Red, White & Royal Blue(96)

“It’s his personal line.”

Alex stares at her. “You have his personal line and you haven’t used it until now?”

“Shaan,” Zahra snaps. “Listen up, you fuck. We are in the air right now. FSOTUS is with me. ETA six hours. You will have a car waiting. We will meet the queen and whoever the fuck else we have to meet to hash this shit out, or so help me God I will personally make your balls into fucking earrings. I will scorched-earth your entire motherfucking life.” She pauses, presumably to listen to him agree because Alex can’t imagine him doing anything else. “Now, put Henry on the phone, and do not try to tell me he’s not there, because I know you haven’t let him out of your sight.”

And she shoves her phone at Alex’s face.

He takes it uncertainly and lifts it to his ear. There’s rustling, a confused noise.

“Hello?”

It’s Henry’s voice, sweet and posh and shaky and confused, and relief knocks the wind out of him.

“Sweetheart.”

He hears Henry’s exhale over the line. “Hi, love. Are you okay?”

He laughs wetly, amazed. “Fuck, are you kidding me? I’m fine, I’m fine, are you okay?”

“I’m … managing.”

Alex winces. “How bad is it?”

“Philip broke a vase that belonged to Anne Boleyn, Gran ordered a communications lockdown, and Mum hasn’t spoken to anyone,” Henry tells him. “But, er, other than that. All things considered. It’s, er.”

“I know,” Alex says. “I’ll be there soon.”

There’s another pause, Henry’s breath shaky over the receiver. “I’m not sorry,” he says. “That people know.”

Alex feels his heart climb up into his throat.

“Henry,” he attempts, “I…”

“Maybe—”

“I talked to my mom—”

“I know the timing isn’t ideal—”

“Would you—”

“I want—”

“Hang on,” Alex says. “Are we. Um. Are we both asking the same thing?”

“That depends. Were you going to ask me if I want to tell the truth?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, and he thinks his knuckles must be white around the phone. “Yeah, I was.”

“Then, yes.”

A breath, barely. “You want that?”

Henry takes a moment to respond, but his voice is level. “I don’t know if I would have chosen it yet, but it’s out there now, and … I won’t lie. Not about this. Not about you.”

Alex’s eyelashes are wet.

“I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Just hold on until I get there; we’re gonna figure this out.”

“I will.”

“I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.”

Henry exhales a wet, broken laugh. “Please, do hurry.”

They hang up, and he passes the phone back to Zahra, who takes it wordlessly and tucks it back into her bag.

“Thank you, Zahra, I—”

She holds up one hand, eyes closed. “Don’t.”

“Seriously, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Look, I’m only going to say this once, and if you ever repeat it, I’ll have you kneecapped.” She drops her hand, fixing him with a glare that manages to be both chilly and fond. “I’m rooting for you, okay?”

“Wait. Zahra. Oh my God. I just realized. You’re … my friend.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Zahra, you’re my mean friend.”

“Am not.” She yanks a blanket from her pile of belongings, turning her back to Alex and wrapping it around her. “Don’t speak to me for the next six hours. I deserve a fucking nap.”

“Wait, wait, okay, wait,” Alex says. “I have one question.”

She sighs heavily. “What?”

“Why’d you wait to use Shaan’s personal number?”

“Because he’s my fiancé, asshole, but some of us understand the meaning of discretion, so you wouldn’t know about it,” she tells him without even so much as looking at him, curled up against the window of the plane. “We agreed we’d never use our personal numbers for work contact. Now shut up and let me get some sleep before we have to deal with the rest of this. I’m running on nothing but black coffee, a Wetzel’s Pretzel, and a fistful of B12. Do not even breathe in my direction.”



* * *



It’s not Henry but Bea who answers when Alex knocks on the closed door of the music room on the second floor of Kensington.

“I told you to stay away—” Bea is saying as soon as the door is open, brandishing a guitar over her shoulder. She drops it as soon as she sees him. “Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Philip.” She scoops him up with her free hand into a surprisingly bone-crushing hug. “Thank God you’re here, I was about to come get you myself.”

When she releases him, he’s finally able to see Henry behind her, slumped on the settee with a bottle of brandy. He smiles at Alex, weakly, and says, “Bit short for a stormtrooper.”