I was standing too. We were equal. He was destined to become the king of England, and I was a nice Jewish boy from New Jersey; we both knew what we were supposed to be doing, but we were fighting it. When it came to emotional stability, neither of us had a prayer. Maybe in some way, everyone feels inadequate and broken and ashamed of being so needy. Even Callum had once confessed to me that he was letting the world down when he didn’t maintain his blonde highlights and facial scruff at what he’d classified as “peak stud.”

Edgar’s eyes. He was looking at me from across an ocean, across centuries of his family’s history, and his own romantic fumbles. I had to do something, not just to help him and show him how worthy he was of being loved, but to get both of us naked.

“Edgar . . .”

“Yes?”

“I heard everything you just said, and I get it. And we’re both incredibly fucked up. And there’s only one thing we can do about it.”

We lunged for each other and I couldn’t stop kissing this gorgeous man and ripping his clothes off and trying not to glance over his shoulder at Ruth Ginsburg and tell her, “He’s a prince, so he really doesn’t need a chest like that, but he’s fucking got one!”

CHAPTER 13

The sex was:

Wonderful and heartbreaking, because at first we were both trying way too hard to be good at it, and then we laughed and had a much better time not acting like reality show judges were holding up grades as if one of us could be eliminated before the next round.

Wonderful because Edgar was voracious and take-charge, and I decided that he was making up for lost time and proving that he wasn’t coasting on his title so I wouldn’t think, “Pretty good, for a crown prince.” Also, some of the most courteous and deferential people can get roaringly liberated in bed. Edgar was one of those people.

Wonderful because an English person talking dirty can be very hot, as if a Jane Austen character snarled, “You really like that, don’t you? Why don’t you beg me.”

Wonderful because for long stretches I forgot who he was and who I was, although I’ll admit I did tell myself, I’m having sex with the cover of People magazine! If I tried not to think about this I’d fall apart, so I reasoned that maybe Edgar was thinking, “I’m having sex with a commoner!”

Wonderful because there was a moment when we looked into each other’s eyes and got scared because we were starting to understand each other, physically and otherwise. Sex can be fun or boring or a million other things, but it can also be an introduction to something true about the other person. Something we were both being trusted with.