My Prince (6 page)

A
LEX
HOVERED
over the Send button for a second, then pressed it.

Outside. I think. Scared to knock in case I have the wrong house.

He definitely had the right house, but he didn’t want to embarrass George by going up to the door. He got the impression he wouldn’t be invited in, which would be awkward, so he left the engine running and waited.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed.

Coming.

Alex made the dirty joke in his head and watched the door as George burst through it, laughing and making rude gestures to whoever was inside. He was dressed nicely, but still casual, like Alex had told him: dark jeans, a white T-shirt with a plaid lumberjack shirt open over the top, and a sporty jacket.

“Hey,” he said as he opened the door and beamed at Alex.

“Hey. Hop in.”

He did and slammed the door closed. “Pretty sweet ride.”

“Thank you.”

“You know I have a Golf too? I know this is a new model. But yeah.”

“Oh?” Alex pulled away from the house and shot George a smile. “What have you got?”

“It’s a really old Mark Three.”

“Ah, a classic. I love Golfs. Wouldn’t ever drive anything else.”

“Same. My dad—did I tell you my dad owns a garage?”

“No, but that’s cool.”

“Yeah, him and my brother run it now. Maguire and Sons. Anyway. He bought it as pretty much a wreck, and we fixed it up.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going tonight?”

Alex laughed. “You are….” He shook his head. “Completely terrible.”

“I know.”

“It’s not far from here.”

“So we
are
going to the Old Town. You should have let me get the bus.”

Alex didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to let George get the fucking bus to their date. George hadn’t mentioned his car before tonight, and even if he had, Alex wouldn’t have let him drive. He was planning on leaving the car in a car park overnight, or on the street if he could find a parking space. The Old Town was fairly quiet; he wasn’t worried about leaving it out.

He found a space near the university building, and they walked up the Royal Mile close to each other, but not holding hands.

“Where the fuck are we going?” George asked as Alex turned them down a dark, winding alley that had incredibly steep steps at the bottom.

“Shh. It’s a secret.”

They reached a red door at the bottom of the alley that was set back into an alcove. A phone was mounted on the wall next to the door. Alex picked it up, waited for it to click, then said, “Table for two, the name’s van Amsberg.”

“Thanks. I’ll send someone up for you.”

He was watching George’s intrigued, amused face the whole time, and reached over to brush his hand against George’s while they waited. Curiously, George didn’t ask any more questions, even when the red door swung open and a guy wearing 1920s style clothing looked them over.

“Come in,” he said and shut the door behind them.

Chapter Four

T
HEY
SAT
at the bar, watching the bartenders mix drinks.

“How the fuck did you find out about this place?” George asked.

“Word of mouth, like most people.”

The bar was set up like an old speakeasy. A blues band played on a dais in the corner, providing good, but not too loud, music. All the staff were dressed in that same old-style look: the girls with their hair in victory rolls, red lipstick, tattoos on show; the guys in pants with braces and white shirts, the sleeves rolled up to their elbows.

Because of Edinburgh’s strange city architecture, the bar was situated in a series of arches under one of the huge bridges that bisected the Old Town. The walls were old, old stone, and there were low, exposed beams, bare lightbulbs, and lots of candlelight. The atmosphere was amazing, and Alex was incredibly pleased he’d decided to take Doug’s suggestion of bringing George here.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked.

“Do they do beer?”

“Oh, come on,” Alex laughed. He reached over and squeezed George’s knee experimentally. George didn’t flinch, so Alex left his hand there. “This place has some of the best cocktails in the whole country. One of the bartenders was a European cocktail-making champion. You have to try something.”

“Okay. Is there like a drinks list or something?”

One of the bartenders leaned forward, neatly interrupting their conversation with a smile. He wore a flat cap over his short hair and had a very dark bushy beard and heavy eyebrows. It looked insanely good on him.

“Hey, I’m Danny. What can I get you guys?” he asked, his voice rich with local flavor.

“George doesn’t drink cocktails,” Alex said, squeezing George’s knee again.

“Ah. Okay. What do you drink?”

“I like beer,” George said tentatively. “Like craft beers, IPAs, that sort of thing.”

Danny nodded. “No problem. Do you prefer whiskey or rum?”

“Uh… rum, I guess.”

Something twisted in Alex’s stomach as Danny grinned and winked at George, then turned to start mixing him something. In the background, the band switched to a more upbeat sound, and a few girls got up from their low tables to dance.

He turned his attention back to Danny, who was free pouring liquor into a tin cocktail shaker, adding lime and something else from behind the bar, then slamming a glass over the top to shake it up. Instead of serving the drink in a martini glass, he poured it into a low, squat tumbler and left it unadorned of any fancy toppings.

“Try that,” he said, pushing it across the bar.

Alex watched as George sipped it tentatively, and then as his eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s… really good.”

“Thank you. And for you?”

“Do I get the special treatment too?” Alex said, knowing he was flirting. He was going to test the waters, see what sort of reaction it got from George.

“Of course. What’s your poison?”

“Tom Collins, normally.”

“Got it.”

Danny turned away again and started mixing.

“You want to try this?” George asked, pushing the glass at Alex, almost forcibly bringing attention back to himself. Alex felt his stomach jump a little with victory.

“Sure.”

He took a small sip and grinned. “Wow,” he echoed. “That really is good.”

It was a mellow, almost spicy, sour drink that didn’t feel too dragging and alcoholic. It had a faint orangey tang, which Alex liked a lot. His drink—whatever twist on a Tom Collins Danny had come up with—was served in one of those jam jars with the handle on the side. Stuffed full of ice and mint leaves, it was much more fussy than George’s straight-up.

And it had a straw.

“This is good too,” he said after trying it. “Elderflower?”

“It was a risk,” Danny said with a shrug. “I thought you might go for it.”

“I do,” Alex agreed. “Do you need me to pay now or can I start a tab?”

“Yeah, we can take a tab, no worries—van Amsberg, right?”

“Right.”

“Your table is right over there. Just give me a wave if I can get you anything else.”

“I will.”

“S
O
,
YOU
’
RE
a student?” George asked.

Alex nodded. “Yep. I’m doing my master’s, actually. In architecture.”

“Oh,” George said, trying to sound like he didn’t know this already. From his
not stalking
. “That’s interesting.”

“I think so.”

“Do you study the theory? Or do you want to do architectural design?”

“Both,” Alex said, and took a sip of his cocktail. “I love theory, and I love history. I’ve been fortunate enough to travel a fair bit. I love cityscapes—looking at how different people have come together to create iconic skylines.”

“I don’t know that much about it.”

“You know more than you think,” Alex said lightly. “I could show you a silhouette right now of London, or Paris, or New York, or San Francisco, or Seattle, or Sydney, or Rome, and you’d likely be able to name them. Because of their iconic buildings.”

“And that’s what you want to do? Design iconic buildings?”

Alex laughed. “Sure. What architect doesn’t? My master’s thesis is about iconic skylines, but I expect when I start work, I’ll go into domestic architecture.”

“How come?”

“Because I like people,” Alex said. “I really love the idea of working with a family to create a home that they’ll pass down through the generations.”

“Alex?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How old are you?”

Alex grinned. “Twenty-three. You?”

George winced. “Almost twenty-nine. I feel like a cradle snatcher.”

“Don’t. I like that. Guys my own age are almost always mindless idiots. Tell me about your family?”

George laughed and shook his head. “You don’t wanna know about them.”

“I do!” Alex insisted. “I do.”

“Okay. Well, I’m one of eight kids—”

“Eight? Seriously?” Alex interjected.

“Yeah,” George laughed.

“Where are you”—Alex waved his hand around demonstratively—“in that lineup?”

“Second. I have an older brother, Maggie—”

“Wait, your brother is called Maggie?”

“Will you stop interrupting me?” George said, poking Alex in the shoulder.

“Sorry.”

“His name is Keith. But our last name is Maguire. Maggie Maguire? It’s a nickname.”

“Got it.” Alex slurped his cocktail loudly, then grinned.

“Okay, so I’m two years younger than Maggie. Then I have six sisters.” He took a deep breath. “Caroline, Emma, Charlotte, Megan, Luna, and Felicity. And my sister Emma, she has a baby. Lily-Rose.”

“That’s a lot of girls.”

“Yeah,” George laughed. “Caroline is six years younger than me. It was just me and Maggie for a while, then the rush of estrogen started.”

“Wow. I can’t imagine having seven brothers and sisters.”

George shrugged. He’d grown up in a big family, though having the one brother made all of the sisters bearable. They were both close to their dad too and his dad’s brother, who co-owned the garage where his dad and Maggie worked.

“Are you out to them?” Alex asked.

“To my mum and dad and Maggie, yeah. And my nan.”

“No one else?”

George shook his head. “Not right now. It’s not a massive secret, you know? I just… I don’t want to be the ‘gay brother’ or the ‘gay uncle’ or ‘Paul’s gay son.’ I need to figure it all out for myself first. I only told them a year ago.”

“Really? Wow.”

“I only figured it out for myself about six months before that.”

Alex’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You only knew you were gay a year and a half ago?”

“Yeah,” George said again, feeling defensive. “Not all of us figure it out when we’re ten, you know.”

“I know,” Alex said. “I’m sorry. It’s just… everyone I know came out when they were teenagers. It seems mad to me that you could be in your midtwenties before you know about your sexuality. Were your folks okay?”

“Pretty much. My dad asked me if I was sure about a hundred times. He wasn’t upset or mad or anything. It just took him a while to get his head around it all. Which makes sense, I suppose. He’d known me as straight for almost twenty-five years before I corrected his assumptions.”

“Did you go out with girls?”

“Yeah. I went out with Laura Churchman for about five years, from when I was sixteen until I left uni.”

“Wow.”

“And I know what you want to ask,” George said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes, I had sex with her. Not that often, though. She said she didn’t like it, that it hurt too much, so sometimes she gave me a blow job or whatever. We just didn’t, you know.” He sipped his cocktail again, liking it more than he wanted to admit. “How about you?”

“When did I come out? Or when did I know I was gay?”

“Both.”

“Well, I went to an all-boys private boarding school. And then I went to another all-boys private school.” He shrugged. “I never really worked out women, what to do with them, what the appeal was supposed to be. And I know it’s a cliché and all, but there’s a lot of show-and-tell that goes on at boarding school. I always thought, what’s the fuss about with girls, when you could have one of those studs?” He laughed and stretched, clearly comfortable in his surroundings. “I had crushes on older boys for years before I even knew what ‘gay’ meant. You never had that?”

“No, not at all. My parents never put any pressure on me to behave a certain way. I suppose they watched me grow up and interpreted from my behavior that I was straight.”

“Let me guess,” Alex said, leaning forward so his forearms were resting on his knees. “You liked sports. Video games, riding your bike, messing around with boys your age. Being dirty, being loud, doing okay in school but never exceling because you’d prefer to be outside. You had strong male role models who showed you what it meant to ‘be a man.’ You’d drink beer, get into fights, stumble home and apologize to your mother.”

George frowned. “Okay, but I also liked to be with my mum. I would help her out with my sisters—I could change nappies from when I was about fourteen. I helped her out with making dinner and stuff, and I loved reading, and adventures, and playing with my sisters too.”

Alex cocked his head to the side. “Aren’t you the little enigma?”

“Not really. I’m just a person, Alex. Not a caricature.”

“Point taken.”

“Can I ask you why you live here, rather than in the Netherlands?”

“Oh, that’s a long story,” Alex said, sighing as he collapsed back into the comfort of the chair. He raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention, then circled his finger in the air for another round of drinks. George wanted to say something, to tell Alex to go and order his own fucking drink, but he stayed quiet. No need to be purposefully antagonistic.

“Same again, guys?” Danny said, coming over to pick up their empty glasses.

“Please,” George said.