How to Date a Prince, page 5
“Please.” I look at the group of men. “Call me Auggie. I look forward to meeting each of you.”
In the enduring silence that follows, Colin turns to me as the gathered men start to disperse. “Let me show you to your rooms, and you can settle in—away from the film crews. Thanks, Jimmy,” he tells the closest cameraman, who finally puts the camera down.
Before we go, one of the men catches my eye and comes over with a friendly smile. Despite my nerves, I’m more than happy to see someone not eyeing me with suspicion, and I respond with an equally welcoming smile.
“Prince Auggie. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Jax.” The young man smiles merrily up at me. “My pronouns are he/they. Welcome to the show. They weren’t joking when they had an epic surprise guest joining us.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jax.” It’s thrilling to meet someone who is open about their gender identity. I can’t help but be a little envious.
“And don’t mind Wilson. He’s simply cross by nature.”
“Noted. Thanks.” Whoever Wilson might be, I appreciate the fair warning. “Please excuse me. I don’t want to keep Colin waiting.”
“No problem. See you at the first challenge tomorrow.”
Colin takes me and Alyse up the sweeping staircase to the next level. While I look around the room, she stands at the door. She goes to Colin, and they speak quietly so as not to disturb me.
My guard hasn’t come down one iota. Guard-lowering only leads to trouble, as recent club events have proven.
I glance at Colin when he steps in. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”
“My pleasure. Also, I should apologize for the filming. I didn’t want to tell you so we could capture a genuinely authentic reaction from everyone.” Another flash of teeth follows. “Dinner is at 6:00 p.m., which is, unsurprisingly, in the dining hall. Or you can have a meal sent up to your room, your preference. Though I do encourage you to meet the others. Filming begins tomorrow morning with the first event. We’ll start off nice and easy, as they say.”
A sinking feeling comes over me as Colin watches me too closely.
I don’t know what I expected. Of course filming starts tomorrow. I didn’t think about what the experience would actually involve. Obviously, cameras. Lights. And permanent recordings, most of all, broadcast to a national audience of viewers.
“May I ask what we’ll be filming?”
“Oh, my sincere apologies, Prince Augustus. I can’t tell you that quite yet, I’m afraid. It ruins the element of surprise in a reality show if you know too much. I do hope you understand. But the filming will be within the building, at least to start the day. Tomorrow’s dress code is smart casual. My advice off the record is to wear comfortable shoes. We will all assemble at 10:00 a.m. at the entry, and I’ll provide an orientation to Renaissance Man and the day’s schedule then. What I can promise, Your Royal Highness, is a tremendous amount of fun.”
Fun isn’t quite the word I would use.
I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob.
“Oh, but there’s one more thing I can say about tomorrow. I’m delighted to tell you our final guest, Thomas Golden, will join us then,” Colin says triumphantly.
Chapter Seven
It’s a sleepless night in an unfamiliar bed. The room feels more February than June and vaguely damp, but at least the duvet is cozy. As ever in these kinds of places, beautiful but not airtight, there’s a draught. Even with the warm bed, it doesn’t keep me from tossing and turning, and there are no midnight drives or pottery wheels at hand for distraction. Shivering as I push back the fluffy duvet, with reluctance, I slip out of bed.
After going back and forth with myself, I ended up having dinner last night sent up to my room. But now, for breakfast, I must make the decision again: public or private. Because my performance begins the moment I walk out the door of my suite. At least Alyse has provided assurances that there will be no filming within my room.
Breakfast performances are familiar territory from both the palace and mealtimes with my father, where we both ignore my lackadaisical eating habits, something that started in the torment of boarding school. Everything was out of my control, except what I ate—or didn’t, as a protest vote. At Eton, I often felt the odd man out. Too famous to fit in, somebody once told me. “Own it,” Gav advised me then, his go-to advice. Easier said than done.
After a shower and a shave, I dress, following Colin’s advice for smart casual. I choose grey jeans and a light blue cashmere-blend jumper that I know works well with my eyes. I slip into my Adidas trainers for comfort. The branding’s distinctive, but I can’t imagine they’ll be filming my feet. Otherwise, this would be a lot more like OnlyFans, and that’s definitely not what I signed up for.
Black is forbidden, according to Lauren, who vigorously read the instructions. No wild patterns, no branded logos.
Breathe, Auggie.
At last, I open the door and head downstairs for breakfast to prove to myself—and the others—I can do this. Mercifully, there are no cameras in sight. Nick has replaced Alyse, my usual two bodyguards, trading off on shifts. He’s a distant shadow.
As I near the breakfast room, voices echo out into the hall. The air smells of baking and fry-ups. Laughter rings out. Dishes clatter. Another deep breath, and I enter the room as nonchalantly as I can, as if royals pop around for breakfast all the time.
Everything goes quiet. People peer at me, a room full of watching eyes, cast and crew alike. There’re at least a couple of dozen people in the breakfast room. I do my best to smile, but it probably comes out more like a grimace. Doing my best to ignore them, I head over to the buffet, collecting a tray.
People start to talk amongst themselves again. I make a beeline for the tea before finding fruit and eggs, beans and toast. I’m given a wide berth. Whether that is because Nick is giving them a steely eye or because I’m persona non grata here, I can’t say.
I turn to find a table where I can eat out of the way and nearly bump into a human wall. Apparently, Nick’s protective influence ripples only so far, but then again, I suppose he’s showing some restraint on security takedowns for the sake of filming. Everyone here’s been vetted, after all.
“Sorry,” I say out of instinct and training.
The person continues to stand in place like a barrier, blocking my path. Not any person—it’s Thomas Golden. He lifts an eyebrow. Thomas Golden looks even more glorious in the daylight, with a sweep of dark hair and a built physique still visible under his tailored shirt. He narrows his eyes at me.
The disaster night that helped land me here comes flooding back in all its awkward glory.
And unfortunately, he looks terribly hot when he’s irritated.
“Hello, Dave.” His gaze is unyielding. I’d sure give a lot right now for even a fraction of yield.
Shit. So, he does recognize me. I shiver, meeting his eyes.
His jaw’s set.
“It’s Auggie. And I’m terribly sorry.” I try again, in case it takes this time. I give him a tentative smile, lifting my eyebrows in the way that would always guarantee me a grin from Gav. Followed usually by some smart remark about me being a wanker, and we would happily trade insults. Those were the old days, anyway.
“Apology not accepted.”
It’s my turn to frown back. “I said I’m very sorry.”
“Not good enough.” His tone is crisp.
“Not good enough?”
“You were beyond rude, and I’m not accepting your apology at this time.” His gaze is ice, riveted as though he bores holes through me with the intensity of his glare.
“Well.” I consider him. “You’re entitled to your opinion. And I was beyond rude, yes. Please see previous apology.”
“Let’s talk about who’s entitled. Is that the sort of manners they teach you at prince school?”
“I regret to inform you that you’re also coming from a life of privilege.” I gaze at him meaningfully. “And now, here we are. And prince school, I’m afraid, is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Stalemate.
There are murmurs from the men at a nearby table, who listen in. Other conversations carry on in the background. Cutlery scrapes on plates, people laugh, and the yellow breakfast room is filled with sunlight. Except, that is, for our personal storm cloud with room for two.
Thomas Golden shakes his head and brushes past me to the tea and coffee station. I lower my head slightly and slink to an empty table by the back corner near an exit, both to be out of the way and to have an escape route, if needed.
My face gets hot, and my guts twist. I deserved that. I then hold myself tall, knowing people are watching and listening in.
Right, then. Five minutes into breakfast, and I’ve made my first enemy of the day.
With everyone keeping their distance, I draw out my phone and look Thomas Golden up again, my exile granting me privacy. For the moment, I ignore my breakfast offerings except for the tea, which is the most important part of any meal.
The internet confirms Thomas Golden is the heir to the Golden Hotels empire. There are photos of him looking rugged at times and at others sleekly entrepreneurial, suited at business presentations or in outdoor gear when scaling mountains. Thomas Golden summits Mount Kilimanjaro, reads a caption beneath a lofty peak. Because of course he scales fucking mountains.
I can’t even go to Hyde Park for a walk alone. It has to be said Thomas Golden’s spectacular in a parka and aviators. These days, I more often use my premium outdoor gear for aesthetic photo shoots in the city, given my schedule of public engagements and the Royal Family’s Communications team campaign for me as a Cool Young RoyalTM, where I need to keep my outdoor gear spotless. So, instead, I end up using vintage utilitarian items when out at Balmoral, left behind by generations of royals who also loved a moment of peace.
Then again, fifty years ago, things were different. We would release family portraits at Christmas and a few occasions throughout the year or for key events. Now, everyone’s online all the time, and the tabloids are digital as well as print. Plus, everyone has a camera on their phone, with plenty of people looking for some quick way to make some money if I do something silly. Like what happened with Katie. My guts twist. I miss my best friend. I would give anything to talk to her right now.
Meanwhile, on my phone, Thomas Golden’s taking selfies with his father in alpine settings with shocking blue skies and rugged peaks in the background. It’s enough to make anyone swoon just a little.
With my head down, I scroll and take reluctant bites. I can’t walk away from a tray of food because people will notice.
Thomas Golden’s based out of New York. This is a British show, so I have no idea what he’s doing here. In terms of branding, I get why having a prince on would be a major coup, but not an American businessman. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s a path into some awkward cross-cultural misunderstandings for ratings.
“Hi.”
Startled, my head snaps up from my involved study of Thomas Golden. I instantly lock my screen and put my phone face down on the table. Jax stands there, giving me the same friendly grin as yesterday.
I relax, telling my fight-or-flight instinct to take off without me. “Hi. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Auggie. Mind if I join you?” Jax offers. He’s wearing a lavender shirt with the sleeves rolled up like he’s all ready for business and jeans. He lifts his mug of tea in greeting.
“Of course. Please.” My manners make an appearance, and I gesture at the chair beside me. Jax hasn’t either actively despised me or given me a wide berth so far. Maybe Jax is being strategic. He must be.
“What do you think of all this so far?” Jax gives an expansive gesture, encompassing the room and presumably the estate. And the show.
“I’ve never had an experience quite like it.” It’s an honest answer, if a bit obvious.
Jax laughs and nods. “Me either. I think Wilson’s the only one who’s done a reality TV show before. And Travis is a serious influencer. And of course, Thomas too.”
Of course Thomas Golden. I push my eggs around my plate with my fork, as if I move it around enough, it will eventually evaporate.
“Right.”
“And you’re our only royal.” Jax grins. It’s easy to feel more relaxed around him, at least. And curiosity gets the better of me. “Which kind of makes you an influencer too.”
I splutter on my tea, and Jax laughs again.
“Sorry,” he says. “But the monarch really is the OG influencer. I mean, think of all the patronage and everything else at court.”
I can’t help but laugh at that too. “Well, maybe. Fewer camera crews in medieval times.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Anyway, you’re always welcome to join at my table.” Jax gives a nonchalant shrug. “If you want.”
“Thanks.” I smile easily at Jax, happy to have an ally. Having at least an acquaintance on the show will hopefully let me give Thomas Golden a wide berth.
Together, we finish our tea as Colin manifests theatrically at the doorway, with the film and production crew starting to make motions of getting things moving today.
“Good morning, my Renaissance gentleman,” he calls out. “Let’s have the cast assemble in the entry, please, and we can begin the day’s affairs—which means our first challenge. How exciting!”
We dutifully assemble.
Thomas Golden is at the opposite end of the gathering from me. I stand at one end on my own, hands deep in my pockets. He stands with the confidence that he owns the place. I take a breath and stand straight too, channeling my official engagement sort of energy, not to be outdone. I fix my attention on Colin. The lingering scent of the fry-up breakfast leaves me queasy.
Colin claps his hands together. “Good morning to you all. And to Thomas, who joined us very early today. We’re pleased to have you here, Mr. Golden. Thank you for rearranging your schedule.”
I didn’t get any thanks for clearing my schedule, but never mind that. Then again, my father enthusiastically cleared my schedule for me. Clearly, they’re shaping Thomas up to be the prime star on the program. And to be fair, he has star quality written all over him.
Thomas Golden runs a hand through his dark hair and gives a disarming smile worthy of Hollywood. “My pleasure, of course. It’s an honor to participate.”
In the meantime, I’m getting icy looks from a couple of the contestants who stand by Thomas Golden, murmuring to each other while the rest of us wait for Colin to get on with things. I smile at them, and they look away quickly. Another strikeout.
“Today is an auspicious day, as we begin our first day of filming. We typically film four days a week on this show so as not to have overly long days as per the agreement. No sixteen-hour days here.” He chuckles. “You’ll make your dinner reservations if you have them in London. And of course, we have catering around the clock and the grounds for you to explore on summer evenings. There are also amenities in the nearby villages and hillwalking if you fancy an escape for a couple of hours. But never mind all of that.” Colin waves his hands like he’s bewitching us. “On to today’s challenge.”
I draw a deep, calming breath. Whatever it is, I can face it.
“Drumroll, please… Week one’s challenge is Culinary Skills.” He gestures back at the kitchen. I suppress a groan. Of course, more food. “The crew is setting up stations as we speak. As you know from the information pack, the culinary arts are important to every modern man to function in today’s world. And so, we will begin with baking.”
Beside me, Thomas Golden grins. I swear he’s wriggling with the opportunity to show his prowess around the kitchen as he does with challenging alpine ascents.
Any hope from my self-guided pep talk has evaporated. I’ve never baked in my life. I’m doomed. Using a delivery app would be most unsporting. I glance at Jax, a furrow between his brows.
“To make this challenge personal to each of you, we want you to take a couple of hours this morning to look up family recipes or find a recipe online or in one of our cookbooks that reminds you of home and where you come from. We look to this as our opportunity to introduce all of you and your background. Do keep in mind that although we have a broad range of ingredients at hand, more exotic items may not be available. As a side note, we will also be pulling you into interviews as part of the challenges, as well as for the introductory segment you will each have during the program in the first few weeks.”
My therapist would tell me to hold off on the catastrophizing, but any efforts I’ve made towards life skills usually still involve a chef or occasionally delivery. A glance around reveals a room full of outwardly stoic men and a round of nods.
“As well, presentation matters. We also want each of you to set up a breakfast table for four in the ballroom. We have ample linens, flowers, and accessories for you to choose from, with your baking the centerpiece.”
I have a chance at aesthetics. How much different can decorating a table and place setting be from pulling together the right look? I’ve read House and Home, plus I’ve spent a lifetime in stately homes. Presentation is up my alley.
In the background, the crew prepares equipment for filming.
“The cookbooks are in the breakfast room, should you like to use those. And I’m sure you all may have your own devices, but we have tablets available if you wish to use one to help prepare or during the challenge. I can’t wait to find out what home tastes like to you.” Colin beams triumphantly at us. “We will reassemble at 1:00 p.m. for filming the challenge, though the crew may film your preparations. Please don’t hide out in your rooms for too long because we don’t want to miss valuable footage of your process.”
It’s generous to think I have a process.
I’ll have to fake one.
And with that, the men disperse in different directions. Some head to their rooms, others to the reception room with its sofas to browse, presumably on their phones. No one heads to the breakfast room.
Thomas Golden strides off, purposeful as he scrolls on his phone with one hand.
