Page 70 of Prince of the Palisades

EXCLUSIVE: “Still the Best of Friends”

Thousands of miles away from home, a prince and his ex have reunited. A royal insider tellsPeople, “His Royal Highness and Mr. [Léon] Barnard have remained the closest of friends” following their breakup and the very publicized video of Jadon badmouthing his country’s prime minister, who happens to be Léon’s father.

In exclusive photos, Jadon and Léon are seen at an LA Dodgers game (where the prince threw the first pitch!), laughing and mingling with VIPs. Later, they were snapped sharing a private lunch. Léon captioned a cute pic of the two: “LA with this one!”

Our insider insists, “They’ve been close for years. At the end of the day, they’re very supportive of each other.”

Holidays are sparse in Réverie. We celebrate New Year’s with the rest of the world. Réverian Independence Day is in early August. Every year, the country commemorates the currentmonarch’s birthday. Varied religious holidays are observed in different regions of the island too, vibrant, colorful festivals that wash over the streets for days.

But nothing compares to how the Hayes family does special occasions.

The Hopper is closed for the evening. All the lights are off, save for the track of bulbs over the bar. Situated on the café’s tables and front counter are boxes labeled in heavy black Sharpie—Decorations! Not Dominic’s Toys!

Tonight’s mission: stringing Halloween lights.

“Orange ones next.”

Reiss is balanced on a questionably safe folding stepladder. For an hour, he’s been affixing countless bulbs to higher and higher surfaces. It’s a wobbly dance that he seems comfortable doing while I gasp, swear under my breath, and try to slow my anxious heart down.

Somehow, I’ve been coerced—tricked—into being his assistant.

“Orange ones,” he calls again.

I snort while rifling through a box. “Bossy.”

“Is this,” he says as I pass him the bulbs, “the most work you’ve ever done?”

“No,” I huff.

From high above, he smiles incredulously.

I almost knock him off the ladder myself. “I work hard.”

“Putting on a suit and tie,” he says while clipping the lights, “then smiling for a bunch of cameras isn’t hard work.”

“You’ve obviously never been to a state banquet. Or a charitable ball.”

“Nope.”

On the counter, classic ’90s music plays from his phone’s speaker. I detangle a new string of lights. I’m faster than I was when I first arrived, but now I’m distracted.

Reiss has never been to a banquet. Or something like the Sunset Ball. Should I ask him? Whatever’s happening between us is still new, nameless. The speech was supposed to be a last resort, but we’re edging closer to November, and even with Léon around, the headlines aren’t changing quick enough.

Do I want the Sunset Ball to be our goodbye?

“See,” Reiss says, grinning crookedly. “You’re not about that hard-work life.”

“Just hang the lights,” I say with no heat, offering him the new strand. Our fingers brush. He hums as he works, and my eyes linger on his ass in a pair of heather-gray joggers a second longer than I mean them to.

We haven’t had much alone time recently. Between play rehearsals and his short film project—and Léon—these moments are rare. I’m starting to recognize the tightness in my chest when hours go by without even a text.

I miss him.

In the beginning, I never expected to meet a boy. To care about him this way. But here I am, smiling when he says, “Next box.” Happily unraveling decorations for a holiday I never gave any thought to before.

I ask, “Why is this such a big thing for your family?”

Outside the lights, the other boxes are stuffed with decorations his parents plan to put up tomorrow.

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