Joy broke through all the doubt. Finally James believed. He wanted to say so but couldn't speak. He could only smile back through eyes that welled with tears.
They kissed--just a touch, gentle and reverent. Against his lips Ben whispered, "And that's your answer."
Epilogue
The Life We Want
July
They were in the exact same bed.
James had surprised Ben with the trip to Kenya on the anniversary of the day they'd met. Despite the grander accommodations available, James had insisted on taking the same cabin Ben had stayed in before, which meant they were now lying in the enormous four-poster bed where they'd made love for the first time.
It even smelled like this, Ben thought through a haze of need: coconut lotion, and rum on each other's lips, and the soft scent of James's sweat.
"Yes?" he murmured as he held James's hands down against the white sheets.
"Mmmm. Yes." James nodded. Ben sank into him even deeper, that last inch that brought them together completely. He watched as James sucked in a sharp breath, then moaned softly, an exhalation Ben could feel against his throat.
"I wanted to fuck you so badly that day," Ben whispered.
"I wanted you to."
"Just like this?"
"Exactly like this." James's smile was drowsy, almost drunk. "But I wanted to fuck you too."
Ben rocked forward just a little, to make James writhe beneath him. "Yeah? How would you have fucked me?"
"You'll find out in the morning."
Softly Ben laughed--and then he began moving, faster and deeper, until they were both crying out, living a fantasy they couldn't have admitted one year ago, not even to themselves.
***
August
"You have no statements to make on any travel plans?" Kimberley said as they stood near the doors to the palace, car waiting out front.
James shook his head no.
"There are no crises within the family, sir?" The summer breeze ruffled her floral scarf, now tied around the long ponytail that hung down her back. "Princess Amelia's transfer home from St. Maur Hall continues to be untroubled?"
"She's doing splendidly," James confirmed.
"Mr. Dahan's schedule remains unchanged?"
"His publisher swears the promotional schedule is now final, at least so far as travel goes. As for interviews, we'll be able to review any amendments well in advance."
"Your health continues to be excellent, sir?"
Finally James had to laugh. "Kimberley, everything's fine. More to the point, everything is going to stay absolutely fine for the next three weeks. Insofar as possible, Ben and I plan to remain not only well but also stationary. In other words--relax and enjoy your holiday."
Kimberley hesitated a moment longer before a smile began to spread across her face. "As you wish, sir."
"Remember my orders!" He held up a finger, mock-stern. "No smart phone. No iPad. Nothing but mai tais and sunbathing from here on out."
"Actually, Your Royal Highness, I prefer mojitos." With that Kimberley strolled off toward the car waiting to spirit her off to Gatwick, and to Ibiza, and a lengthy holiday that was, in James's opinion, extremely well-deserved.
***
September
"You'll want to take shaving cream," James called from the bathroom.
"They have shaving cream in America. I promise." Ben kept typing on his laptop from his place piled up in bed. This close to the release date of his book, the work never quite seemed to get done. Meanwhile, James had thrown himself into preparations for the impending tour with almost too much enthusiasm. Ben said, "Honestly, James, if I'd wanted someone else to pack for me, I'd have asked Paulson."
James emerged, shaving cream in hand. "I realize they have this in America," he said with exaggerated patience, "but you're not able to pop into the druggist's and buy some any longer, are you?"
He would be able to send either his publicist or a media escort to purchase such things, but Ben decided not to point this out. James, who had probably never packed his own bag in his life, was having too much fun packing Ben's. "Shaving cream," he conceded with a nod. Triumphantly, James put it into the toiletry bag.
A toiletry bag! A suit bag! There were so many pieces of luggage that Ben wanted to laugh. Once having more bags than he used to have possessions might have made him feel burdened. Now it just seemed funny.
He did, however, point out, "Now Glover has to purchase more shaving cream for you."
"I don't think I'll use any." James smiled. "Every time I grow more than a day's stubble, you say how much you like it. While you're gone, and I'm tromping out on Gurness Holm with Cass, I'm going to try a little experiment: two weeks with no razor. We'll see how it looks."
"I like the sound of that." A well-trimmed beard had always turned Ben on, especially if it had a hint of ginger, as James's seemed likely to.
James busied himself choosing ties for Ben, which Ben let him do. James had better taste in such things anyway. Just as he sent the e-mail off to his agent, another e-mail appeared, this one from his editor. The subject line froze him in place.
"Ben?" James had noticed something was amiss. "What's wrong?"
To reply, Ben turned the laptop screen around so that James could read it too: FIRST REVIEWS!
"Exclamation mark. That means good news." James piled onto the bed next to Ben.
"Maybe." Probably? But Ben felt slightly seasick anyway. Still, he jabbed at the keyboard to open the email, ignoring the publisher chatter at the top:
The Royal Favourite, as the tabloids have settled on calling Benjamin Dahan, has mostly been seen as a well-meaning, muscle-bound hunk who provided most of the visual interest in the coming-out saga of the Prince of Wales.
"Not a promising first line," Ben said.
"At least they called you 'well-meaning,'" James offered, earning a gentle elbow to the ribs.
As such, expectations for his first book, The Corporation: A Biography, have been modest--not in terms of sales, which are expected to soar on the strength of his celebrity, but in terms of literary merit. However, this condescension ignores the fact that Mr. Dahan was for many years a financial journalist working at the height of his field. People will not be able to ignore that for much longer. The Corporation is undeniably a serious work, well-written and well-researched, and will demand a serious response from journalists and scholars in the financial world. The popular audience drawn only to his photo on the book jacket will not be disappointed, however. Dahan's writing style is punchy and vivid, and he illuminates even arcane points of law with sharply chosen anecdotes and the occasional flash of wit . . .
"That's a rave." James was grinning. "Isn't it? That's a rave review."
"It's--not bad."
"Not bad? It's wonderful!" By now James had begun to laugh, and Ben finally relaxed enough to smile.
"No," he repeated. "Not bad at all."
***
October
"I still can't get used to it," Cass said. She wore jeans and an old Arsenal jersey, which draped on her more beautifully than any such thing had a right to.
James stroked his new beard. "You'll have to. It's here to stay." He found he liked it quite a lot--though his favorite thing about his whiskers was the way they made Ben all hot and bothered.
Her expression turned impish. "I suppose you don't need your old beard to approve of your new one."
James laughed out loud. His facial hair was making its public debut tonight at the charity football match, though that was the least of his concerns. For one, out on the field, along with Will Farrell and Gordon Ramsey and Gerard Butler and somebody from Eastenders, were Spencer Kennedy and--there, the tallest figure on the left in the blue jersey--Ben.
It would be fun, Spencer had said. A good way for Ben to get out there without you.
I'm going to get to see Beckham up close, right? Ben had said.
James had wanted to point out that the Beckhams' charitable gi
ving meant royals could count on talking with them a few times a year, but instead he'd urged Ben to take part. Now he felt nervous, perhaps a bit like a parent watching their child at a school match. But of course Ben was well able to take care of himself, despite possibly being distracted by Beckham's thighs (though who wouldn't be?)
Most important of all: Indigo was with them in the luxury box. This was her first appearance in public since coming home from St. Maur Hall two weeks before. Although Indigo looked well enough, wearing jeans and a jumper rather than the dressy stuff her maids used to stick her in, James knew this experience must be raw for her. Nor could he forget the rubber band around her wrist.
Still, she smiled and applauded. The cameras beyond, focused on the windows of the luxury box, would be able to capture that and show the world how much healthier she was.
"Would you like a mineral water?" James said. "Or some juice, maybe. Or a sandwich?"
"I'm fine," Indigo insisted. She smiled at him fondly. "You've been hovering like a novice footman all evening."
"I'm sorry. It's not that I don't believe in you. You know that, don't you? I don't mean to--" James caught himself and went back to formula. "When I see you in front of the public again, I think that it must be stressful for you, and that makes me feel nervous."
She considered that before answering. "It is stressful, but not to any extent I can't handle. Doing more public events where I'm not the focus of attention should make me a little better able to handle the ones where I am."
Before, Indigo had always resisted this sort of thing; James had always defended her and allowed her as much solitude as she wanted. He'd thought he was helping, but he hadn't been, not really.
In his mind he heard the echo of Richard's old complaint: You coddle the girl. Even though Richard's attempts to handle Indigo had been even more inept than James's own, in this one thing, James was chagrined to realize, Richard had had a point.
"Oh, come on, you wankers, move!" Cass bellowed at the field. Apparently Spencer had failed to block a shot by some pop star, which Cass would let him live down exactly never.
James and Indigo both laughed a little at Cassandra, and the moment eased--but not completely. He realized that, once again, he needed to trust Indigo to handle the conversation they needed to have. "When I see the rubber band, I don't understand it. It makes me nervous that you need something to hurt yourself."
"Popping the rubber band against my skin is much less damaging than cutting myself."
"I know, I know. I just wish you didn't need that."
"I wish too," Indigo said evenly. "But the fact is that I do need it, at least to know it's here. I might always have to rely on painful stimulation when I'm feeling pressured. But the rubber band is another tool in my toolbox, don't you see? If I have to do something, I can do this. And maybe I won't need it. Feeing like I'm in control, like I have a good solution that doesn't cause real damage--it makes me less likely to need that solution in the first place. Does that make sense?"
Not really, James wanted to say, but he could tell how much steadier Indigo was already. "If it works, it works," he said.
"Exactly." She smiled. "Relax, would you? I don't need it tonight. I'm actually having fun."
***
November
Ben's first official royal function had arisen from what he considered to be the absolute worst reasons possible.
"Oh, come on!" he'd protested during the meeting with Kimberley. "Bending to that kind of prejudice, that kind of antigay hysteria--"
Kimberley had held up her hand. "Mr. Dahan, I share your disquiet. However, keep in mind that in the wake of the Jimmy Savile inquiries, everyone is operating with a heightened sense of caution. We cannot allow even a window of opportunity in which someone could allege that impropriety occurred."
James always had better control of his temper, but even he had been exasperated. "Does that mean I can't visit with gay youth at all? I very much want to accept this invitation. It means a lot to me."
"I believe we can do it, sir," Kimberley said, "if you do not go alone."
She had smiled at Ben then, challenge beneath her polite facade, and he'd realized instantly that, as of now, he was on the royal events circuit, at least once in a while.
Normally Ben wouldn't have done anything official until he and James were engaged, which they weren't. They'd agreed together to wait until they were no longer very controversial, in fact until the British public had begun to ask when the two of them would get on with it already. That didn't bother Ben, not least because it meant that for the most part his time was his own. Finally that too was beginning to change.
I get to ease into it, Ben told himself as they flew to Manchester that day. He'd start like this, with a handful of events dealing with causes he cared about. Eventually, he'd have a schedule far more challenging, more like James's own . . .
But he could handle that.
They arrived at a community center, which now hosted, among other things, a LGBT Youth Program. James hoped eventually to become a patron of this group, which was apparently a very significant thing to be, but for now it was still getting started. Ben understood that he and James were here not only to express royal approval but also to stand as role models: stable, happy, committed gay partners.
Me, a role model, Ben thought. In his head he could hear Warner Clifton's laughter, but let him laugh, wherever he was. Ben's life was proving to be a long, strange journey indeed, but he liked where it was leading.
James held out his hand to a young teenage boy, who smiled as if awestruck. But James was the one who looked even more bowled over. "You're Gregory Matthews."
"Yes, Your Royal Highness." The kid was flushing bright red. "I--I wanted to say--thanks for talking about me at the Christmas speech last year. It meant a lot, sir."
James smiled, but Ben could see the emotion very close to the surface. "Well, Gregory, I wanted to thank you. Without your bravery, I don't know when I would have come out. You inspired me. You changed my life for the better. And you will always have my gratitude."
The boy looked as if he might fall over. But it was James's hand that Ben took, squeezing gently.
James turned to Ben then. "Let me introduce my partner, Benjamin Dahan."
"It's an honor to meet you, Gregory," Ben said, and it didn't feel fake. It didn't feel artificial. Standing here with James, honoring this brave young man--for the first time, the public side of the job felt meaningful. Felt real.
***
December
"It's just what I always wanted," Ben said, holding up his new "couples" Slanket, complete with four arms.
"Now we never have to be apart." James laughed as he leaned forward for a kiss.
"Come on. Time for your big present." Ben hadn't been able to wrap this one. Instead, he'd enlisted the staff's help in installing it in the room that had once been his separate bedroom and was now in the process of becoming a sort of reading room.
They held hands as Ben led James to the back, then through the door. There, newly installed in one corner was a small table and two chairs. Together they walked forward until James could see it properly: the inlaid wood game board in the top, the marble chess set gleaming.
"It's beautiful," James beamed.
Ben thought maybe he still didn't fully understand the gift. "Last year, you gave me a travel set," Ben explained. "Because we both assumed I'd be on the move again eventually. So this year I'm giving you a set that stays right here. A set that's a part of our home."
James's smile softened. "That makes this about a thousand times better. Thank you, darling." They kissed, long and sweet--yet when they parted, there was a wicked gleam in James's eyes. "We can still play for the same stakes as last year, though, can't we?"
"You'd better believe it."
***
January
"James!" Cass stared down at the box, mouth agape. "You didn't!"
"My best friend is getting married. What better
time?" James chuckled as he watched her. "Besides, you made your demands clear often enough."
"I was joking. You know that, don't you? It was only a joke!"
He nodded. "Only a joke. But still, it gave me the idea. Now come on, take a closer look."
Jaw still hanging, Cass slowly lifted the tiara from the box. The amethysts twinkled slightly in the light. "It's too much," she insisted. "Surely you can't give away one of the royal tiaras."
"Not without Grandmother coming for my head. But this was actually one Dad gave Mum as a present. Not part of the official collection."
"Then it should be your sister's."
"Indigo prefers the more traditional tiaras, and it's not as if she hasn't plenty to choose from. Don't worry, I ran it past her and she agreed this one should belong to you. Who else but a Scotswoman should wear it?"
The tiara dated from the 1920s, with its Art Nouveau thistles in amethysts and peridots curved in a sinuous circle. In its organic look, its subtler beauty, and its defiant Scottishness, it might have been made for Cassandra. Once upon a long ago, James had imagined giving it to her to wear at their wedding. That seemed like such a strange dream, now. Far better to give it to her like this, to celebrate her engagement to the man she actually loved.
Cass didn't appear to know what to say. James ventured, "You like it, don't you?"
"I adore it. I worship it. I intend to found a small church dedicated to it. My God, James. Are you certain?"
"Absolutely. It's the least of what I owe you, and besides, you're going to look beautiful on your wedding day." Then James hesitated. "Unless you think . . . you know, if wearing it in the ceremony itself would be stepping on Spencer's toes in some way, I wouldn't want to eclipse anything he was going to do."
"Spencer? Don't worry about him. You never met a man less interested in what a woman had on. Besides, there's no way in hell I'm not wearing this at my wedding." Cass's smile widened. "From now on I'm wearing this everywhere I go. At the cinema. While playing tennis. Wait and see."
James took the tiara from her and settled it on her head; it shone brightly against her fiery red hair. Then he cradled her face in his hands, caught up once again in how much he loved her, and how lucky he'd been to have her by his side until he was ready to stand alone. "Perfect," he said. "Absolutely perfect."