Red, White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Page 0,113
real or imagined. He cares that they know, in his own private words, what’s pumping out of his heart.
And Henry. God, Henry. Those emails—those letters—were the one place Henry could say what he was really thinking. There’s nothing that wasn’t laid out in there: Henry being gay, Bea going to rehab, the queen tacitly keeping Henry in the closet. Alex hasn’t been a good Catholic in a long time, but he knows confession is a sacrament. They were supposed to stay safe.
Fuck.
He can’t sit still. He tosses Prisoner of Azkaban aside after four pages. He encounters a think piece on his own relationship on Twitter and has to shut down the whole app. He paces up and down the aisle of the jet, kicking at the bottoms of the seats.
“Can you please sit down?” Zahra says after twenty minutes of watching him twitch around the cabin. “You’re giving my ulcer an ulcer.”
“Are you sure they’re gonna let us in when we get there?” Alex asks her. “Like, what if they don’t? What if they, like, call the Royal Guard on us and have us arrested? Can they do that? Amy could probably fight them. Will she get arrested if she tries to fight them?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Zahra groans, and she pulls out her phone and starts dialing.
“Who are you calling?”
She sighs, holding the phone up to her ear as it rings. “Srivastava.”
“What makes you think he’ll answer?”
“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