“In all seriousness, though, ever since I was in the nursery, I knew I would be king, just like my father was. Of course, I didn’t comprehend what that truly meant until I was a bit older. But I have had very few choices in my life because I’m going to be king. The first path was supposed to be university, but I was getting so wild and unsettled, my father agreed to let me go into the military first. I think deep down, my parents were terrified I’d totally go off the rails at uni, so they capitulated to military service. So, I got my first career choice. What branch in the royal military would I like to serve in? British Army, Royal Air Force, Royal Marines, or Royal Navy?”
I sit very still as I listen, and my heart fills with sadness as I realise how little of his own life he has control over.
And how blessed I am to be in mine, where I do.
“I chose the army,” he continues, “and I loved it. Granted, I still found time to philander, of course.” He pauses and gives me a side-eye, which makes me smile. “But obviously, my time in clubs was limited thanks to the structure of military service. I was supposed to serve my minimum and go onto university, but I loved it so much, I stayed in it. It was my own world, one that was very distant from how I grew up. I had to do things for myself. As a captain, I was making choices. I could have stayed much longer, actually.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, as I know he retired a few months ago. “I would think you’d want to hold onto that normality for as long as you could.”
“Because I have to prepare to be king,” he says softly.
A silence falls between us. A heavy one, as the reality of his life has come in and settled around us like a dense fog.
“My path is very narrow,” Xander says, breaking the quiet. “Now is when I have to pick up more official duties. I’m getting more assignments passed down from my father. I have to do my university courses in history. And I have to figure out some way to put my own stamp on things, or I’ll go mad otherwise. But I’ve done some damage to myself, you know, with my past. People don’t take me seriously like they do Christian. I know a lot of people would like to see the monarchy gone, but there’s another faction who think the crown should pass straight from my father to Christian instead of me. Perhaps they are right.”
He pauses and rubs his hand over his face. My chest draws tight, and it feels as if ice has been wedged there. Xander has torn off another layer for me, revealing a vulnerable man with the weight of history on his shoulders that he never asked for. That very few people in the world can even fathom or understand.
When he removes his hand, I see sadness and weariness in his eyes, a complete opposite of the sparkling, mischievous look that is snapped in pictures of him with women. Or the seriousness I have seen when he’s shaking hands at a royal event.
This is raw.
And from his heart.
I instinctively put my hand over his, just like he did to me earlier. Xander glances down at my delicate hand over his, and I give his hand a hard squeeze.
“You have to show people the man you are becoming,” I say with conviction. “The man I’m sitting with here is not the same man who was with India a few months ago. Or the man who was in the British Army. And you certainly aren’t the same man snapped in Mayfair with a parade of women and cocktails. This depth in you didn’t appear overnight, Xander. It’s always been there, waiting to be explored. Tapped into. The man who chose smiley faces for his profile pic has a sensitivity that will serve him well in helping the people of the UK. And that’s only one thing. I can’t imagine how many other layers I will see the more I get to know you.”
As I speak, I watch his handsome face shift from one of sadness and weariness to disbelief.
“How do you even see that in me?” he whispers, his voice thick.
My heart pounds against my ribs. “Because I can see you,” I whisper back.