Part 5


He walked into the embassy, shocking the guards and surprising his aides.

“Your Highness!” Claude exclaimed, swooping down the stairs, his dressing gown flowing behind him like a cape. “Where have you been? What happened? We’ve been so worried!” He eyes Joshua’s clothing. “How could you neglect your duties…”

Joshua didn’t even pause, walking past the valet and ascending the stairs.

Trying to follow, Claude stopped and turned so quickly, he lost a slipper on a stair. Other aides had joined Claude following Joshua. “Your Highness!” Claude repeated, his voice rising. “I think you owe me, us, an explanation!” he demanded.

Joshua stopped short, again causing Claude to lose his balance and displace the other slipper. “No, I don’t,” Joshua said simply.

Claude’s eyes again traveled up and down Joshua, taking in the old clothes, the worn hat. ‘I beg to differ, Your Highness,” Claude said with a sniff. “You obviously did not care what was happening here, how it looked. Why, we had to lie for you!” His eyes continued up to Joshua’s face. “I expect to hear exactly what…” Claude’s voice trailed off at the look in Joshua’s eyes. The valet’s face dipped. “My apologies, Your Highness,” he said with a slight bow. “I overstepped my bounds.”

“Yes, you did,” Joshua agreed, continuing up the stairs. Claude and the other advisors followed after him.

Joshua paused at the doors to his bedroom, turning to face the assembled men. “Gentlemen,” he said. “While I am appreciative of your concern and assistance while I was gone, I will neither apologize nor explain my absence.” He looked at each man in turn, ending with Claude. “Rest assured, I know what my duties and obligations are. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” He opened the doors, stepping a bit inside, then turning again to the men in the hall. “I will meet the Rome press tomorrow at 11 am. Until then, I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Claude shooed the men away. “You heard Prince Joshua,” he said, “Go on, we’ll meet in the morning.” Claude turned back to join Joshua in his room, only to be faced with a closed and locked door.

***

Justin paused with his hand on the door. This was not going to be fun, he thought. He wished it didn’t have to be this way, wished it could have been different, wished so many things. His mind flew back to this morning.

It hadn’t even been light out, but something had woken Justin up. He had moved back, trying to find Joshua, trying to recapture the warmth he now realized was missing from the bed. His eyes had opened and he’d watched as Joshua got dressed, the moonlight streaming into the room illuminating his face. Justin had ached to say something, but knew it was better for Joshua that he didn’t. Justin quickly closed his eyes as Joshua came toward the bed. He felt a soft touch on his brow, an even softer kiss on his lips.

Then he was alone.

And now, now he stood at his editor’s door, dreading telling George there would be no story. At least, not a story he could, or would, share.

The door opened, surprising Justin. “Timberlake!” George exclaimed, patting Justin on the back and escorting him into the office. “How’s the prince? Where’s my story?”

“Uh, well,” Justin ran a hand around his neck, hoping to alleviate the tension there. “George, a funny thing about that story,” he started.

“Funny, how?” George interrupted. “Funny, as in what the prince did, I hope.”

Justin swallowed. “Actually, no. Funny as in, there is no story,” he confessed.

George looked at him. “Yeah, that’s funny,” he said, not cracking a smile. “Give it over, Timberlake,” George demanded.

“Honestly, George,” Justin said. “There is no story.”

“But…the picture…”

“Yeah, well. Forget the picture.”

George shook his head. “So, you’re telling me that the biggest story of your career, of my career, the story of the century, the one you promised was on the level and even showed me a picture to prove it, turns out not to actually be a story?” Justin nodded. George slammed his fist on the desk, making Justin jump. “I knew it!” he said, slamming his desk again. “I knew you were too much of a fuck-up to be on the level.”

“That’s not fair,” Justin protested, only to be cut off by George’s continued tirade.

“Goddamn know-it-all reporters,” he grumbled. “Think they’re too good for regular assignments, then fuck up when a story drops in their laps.” He reached into a pile of papers on his desk. “Here,” he said, handing a card to Justin. “Go cover this.”

Justin looked at the assignment, shaking his head. “No, I can’t.”

The editor glared at Justin. “Oh, yes you can,” he said, leaning on his desk, his face inches from Justin’s. “If you don’t, I will tell every news agency in Rome you’re completely untrustworthy. That your contacts and sources are liars, and that all your stories are false.” He tapped the card in Justin’s hand. “You will do this, and any other assignment I give you, do you understand?”

He would do it, Justin realized. George would, and could, make Justin’s name mud in the press community. “Alright,” Justin said, walking to the door.

“Oh, and Timberlake?” George said. “This time, try not to lose the guy.”

***

Joshua stood near the reception room doors, allowing Claude to adjust his suit, straighten his sash. There had been very little said between prince and valet this morning. Claude had set out Joshua’s naval uniform for the press conference; Joshua had shaken his head, selecting a simple suit instead. Claude had then attempted to attach various medals to Joshua’s suit, only to again be stalled by Joshua’s refusal. His only adornment was the sash crossing his chest that represented his country’s flag. He was a symbol of his country as well, and felt this was all he was really entitled to wear.

Another aide came through the door. “They’re ready for you, Your Highness,” he said.

“Thank you, Andre,” Joshua said. He smiled as Claude adjusted his sash one last time. Joshua reached up and covered the valet’s hand with his own. “Thank you, Claude,” he said softly.

Claude tipped his head a bit. “My pleasure, Your Highness,” he said simply. Claude nodded to the guards by the doors, and they opened. Claude walked into the reception room. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the press. It is with extreme pleasure and honor to present to you, Prince Joshua.” He bowed as Joshua passed him to enter the room. Joshua moved to the center, blinded by the flash bulbs going off, but smiling for the photographers. He looked down the line of the reporters, nodding to each one, until…

No.

It couldn’t be.

Joshua blinked against the flashing lights. It was.

Justin. About half way down. A press pass pinned to his suit jacket. There was a roaring in his ears as he realized Claude was speaking to him. “Your Highness, the receiving line,” Claude whispered. Joshua nodded, walking to the end of the press line.

“Thomas Kincaid,” a man said, holding out his hand. “Toronto Star.”

Joshua shook hands with him. “Thank you for coming,” he said absently. He moved to the next in line.

“Margaret Simpson,” a woman said. “Life Magazine.”

Joshua shook her hand. “You did a marvelous spread on my country, Miss Simpson,” he said automatically. “It was wonderful press for us.”

Margaret Simpson blushed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

On it went until finally, Joshua stood in front of Justin. “Justin Timberlake,” he said as their eyes and hands locked. “International Herald-Tribune.”

“A paper of some repute,” Joshua said, hoping Justin would get his meaning.

“Indeed,” Justin agreed. “All news, no gossip. Nothing ever tantalizing in the Trib.”

Joshua released his breath. “Yes, I agree,” he said, reluctantly letting go of Justin’s hand.

“Your Highness,” Justin said as Joshua started to move along. “I wonder if I may be so bold as to present you with a few…mementos of Rome, to help you remember your time here.” Justin reached into his pocket, withdrawing a white envelope. He held it out, his eyes skimming to look at Claude so close to Joshua’s side.

Joshua understood. “Claude, could you make sure there is water on the dais for me?” he asked the valet. Claude disappeared. Justin handed the envelope to Joshua.

His fingers were shaking as they pulled out the photographs. How on earth? Joshua wondered, then realized. Joey. Joshua looked at the photos, smiling at the scenes. He and Justin at the Trevi Fountain. He and Justin in St. Peter’s Square, surrounded by pigeons. He and Justin, riding a scooter.

He and Justin kissing in the hall of the café.

Joshua quickly slipped the photos back into the envelope, then placed it into his breast pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Timberlake,” he said quietly. “I will treasure these mementos of Rome always.” With that, Joshua moved on down the line, meeting the rest of the press.

When finished, Joshua stepped up on the small dais and stood behind the lectern. Claude was once again at his side. “Prince Joshua will now take questions from the press,” he said.

All of the reports raised their hands. Well, Joshua amended. All but Justin. Joshua could see Justin making his way to stand behind the assembled reporters. “Mr. Tompkins,” Joshua said, indicating a writer from the New York Times.

“Thank you. Sir, how are the trade negations with the Italian government coming?” Tompkins asked.

“Very well,” Joshua replied, watching as Justin moved farther away from him and closer to the exit door. “I believe we’ll have an agreement worked out within the month.” He pointed to Margaret Simpson.

“Your Highness, how are you feeling?” she asked.

Joshua smiled, expecting this one. “I’m feeling fine, Miss Simpson, thank you for asking.” He pointed to another man.

“Your Highness, can you tell us: What has been your favorite stop on your European Tour?”

Justin was at the door, hand ready to turn the knob, but stopped at the question.

“Every city is unique and enjoyable," Joshua said. "I find it impossible to judge one against another. And it wouldn’t be prudent to chose…” Joshua paused. He looked at Justin, their eyes locking across the room. “Rome,” he said simply. “My favorite city is Rome.”

Both men smiled.

Justin opened the door and disappeared into the bright Roman sunshine.



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