Page 90 of Wear It Like a Crown

James accepted a new client on Tuesday, a politician claiming he’d been wrongly accused of corruption, and Leo threw himself into it. On Wednesday he got home when Chile were already two goals ahead of Spain, and watched the second half of the match in a blank haze before he headed off to bed and fell into an exhausted slumber.

He crawled out from under the covers on Thursday feeling as though he’d caught the flu, weak and disoriented. By eight, he was back at the office.

James sent him off on an errand late in the afternoon and expressly forbade him to return to work afterwards. That was fine, though; the England match was scheduled for eight that night, and Leo had already agreed to meet Nate at a no-frills pub near Nate’s flat in time for kick-off.

As it turned out, Leo was some thirty minutes early. Claiming a seat at the bar, he ordered chips and a pint, then turned to face the large screen that had been put up on the wall, the usual pre-match commentary washing over the heads of the growing crowd.Our lads need to win this one or they can start packing, pressure is on.Leo listened with only half a mind.

He snapped to attention at the mention of Joshua’s name.

Some of the lead-up remarks had escaped him, but it soon became clear the presenters were summarising the controversy around Joshua planning to attend the third match of the group stage. Some conservatives—stupid arseholedicks—argued that his sexuality no longer made him an appropriate representative of the English public. “Now, we could take a position here,” Gary Lineker said, leaning towards the camera. “But why not let His Royal Highness speak for himself?”

And then Joshua’s face filled the screen.

Leo felt his blood run cold. Fingers clenching around his glass, he soaked in the sight—that nervous hair flip Joshua did, his lips a little chapped, bitten red. A flickering smile. The screen offset all colours and tinged the green of Joshua’s eyes with blue.

When Joshua spoke, his slow, deep voice resonated in Leo’s stomach. “I think that many people conveniently forget that this country is diverse. I mean…” Joshua paused to tilt his head. “There are white atheists and black protestants, you know. There are some who are born to a title and money and others who are born to parents who just lost their job; there are some who are gay and some who are straight and some who are neither.” Smile widening, he seemed to be gaining momentum with each word. “There are blue eyes and brown eyes and green eyes, and we’re all a part of this country. You don’t have to fit the norm to belong. Which is why”—his gaze found the camera, clear and direct—“I consider myself a perfectly adequate representative of this beautiful and diverse nation. Thank you.”

The video ended, and Leo sucked in a sharp breath. He’d held onto the countertop at some point, realised only now that his grip was white-knuckled and slowly eased it, set his glass down carefully.

“Gotta hand it to the kid,” some bloke remarked. “He’s got balls.”

Leo glanced over his shoulder to identify the speaker as a balding guy in his late forties, unbuttoned plaid shirt over a dirty white top. He’d addressed a bloke about his age, similar attire, and the second bloke scoffed. “Well. Certainly got practice handling balls, if you know what I mean.”

“Can’t say I give a fuck what the Prince does in his spare time. Orwho.” The original speaker raised his beer in a toast. “Only thing I care about is us sticking it to Uruguay. Sticking itgood.”

“Hear, hear,” the second one said, and Leo turned away. His heart felt too full for his chest, ready to burst, so many words on the very tip of his tongue. He wanted to butt in and tell those blokes just how lovely Joshua was, how clever and genuine;can’t blame me for falling head over heels.Instead, Leo tugged out his phone and called up a message.

So in love with you.

His finger hovered over the send button.

Then he exhaled around all those words lodged in his throat and erased his text, letter by letter. He replaced it with

I’m so so proud of you.

He erased that too and switched off his phone. Taking a big gulp of his beer, he waited for Nate to join him.

England lost to Uruguay. Their chances of making it past the group stage were close to none.

Leo hardly even cared.

People had scattered quickly after the match. When Leo and Nate stepped out onto the street they found it dark and deserted, quiet once the pub door shut behind them. Leo shivered in the cool breeze, and Nate shifted closer. After a moment’s consideration, Leo slung an arm around his waist and burrowed into his side.

“Hey,” Nate said. Even though his voice was low, it carried in the silent night. “You wanna kip at mine? Saves you from having to share the tube with all the people getting back drunk from the game.”

God, yes—a chance for Leo to avoid his flat that somehow, after four days, still carried traces of Joshua’s cologne. He could go straight to work tomorrow, change into the set of fresh clothes he kept at the office.

“That’d be great,” he told Nate. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

Together they set off for Nate’s flat. For all that it wasn’t particularly late, just past ten, the city was remarkably quiet around them, like in the aftermath of a catastrophe. Leo supposed that things looked different in the usual centres of activity, where tourists came and went at all hours and rowdy groups were likely drinking away the disappointment of the match. But here, now, it was easy to imagine that the world had slowed down for a little while, maybe just long enough that he could catch his breath.

They’d been walking in companionable silence for a couple of minutes when Nate spoke again. “Just so you know, mate… Joshua’s leaving tomorrow with Mo and Tristan. Promised Mo I’d see him off at the airport, and I thought—the neighbour’s lending me her car. I thought maybe you’d like another chance to talk to Joshua. You could drive us both?”

Leo’s ridiculous heart skipped a beat. He kept his voice steady. “She’s lending you her car? Do you even have a license?”

“I just don’t like driving.” Nate sounded uncomfortable. “It’s nothing like… Not like a trauma or anything, but it kind of reminds me of stuff, so I avoid it if I can.”