Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“That’s…that’s so not the point, I…” Brendan massaged his temples. “When were you going to tell me you were royalty?”
“Minor royalty! So minor we aren’t even printed on most maps!”
“Also not the point,” Brendan bit off.
“It wasn’t relevant,” Cillian said sullenly, and Brendan turned on him, flaring.
“…how does my dick in your ass not make it relevant?”
A silent, tautly thoughtful Mr. Anderson immediately stuffed his knuckles into his ears. “Can’t hear this.”
Cillian stared at Brendan. “I don’t get why you’re so angry about this!”
Brendan paced two restless steps, then spun back on his heel, glowering at Cillian with all those thunderstorms of his hurricane personality out in full force in his eyes.
“You just volunteered your home. Your home, who you really are, and access to your family to that piece of shit.” Brendan flung his arm toward the closed dressing room door as if pointing right at Newcomb. “Why?” he demanded. “What do you feel like you owe him, Cillian?”
“I…” God, this had all gone to hell in a handbasket so fast. Cillian rolled forward, burying his face in his hands, just…trying to breathe. “He thought we said something,” he groaned into his palms. “I had to prove we didn’t. And I don’t want the film to be cancelled. I don’t. If it is all the good things will be gone, the time I spent with Sophie, and with you, and getting to figure out Richard, and people like Candace and the set designers and camera crew will lose their jobs and—and—and—” He took a gulping breath; why was he shaking? “…and I panicked and I wish I hadn’t done that, but I can’t take it back now.”
“Hey.” The harshness in Brendan’s voice gentled—and then his warmth sank down on the sofa next to Cillian. He slipped an arm around Cillian’s shoulders, coaxing him in, closer. “Here. Come here. I’m not angry with you. I just hate the situation.”
…yeah. Me too.
When Cillian curled against him, huddling as if he could hide, Brendan rested his chin to Cillian’s hair and smoothed a hand up his back.
“We’ll make the best of it,” he murmured. “Prince Cillian.”
“…call me that again and you’re celibate for the next few months of shooting, too.”
Mr. Anderson threw his hands up with a disgusted noise. “And that’s me out of here. I can’t even stand looking at you two. Reminds me I’m single, bitter, and not getting any younger.”
“Or prettier,” Brendan added flatly.
Cillian flicked his arm and offered Mr. Anderson a wan smile. “Be nice. Mr. Anderson is very pretty.”
“Leaving,” Mr. Anderson said, with one last hard, incredulous look at Cillian before he turned and just stalked out, muttering the entire way. “Now there’s two of them, fuck them both, he’s not even my fucking client…”
After the door slammed behind Mr. Anderson, silence remained; Cillian didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to know if Brendan was somehow looking at him differently after this; as if all the little things Brendan had said he liked about Cillian Tell would change now that there was and always had been a Prince in front of that.
What was there to like?
He’s just doing you a favor.
Why does this matter to him at all?
Instinctively Cillian held tighter, fisting his hands in the back of Brendan’s shirt, burying himself in Brendan’s warmth, the circle of his embrace. Something that wasn’t real was still the most comfort he had right now, and he held on to Brendan as if, if he just gripped hard enough, he could stop this moment from changing.
In response, Brendan settled a hand between Cillian’s shoulder blades, gathering him in closer. “So that’s what you meant,” Brendan said thoughtfully. “Your parents intend to pass down some level of responsibility to you, even if you’re not the eldest. That’s why you can’t stay.”
“…yeah,” Cillian admitted softly, and it shouldn’t sting. It shouldn’t. He pressed his face into Brendan’s shoulder. “My parents aren’t…they’re not bad people. I promise they’re not. This is just the way things have always been done, and they don’t like me breaking that.”
“Breaking tradition is what the next generation always does, to form their own new traditions. It’s not a thing to be afraid of,” Brendan mused. “Do you really want to be a prince?”
“No.” Cillian’s smile felt like a bleak and empty thing. “I didn’t even get the full prince experience. I was really just an ordinary guy, with the only difference being that everyone at home recognized me on sight, and I may or may not be a little developmentally stunted considering Maxwell wouldn’t let me tie my shoes for myself until I was twenty-one.”
“Those dangerous shoelaces; not to be handled by minors.” Brendan gave him a gentle jostling shake. “Ordinary guys don’t typically grow up in castles.”
“…okay. You’ve got me there.”
“What kind of royalty are we talking about? Parades, red carpet, or…?”