Page 17 of Wear It Like a Crown

“I think he needs therapy,” Joshua said quietly. “Johnson, I mean.”

“You’re fucking shitting us.” Tristan sounded both exasperated and thoroughly unsurprised. “Fucker betrayed you.”

“Not to mention violated the non-disclosure agreement I’m certain he signed.” Leo got up from the chair and stepped closer to Joshua, studying him. “This is your call, though. So what will it be?”

Joshua held Leo’s gaze for a moment before he sighed and slumped further into Tristan’s side, dipping his head down. The gentle light softened the contours of his face, evening out the sharp line of his jaw. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “I guess I can’t have him work with me anymore, not after… this. And I can’t have him work with anyone else either. What if he does the same thing to them? And I could have prevented it?”

“Not your responsibility.” Mo’s tone suggested it was a well-rehashed line of argumentation, but even so, Leo couldn’t help but comment.

“I beg to differ. Joshua should factor in how his decision might affect others, so yes, I’d say responsibility does play a role.”

If looks could kill, Leo would wither under Mo’s glare. Fortunately, he was no fragile flower, so he stood his ground and met the disapproval radiating from Mo by raising his chin. He was right, damn it. And sure, yes, he could appreciate that Joshua had indeed had a bit of a shit day, was probably in need of another holiday already, but now was no time to coddle him. As Joshua’s fuckbuddy, Mo was understandably biased.

Mo is my friend, first and foremost. We also happen to get each other off sometimes.

Christ, what did Leo even care? He shouldn’t. He didn’t. It was all a fragment of his past.

“Is there,”—Joshua’s words were as hesitant as the steps of a night wanderer—“a way to get his license revoked? Like, there’s a bodyguard association, right? Just—for now, that’s the most important thing to me, I think. Is that all right?”

“Course it’s all right,” Tristan was quick to assure him. He followed it up with a subtle, loaded glance at Leo. Either way, it was none of Leo’s business. He really needed to shut his trap; it bordered on a miracle James was even letting him anywhere nearJoshua after the disaster that had been their first meeting this very morning.

Well, their first meeting as far as Joshuawas aware. There was also that one time they’d been on opposing teams in the Eton Wall Game. Even now, Leo felt a little queasy just at the memory—the tight press of Prince Joshua’s body, shoved close together in the thick of the scrummage, and then Leo’s horrifying realisation that he’d popped a boner.The experience had marked the beginning of a downward spiral. Maybe, if it hadn’t been for that day, if it hadn’t been forJoshua…

Anyway. Revoking licenses.

“That’s definitely something we can do,” Leo said.

“We’ll get it sorted,” Nate promised, suddenly present again. Sometimes, Leo envied him for his ability to fade into the background. Leo himself only ever came on too strong.

“Thank you.” Joshua inhaled and lifted his head to look first at Nate, then at Leo. “Seriously, thank you all so very much. I owe you.”

Leo refused to be charmed. “I am partial to diamonds and holiday trips to Jamaica,” he declared—and promptly wanted to punch himself in the face. To his surprise, Joshua’s lips tugged up into a smile. While small, it was the most genuine one he’d shown all day.

Leo smiled back without thought.

Joshua tripped over his words of gratitude and shook everyone’s hand twice before he left with Mo and Tristan. Leo turned away before the lift doors had fully closed behind them.

So. That had been the late and incomplete fulfilment of a teenage fantasy. All right, then.

Half an hour later, Johnson was informed that his Close Protection License had been revoked. Leo watched the guy’s face crumble and didn’t feel so much as a hint of pity. Gambling problem or not he had got off lightly, and Leo rather hoped Joshua wouldn’t leave it at this.

When Leo hinted that further retribution was yet to come, Johnson blanched. As soon as he was allowed to leave, he scurried off like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Good riddance.

* * *

In the end, they didn’t get drunk. Just stumbled into Mo’s bedroom and talked about absolutely nothing of relevance, long gaps between sentences, everything quiet and slow. It was exactly what Joshua needed.

And yet, when first Mo and then Tristan drifted off to sleep, Joshua’s brain was still going fifty miles a minute.

The problem—the problem that wasn’t really a problemas such—was that Mo and Tristan would always and irrevocably be on his side. They would pick what was good forhim, personally, and might fail to see the bigger picture because of it.

Rolling onto his back, Joshua listened to Mo’s deep, even breathing to his left and Tristan’s quietly snuffling snores to his right. Distant brightness of a London city night filtered in through the curtains, light particles that sparked like glitter in Mo’s dark bedroom. Joshua’s limbs felt heavy, as though weighed down by countless miniature anchors.

He trusted Tristan and Mo, trusted them beyond question. He just didn’t trust them to be impartial in their advice.

The memory of Leo’s voice flitted through Joshua’s mind, foggy and bright like sunlight shining through milky glass. For all that Leo had been openly critical of Joshua, he’d also taken him seriously and had addressed him as a rational, sensible person. Leo hadn’t shied away from attributing responsibility, yet he hadn’t tried to dictate Joshua’s decision. He’d emphasised that it was Joshua’s call, just like he had earlier in the day, when they’d talked in the toilets and Leo had tried to wheedle a little time out of Joshua. Which had turned out to be the right decision.