Read My Prince for Free Online Page A

didn’t get quite so wet as he waited.
    “No,” George said, affronted.
    “I’m only teasing,” Alex said. He was still smiling. “Not going on to town, then?”
    “No,” George said again. “I have to be in work tomorrow.”
    “Really? It’s Saturday tomorrow.”
    “I know that. I have a really important project I’m working on, and it has to be delivered, so I’m taking the overtime.”
    “Oh,” Alex said. “Fair enough.”
    They were quiet for a moment, and the queue edged forward.
    Then it dawned on George.
    “Were you hoping for—”
    “No,” Alex said, laughing again. He did that a lot. Smiled a lot, laughed a lot. It was weird. “I gave you my number because I want to see you again, George. Maybe take you out for dinner or a drink. I don’t know.” He looked around and smirked, lowering his voice. “Some social activity before we try to fuck each other’s brains out again.”
    “Oh.”
    Alex’s hand landed on his arm and squeezed gently. “I’d like to repeat our last night together,” he said quietly, “but maybe on different terms.”
    “Like what?”
    “Dating terms?”
    “You want to date me?”
    “I’d like to try it, yeah,” Alex said, grinning. “You’re interesting to me. And very hot. It’s a good combination.”
    They were almost at the front of the queue now, and the taxis were moving up toward them.
    “Anyway,” Alex said, “after you.”
    A member of the museum’s staff team was organizing the taxis, and he held open the door for George.
    “Where to, sir?”
    “Uh, Leith,” George said. “Just off Leith Walk.” He turned to Alex. “I’ll….”
    “Call me?”
    George laughed. “Sure.”
    He hopped into the cab, and it was pulling away before he had a chance to say anything else. The rain had stopped, but the cab driver still had his wipers going, and they squeaked obnoxiously over the glass. George felt itchy again, but in a different way now.
    He pulled his phone from his pocket and dug out Alex’s card. It was simple: a textured gray card, Alex’s name printed on it, his phone number and e-mail. Just “Alex van Amsberg.” No mention of his royal title at all.
    George plugged the number into his phone and saved it, then felt flustered with the thought of sending a message. It was too soon. It was stupid.
    Hi. This is George. So you have my number.
    Send.
    Done.
    He turned the phone over and over in his hands, feeling stupid, feeling a knot in his stomach for reasons he didn’t quite understand.
    I thought you were going to call me?
    I will. Wanted you to know who it was when I called, tho. You might not answer unknown numbers.
    That’s a reasonable explanation. Are you home yet?
    Almost. You?
    Yeah. I would have walked, but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to wait with you.
    George’s breath caught in his throat.
    “Where to, mate?” the driver asked.
    “Anywhere along here.” The rain had stopped, and there was a cut-through he could take from the main road back to the house.
    “Nine forty, please.”
    George handed him a tenner and waved away any change. He was tired—he could feel the dragging behind his eyes that told him he needed sleep, and plenty of it, before he went in to work in the morning.
    Still, he brushed his teeth in the horrible moldy bathroom before going to bed, and layered up to try to stay warm through the night. Before turning off the light, George turned his phone over and over in his hands, wondering what to say. It was his turn to text back. In the end, he just said:
    Good night, Alex.
     
     
    H E DIDN ’ T have to wait long for Alex to call. They had exchanged a few messages through the week, an easy back and forth, and George quickly realized Alex was very easy to tease. It was cute.
    George had missed a call from Alex while he was at work; the first chance for him to return it was as he dashed through the busy, rainy streets on Friday afternoon.
    “What, do you think I don’t already have plans for