendrick want?” Alex asked.

  George smiled and sipped the champagne. He was getting used to it these days. “Nothing,” he said mildly.

  Depending on who he was talking to, George reminded himself that the other person was just Alex’s family, or royalty, depending on how he wanted to terrify himself. If he was honest with himself, they really weren’t that scary. No one seemed particularly surprised that Alex had brought a boyfriend home, and no one enquired as to who his family was, though several people enquired as to their health.

  George had been seated next to Alex through dinner, which was thankfully informal, and after dessert they’d moved from the elegant dining room back into the reception hall for coffee or more alcohol. George had decided to combine the two and had requested his coffee with a shot of whiskey. He’d been in Scotland too long.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” George asked, leaning in to whisper the words into Alex’s ear.

  “I’ll show you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, no one will care. Come on.”

  He dumped his champagne glass on a sideboard and grabbed George’s hand. There was a small door to one side, where the servers were ducking in and out with more champagne and canapés. Alex led them past this, back out the main double doors and into the hallway.

  “Everything okay?” he asked as they headed farther into the house.

  “Yeah. I really do just need to piss.”

  Alex snorted. “Okay. I was wondering if you needed me to help you make an escape.”

  “Everyone is really nice.”

  “I told you.”

  “I like your dad,” George said as they rounded a corner. “You’re like him.”

  “You think? People always say I’m like my mum.”

  “Your dad’s a sweetheart.”

  Alex stopped them just outside a white door and bracketed his hands either side of George’s shoulders, backing him against the wall.

  “Are you calling me a sweetheart too?”

  “Maybe,” George said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “You can be, when you’re in the right mood. And not being a brat.”

  Alex laughed and dropped his forehead to George’s shoulder. “My mother thinks she’s so funny.”

  “She is. Especially when she’s telling me stories about you. I can’t believe you broke a sixty thousand pound vase.”
/>
  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Alex said with a pout.

  “Thanks for bringing me,” George told him softly, right against the shell of Alex’s ear. He curled his fingers around Alex’s slim hips and brought them closer together.

  “Well, I’m hoping you’ll want to come back to another one. At some point.”

  “I’m not entirely opposed to the idea. Alex?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I go take a leak now?”

  Alex kissed his nose. “I’ll wait for you.”

  When they got back to Edinburgh the following evening, George was exhausted. He wasn’t used to traveling, for one, and he’d been on his best behaviour all weekend, for another.

  There was a familiar smell of beeswax in the hallway at the flat that George would soon be moving into for good. Since he’d reconciled with Alex, he had only been back to his own place for clean clothes, and then they were put away in the new chest of drawers Alex had bought for the bedroom. Just for George’s things.

  Meeting Alex’s family had made their relationship feel far more solid and more real. Even more than when he’d introduced Alex to the rest of the Maguires. In typical George Maguire fashion, he’d taken the sheer, bone-aching terror that he’d be rejected out of hand by Alex’s people and shoved it deep down in some box within himself, not willing to confront it. Now he could let it out because it was unfounded.

  The little circle of Alex and George and his parents felt good. Alex’s brother was something of an odd one, and George thought he might not ever be close with Hendrick in the way Alex might be with Maggie.

  “Hey,” Alex said.

  George startled. He’d been sorting through their suitcase, putting dirty clothes in the laundry basket and setting toiletries aside ready to be returned to the bathroom.

  Alex held a mug in each hand and held one out. “Thought you might want a cup of tea.”

  “Thanks,” George said.

  He took the mug and set it on the dresser, then pulled Alex in for a long, slow, intimate kiss. Alex wrapped his hand around George’s neck and let George take control.

  “You know I love you, right?” George asked.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Good.”

  “I… uh… I thought you should know,” Alex said, sitting down on the end of the bed and crossing his legs. “There might be another story about us.”

  “In the papers?”

  “Yeah. Hendrick said he thought there might have been photographers at the event at the Paleis the other night. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted me to tell you just in case.”

  George reassessed his view of stoic Hendrick, who didn’t smile nearly as much as either of his parents. “Tell him thank you?”

  “I will.”

  Alex sipped his tea. “I would have done that, you know.”

  “I know. I don’t mind.”

  “Are you sure, George?” Alex blurted out. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you I love you?” George said, amused.

  “That’s not it.”

  “It’s not?”

  Alex made a little frustrated sound. “Not like that. I want you to know what it means, you know, all the way down the line for us. Not just this week or next month or a year from now.”

  “I know what I’m getting myself into,” George said mildly. He sipped his tea too. Alex made it just right. He thought that was important but didn’t mention it.

  “Okay.” Alex didn’t look convinced.

  “I can’t promise you I know what’s going to happen to us. No one does, Alex. This feels right to me, though.”

  Alex nodded and screwed up his face, then rubbed his fist into his eye.

  “Hey,” George said softly, sitting down next to him. “Have a little faith, okay? If we want this to work, it will.”

  “You’re so….”

  “Go on, finish that sentence.”

  Alex laughed then. “Optimistic?”

  “Didn’t know that was an insult.”

  “It’s not. You’ve just got this—fuck—I know you, and I know what you’re like, and I’m scared you’re going to walk out on me.”

  “I’m scared you’re going to decide one day that you can do much better than some scummy kid from a council estate in Manchester and go and find someone respectable to be with.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  “Not now you don’t,” George said. “You might change your mind.”

  “You might decide I’m not worth all the hassle.”

  Neither of them said anything, then George snorted with laughter. He finished his tea and set it aside, then took Alex’s mug and put it on the bedside table next to his own.

  “Come here,” he said, lying back on the bed next to the suitcase and bringing Alex on top of himself.

  “Are we being idiots?” Alex asked, his face buried in George’s T-shirt. He gathered up two fistfuls of it and clung on tight.

  “I have a strong suspicion we might be.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Wanna try taking it one day at a time?”

  “That could work,” Alex said, propping his chin up on George’s chest. “Oh, and by the way?”

  “What?”

  Alex’s grin was radiant. “I love you too.”

  It had been Doug’s suggestion—surprise surprise—that he and Alex gate crash one of George’s “rugby lads night out.” Not that George had ever made Alex feel like he wasn’t welcome at one of the testosterone and beer fuelled gatherings—more that Alex wanted to give George space. It was heart-achingly clear that George didn’t really have a large group of friends, and since the rugby boys had accepted his sexuality with little more than a shrug, Alex had decided they were all scrummy little angels.

  This particular Saturday night they had gathered in a pub in the New Town rather than the rugby club in Leith. Well, Alex had a suspicion it had started at the rugby club, then escalated to the New Town. Either way, Doug wanted to join them.

  “What are you wearing?” Alex asked, cradling the phone to his ear as he stared into his open wardrobe.

  “Jesus, laddie, I’m not a teenage girl.”

  “I’m not asking you so we can coordinate,” Alex snapped. “I want to make sure you’re not going to flame your way in there.”

  “I do not…,” Doug started, then lost steam halfway through his indignant outburst. “Alright, I do, but I won’t embarrass him.”

  “I’m sure you won’t. What are you wearing?”

  “Jeans, shirt, jumper. Lacoste jumper, you know, my emerald green one? And one of my tartan scarfs.”

  “Take the scarf off,” Alex said. Sometimes he really cursed the size difference between George and himself—there was no way Alex could steal one of George’s nice shirts. George was too broad across the chest. Alex would be swamped in it.

  “Why?” Doug moaned. “Scarfs are my thing.”

  “I know. You don’t need it, though. It’s warm out there tonight.”

  “Fine. What are you wearing?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “And you’re giving me shit? You’re not even dressed!”

  “I’ve got those burgundy jeans on and I can’t decide if they’re too much.”

  Doug hummed down the phone, and Alex started flicking through the hangers for the fifth or sixth time.

  “Put a T-shirt on,” Doug said.

  “Really? Most of the lads will be in shirts. Polo shirts at least.”

  “Yeah, but if you put a shirt on, it’ll look too much. Put a white T-shirt on and don’t shave.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Good. I’m getting in a taxi now. I’ll come and pick you up; then we can go over together.”

  “Shit,” Alex muttered and hung up. Doug wouldn’t mind.

  With traffic, it would probably take Doug about fifteen minutes to get across to him in a taxi, so Alex did as he was told, grabbed a well-loved white T-shirt—those were
designer holes, thank you very much—and pulled on his boots.

  By the time the taxi was beeping outside, Alex was running up the stairs, frantically texting George to find the name of the pub and shrugging into his favourite leather jacket.

  “They’re in Dirty Dick’s,” Alex said to Doug as he hopped into the taxi.

  “My, my,” Doug drawled. He relayed the instruction to the driver, then cast a critical eye over Alex’s outfit. “You look good. Good choice.”

  “Thanks. George knows we’re coming. Obviously. I’m not sure if he’s prewarned them or not.”

  Doug rolled his eyes. “We’re a couple of queers, Alex, not the Spanish bloody Inquisition. They’ll cope. And trust me, it’s not the first time there’s been some gay men in Dirty Dick’s.”

  “Perv,” Alex muttered affectionately.

  The pub was an old-man pub, gloriously cluttered with decades of decoration layered over the dark walls. It was easy to find the rugby team gathered together in a corner and still managing to take up about a third of the bar.

  George was at the edge of the group, an almost-finished pint in hand, his cheeks a little flushed from the warmth of the pub. Alex waved at him to get his attention, then mimed another drink. George nodded and extracted himself from the conversation. When he finally got to Alex he leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

  “Hi.”

  “Alright?”

  “Yeah, good. Hey, Doug. Want a drink?”

  “You two are nauseating. I’ve got this one. What are you drinking?”

  George looked into his glass, like the contents would maybe give him a clue. “No idea. Darren bought it for me. Some pale ale, I don’t really mind.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Alex said, secretly thrilled when George’s arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close to George’s firm chest. Doug elbowed his way to the bar, and Alex tilted his head so he could whisper in George’s ear. “Are you sure this is okay?”

  “Course it is.”

  “Okay. Did you have a good game today, then?”

  “It was a friendly,” George said. “The season’s finished really, but we keep playing for fun over the summer.”

  Space was made for them at the table when Doug had dealt out the pints to Alex and George (he was on gin and tonic) and a few of the lads nodded to Alex in recognition.