by Jerry Cole
“Thanks, Mom.” Steve’s voice broke a little, but he leaned in, letting his mother hug him. It was uncomfortable, not something he allowed either himself or her, but when he pulled back, he was glad that he had. His mother’s worry had faded into a determination on his behalf.
“You make that boy smile again,” she said.
“I’ll try,” Steve promised.
A tall order, but not one that Steve was going to shy away from. Staying for dinner brought up memories of the last time Steve had been by with Bobby. Their fight had ruined things then, and though it was ruining things now, on his behalf, his mother was still offering the same support and faith, and Steve couldn’t help but grab it and run.
The subway ride home was agonizingly slow now that Steve had the determination to follow through, but he passed most of the time emailing both tutors about his showcase, and the final assessment. He wasn’t being fair to them, or to himself and his degree, and he was determined to change that. Whether he came home alone, with Bobby, or whatever else the fuck was going to happen, Steve was going to graduate, and he was going to do it with a show under his belt.
By the time he hopped off the subway and taken the short walk back to the apartment, he had replies to both emails.
Good to have you back! The showcase can indeed go ahead—have you found your muse again?
Heller was short and to the point, which Steve appreciated, but Taylor’s was more involved, and Steve felt the flush creep up his neck and face as he read it.
Heard your muse turned out to be a prince. I’m sure that messed you up for a while. Your work might not have been up to the usual standard, but it was still good, so don’t apologize. Glad you’re rethinking the subject, and I’m sure your muse appreciates it as well. Take your time, Steve, and I look forward to the new pictures that are going to end up on the display!
Steve didn’t want to get his hopes up, not the least because Bobby was still a quantifier in how he graduated, whether it was through landscapes or Bobby. He thanked both professors as he jogged up the steps to his apartment block and hoped Jamie was home, or even Sam. Steve couldn’t remember whether he had class today. Thankfully, Jamie and Sam were both in the apartment, the former cooking something on the stove, the latter leaning against the counter.
“How was your mom?” Jamie asked innocently.
“Fuck you,” Steve said, not buying it for a second. “Not your shit to tell her, Jamie, what did I say about that?”
Jamie shrugged, unrepentant and while it pissed Steve off, he let it go. He didn’t have the energy to stay mad at Jamie when he had so much going on inside his head.
Sam pushed himself off the counter, waving a hand at Steve. “Go on then, what did she have to say?”
Steve perched on the back of the armchair and folded his arms across his chest. “The same thing everyone else is.”
“But it’s different when it’s your mom, am I right?”
“Sure,” Steve said with a shrug. “But I’d already made up my mind when I went, I think, what I wanted to do.”
Jamie let the moment drag on a beat. “What?”
Steve dropped his eyes to the floor, mind on the way Bobby had looked in the news report and focused on the tightness of his chest was the drive he needed. “Going to the party is fine, but I’m gonna find a way to get to Bobby—and get him alone. He won’t be truthful in front of all the guests. Once we’ve had a conversation that doesn’t involve one of us running away from it, if he tells me to leave him the fuck alone, I will.”
“And if he tells you he loves you?”
That was easy. “Then we’ll work something out. I love him more than I’m scared about the future.”
Chapter Twenty
Steve had never seen something so ostentatious and ridiculous. The invitations Helena had delivered were edged in gold, of all things, and Jesus, why did people with money always spend it with little thought to those who didn’t have any? Running his thumb over the gilded border, he read the words Official Heir Announcement and wrinkled his nose. What kind of title was that? It had already been officially announced, but maybe royalty announced things a little differently when it was between themselves.
Now that he had something to focus on—to add to his phone and paper calendars, a goal to keep in mind—he found it easier to focus on everything else in his life. Spite living Jamie was calling it. Steve preferred to think of it as wanting to show himself he could be fine without Bobby, because he couldn’t be certain things would go his way and didn’t want to break down if it turned out Bobby had no time for him. Attending the palace and having to spend the weekend in Mercia, not knowing whether Bobby would actually agree to talk to him, could have overwhelmed him if he had nothing else to focus on.
Helena’s mom was apparently handling accommodation for them as well, and when he had the time, Steve was going to have to find a way to thank her for everything she was doing for them. He doubted Helena would want him to, given the words she would mutter under her breath about her mother when she thought nobody could hear her. Nevertheless, Steve was going to pay everyone he owed, even if he ended up in debt.
Laying on his bed, curled up on his side as he scrolled through his phone, Steve remembered another person who was responsible for where he found himself; Gregory, the guy who had come to the door. Steve was sure if he looked on the palace website, he could find some way to contact him. Maybe Gregory would be willing to send a message to Bobby for him, or at least find out why he was ignoring Steve. Obvious reasons, maybe.
The website itself was almost as ostentatious as the invitations. Steve rolled his eyes, trying—and failing—to see the pictures of Grand Prince Louis as respectable. You couldn’t take arrogance out of a photograph, after all. He doubted Prince Louis had anything to do with the website itself, but he had people that would sign off on it, surely, and Steve couldn’t imagine a reasonable person wanting this as their image online.
The news about Bobby was on the front page, along with the news snippet and interview. Steve almost clicked play but decided against it. Instead, he clicked on the contact link and found the web form, a few email addresses, and a phone number to contact Cosgrove Palace. Frowning, Steve tried the staff section, hissing out a, “yes,” as he found Gregory’s name. There was only an email, and Steve supposed that was better than nothing, though he wasn’t sure how many people saw the emails.
Dear Mr. Gregory,
I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Steve Mitchell. I was there the day you found Bobby Connors and tried to get him to come back with you. I haven’t been able to contact Bobby since then, and I am hoping you will help me get a message to him. I will be attending his official heir announcement and was hoping there would be time to talk to him. I appreciate you are a busy man and might not get this email, but I had to try.
Thank you.
Steve Mitchell.
Steve hadn’t expected a reply quickly, but when he, Jamie and Sam were on their way home from a grocery run, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He balanced a paper bag of groceries on his knee and managed to tug his phone out, feeling his stomach flip as he saw the email notification.
Mr. Mitchell,
Unfortunately, that will not be possible. I hope you understand how busy Prince Robert will be on the night.
Thank you for your correspondence.
Edwin Gregory.
Locking his phone and jamming his phone back in his pocket, Steve ignored the questioning looks from his friends. Dammit. He hoped Gregory would at least try, but there was no give in his reply. He didn’t have the start of a plan to make it work, but he had been counting on Gregory helping him out. He’d just have to figure out another way to get Bobby alone, unless they would have bodyguards or something on his ass. It was so frustrating when Steve only wanted to fix what had happened—he owed it to Bobby and to himself.
“You gonna tell us what that face was for on the train?” Sam was buried in the fridge, ta
king the items Steve passed him and tried to find space.
“I tried to email Gregory, the guy who came for Bobby that day. I was hoping he could arrange a meeting with Bobby for me.” Steve sighed, almost dropping the eggs. Sam shot him a glare but shoved them in the fridge and shut the door. “He said no. Politely.”
“Fuck him,” Jamie said immediately. “What a dick.”
“Jamie,” Steve said. Not that Steve was feeling particularly charitable toward Gregory, but he could understand the man’s predicament.
As if summoned by thoughts of him, Steve’s phone once again lit up, and though Steve had half-hoped it would be Gregory changing his mind, he didn’t recognize the address. It was probably spam, but Steve didn’t like deleting things until he was sure, so he opened it.
This is my personal email. I thought it prudent to talk to you this way. I understand His Royal Highness has requested Prince Robert be given a new phone. His old one has been misplaced (confiscated). I would be more than happy to help set up a meeting between you and Prince Robert. He is not himself, and I can tell he misses his friends. He is, however, as stubborn as his mother—if not more so. I hope this email assuages some of your fears, but please message me your needs and I will do my best to accommodate them.
Thank you,
Gregory.
“Okay, maybe he’s not a dick,” Steve said, showing Jamie the email, Sam leaning over his shoulder to read. Gregory’s email gave him enough information to explain why Bobby hadn’t answered anything he’d been sent. Steve bristled at the idea of Prince Louis cutting him off from his previous life. Isolating Bobby, keeping him in the palace, parading him around the media; it all served to give Bobby no option other than to stay under his thumb.
“All right,” Sam said agreeably, though he looked furious when he met Steve’s eyes. “We’re doing something about this shit, right? The prince is a dick.”
Steve nodded, but it was Jamie who spoke. “Damn right. We’re not letting him treat Bobby like that.” He looked at Steve sharply. “Are we?”
Growling low in his throat, Steve shook his head. “No. The fuck we are not!”
Going against the prince was treason, and Steve allowed the threat of prison to wash over him like a physical punch, but he refused to let it worry him. His panic over Bobby, and wanting to protect him, was overriding any fear Steve might have about breaking laws. Besides, if Grand Prince Louis was as desperate to keep Bobby as his heir, Bobby might be able to stop anything bad happening to them. Not that Steve wanted to add that pressure.
“Well, we don’t have long to wait,” Jamie said, sliding Steve’s phone back across the counter. “We need to sort flights and shit for Mercia.”
The only thing Helena’s mom hadn’t agreed to cover was flights, which Steve could understand. Retiring to his room on the pretense of booking his own flights, Steve instead brought up the email from Gregory and decided to answer it.
I’m glad he has someone looking out for him. I was worried when he didn’t contact me, even if it was just to say fuck off! Sorry about the language. I appreciate you sending me correspondence through your personal email, I know how dangerous that could be for you. I just need about fifteen minutes during the dinner and dance to talk to Bobby and find out what he wants. That’s all. Thank you.
Steve.
Fifteen minutes would have to be enough. Steve would make it enough. Thankfully, Gregory seemed inclined to give him that, and Steve went to bed that night comforted he had somebody, besides his friends, on his side, and he thought through all the things he could say to Bobby to make him see that Steve cared, that he wanted him, and that no matter what, he would be there for him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mercia was cool, but not unpleasant, when they landed at Princess Beatrice Airport.
Steve shouldered his carry-on, waiting for Helena and Noah to step out of the plane. Jamie was almost plastered to his back, probably because people were crowding him, and eventually, they managed to get into the tunnel and out to the arrivals. The flight wasn’t the worst, but he was tired and irritable and wanted to grab some sleep before they were due at the palace.
“I can’t wait to get to a bed,” Helena groaned, when they’d clustered around the baggage claims. They were only staying for a couple of days, so Steve didn’t know why Helena and Jamie had even brought enough stuff to require more than a carry on, but Helena’s shoes alone probably had their own suitcase, not that he would ever say as much to her.
“I’ll take something to eat,” Noah said, groaning.
Steve’s stomach took that moment to rumble, and he made a face, refusing to flush under the grins from his friends. “What?”
“Nothing, Stevie,” Jamie said, tone warmly amused, as he slung an arm over Steve’s shoulder and tugged him closer.
Noah called a cab before they stepped outside, and Steve hoped it wouldn’t be a long drive. He had never been there before and didn’t know what to expect from traffic or the people. The four of them clambered into the cab, Steve, Helena and Noah in the back seats, Jamie in the front, grinning back over his shoulder and winking at the sight of Steve folded into the seat behind the driver. Steve flipped him off discreetly and turned to look out of the window. Their hotel was downtown, and Steve was glad of the opportunity to check out the palace before he’d have to go for a dinner there.
It was beautiful, ornate and modern in equal measure, and stood proudly against the skyline, not unlike most of the governmental buildings. The Mall was picturesque, but something about Cosgrove Palace accentuated that. Hard to believe that it would be—was?—Bobby’s home. Fuck. Steve rubbed at his face; his jaw set when he thought about having to attend a function at the palace. Even with the comfort his friends brought, Steve doubted he could get through it and come out the other side with everything he wanted.
Even if everything translated to Bobby.
“Hey, we’re here,” Helena said, nudging him gently. “Everything all right?”
“Great,” Steve said with minimal sarcasm. He flashed Helena a quick smile, but he doubted she bought it. As he opened the door, he could see Jamie shoving some bills into the driver’s hand. Bags dropped onto the floor beside the car, Steve stretched out the kinks the cramped back seat had wrought on his body and stared up at the hotel.
Grand. Way too grand. Even the hotel he’d stayed at in Manhattan had nothing on this, and fuck, he didn’t belong anywhere close to this, to Bobby’s life now. Why did he think it would work? Bobby would probably tell him to fuck off and then he’d be left with nothing, and Steve didn’t think he could handle that.
“Hey,” Jamie snapped, hand squeezing Steve’s arm. “You with us?”
“Sure,” Steve said easily, trying to get his breathing under control. He wasn’t a fatalist, so why did he keep panicking? It wasn’t as if he’d even been able to have a conversation with Bobby, let alone know what his boyfriend—not that he was even that anymore—was thinking.
Jamie’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded sharply, and helped Steve with the bags. Helena and Noah had gone on ahead, probably to give them privacy, but they had them checked in by the time Steve and Jamie approached the desk.
“Got the keys,” Helena said, heading for the elevator, and Steve could only follow, weary down to his bones. Helena’s eyes were on him, even though she didn’t say anything, and if Steve had cared for the attention, he might have appreciated it a little more. “Steve—”
“I’m fine,” he said, more anger in his tone than he wanted. “Actually, no, I’m not fine and I still won’t be even if you ask it a hundred times. I don’t know if I can stand to have any of you ask me that again. Please.”
If his tone on the last word was pleading, Steve couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it, and he was glad his friends didn’t either. They exchanged a look he ignored and tried not to be relieved when they assured him they would stop asking. Steve doubted it was that simple.
Thankfully, the rooms were suffi
ciently distracting, even for Steve, and his eyes widened as he took in the luxury. They had couches, champagne, and a huge hot tub, more than he needed, and he couldn’t shake the discomfort at the extravagance of it. His mother would have been appalled by the luxury when Steve knew there was a beggar right now outside the hotel, hoping for a little scrap of food. He swallowed down the urge to ask Helena to switch rooms. It wasn’t as if she had made the reservations herself.
Dropping his back onto one of the two beds, Steve approached the window, hands in his pockets, and hoped the time until the party would pass quickly. Just having a glimpse of Bobby, in the flesh and not through a television screen, would be amazing. Steve had to hope that Gregory would follow through on his promise. If he didn’t, Steve doubted he would do something about it, but he couldn’t stand the heartbreak that would come from having to leave Bobby behind for good.
Jamie came into the room behind him. “You wanna get changed now or later?”
“I don’t think I can do this, Jamie,” Steve said, stunned by the words coming out of his mouth. That hadn’t been what he’d wanted to say.
“You can and you will,” Jamie pressed. “It has nothing to do with dragging us out here,” he continued when Steve opened his mouth. “It has to do with you thinking you don’t deserve something when you do.”
“I don’t belong here.”
“Why?” Jamie was watching him warily. “Steve, who cares what happens around you if you get to be with someone you love? Isn’t that what you’ve always told me whenever I break up with someone?”
Steve shrugged, but the words hit close to him. “You never listen to me.”
Jamie snorted. “Understatement. But I’m really hoping you listen to me.”
“I want to,” Steve admitted. The idea of Bobby’s world was both daunting and terrifying. There was also a touch of want if it meant getting Bobby—and wasn’t that what Jamie was trying to say? “I love him, and if he wants me to stay, I’ll, I’ll figure it out.”
