Page 36 of Taking the Heat

‘Okay. I didn’t think you were.’

‘You’d be the only one.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Back in England, there’s been rumours flying in the media that I’m, well, homosexual. Very hurtful stuff, really, and all because I don’t flaunt my sex life using the paparazzi, the way the others do!’

‘Wait, what others—’

‘And my parents believed the news stories! I get photographed hugging one good friend from Eton, once, and all of a sudden, I’m on the front page of theTimeswith a rainbow behind my head!’

‘TheTimes?’

He was on a roll, speaking as though I wasn’t even in the room. ‘I’m not gay, I’m just not an overtly sexual person. So, I signed up here to show the world I am straight. Then my family will have to accept my word. And my dad will be proud again.’ Unshed tears welled in his eyes, which burned hot and fervid.

I was so lost. ‘Henry, sorry, can you back up a second? Why would the British media care about your sexual preferences?’

He looked at me and sighed. ‘Because … I’m in line for the English throne.’

***

Transcript of Tara M’s video diary: Day 5

(Producer, off camera:Tara, can we pick up from yesterday please? You just found out Henry is English royalty?)

There isn’t much more to tell. I told him I believed him about being straight and that I hoped his plan worked, then he left.

(Does it change the way you feel about him?)

Not really. Should it? I don’t know. I’ve never followed the royals the way some people do—my Aunty Joy has everyWoman’s Dayever with Lady Diana on the cover, which is a lot. So if he didn’t tell me, I would have no idea who he is. Besides, Henry didn’t choose his heritage.

Plus, he’s only seventh in line for the throne. It’s not like the other six are going anywhere, anyway.

(He’s an earl.)

Is that what the Downton Abbey guy is? Whatever. No, I don’t care about his royalty. I care about him.

(What kind of care?)

I’m not sure. I like Henry. I know other people find him weird and awkward, but there’s something so goofy and endearing about him. He’s like a labrador—a big, brown-eyed, slightly dopey puppy dog.

Anyway. Today …

At breakfast, I loaded a plate and sat next to Clara. ‘Hey, how are you doing?’

‘Just fucking great.’ She was toying with a grapefruit half, covered in Splenda. ‘Date day. Bring it the fuck on.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ I hoed into a croissant, trying to stay positive. ‘Who do you hope it is?’

‘I know who I hope it’s fucking not.’

Her eyes narrowed as Toshi appeared behind her and said, ‘Clara, can I just …’

She stood up, spun and hurled her grapefruit straight at his head. It hit him on the nose and pink pith flew everywhere.

Clara sat back down as if nothing had happened and answered me calmly. ‘As I was saying, I fucking hope it’s someone who isn’t a total cheating fucking pig.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ I said, meeting Toshi’s tragic black eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again and I shook my head at him. His shoulders wilted and he walked away. The drama between him and Clara—that’s not a wound that’s going to heal quickly. Pushing her when she’s that angry was only going to end in violence. And a lot of ‘fucks’.

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