“Yes,” I told Queen Catherine. “I love Edgar, but I haven’t told him, not yet, so please respect that. He’s a wonderful man, and I came here to see if I can make him happy, which I probably can’t. But I am sure fucking going to try.”

I’d just said “fucking” to Queen Catherine. What was I thinking? Had I broken some ultimate taboo? But I wanted her to understand that I’d meant what I said. And there was something about the queen, something feral and watchful and shrewd; she’d heard the word “fucking” before. She’d used it. We weren’t on equal footing, but we’d both made our positions clear. Game on.

“We shall fucking see,” said Queen Catherine.

CHAPTER 18

Edgar had a full schedule of meetings the next morning, but by noon we were in a car on our way to Wembley Stadium, just outside the city.

“Are you keen on rugby?”

In these politically forward, stereotype-busting times, I should reply that, as a proud queer man, I’m as capable of following sports as anyone else. Except I hate them. All of them. I don’t like having anything thrown to or at me, or running around a field chasing a small object, or a slightly larger object, or staking my self-esteem on defeating another team or individual in the course of a bewildering competition that causes head injuries. And of course I think that certain athletes are combustibly hot, especially when as naked as possible, but like opera and ballet, I feel sports should exist only as still photography.

I don’t hate sports because I’m not man enough or because I never played catch with my dad or because I’ve never given them a chance. I hate sports because I’m sane and have taste and know that going to the gym is about being able to wear a T-shirt to brunch afterward. Of course I’ll aggressively cheer for a victorious female soccer team led by lesbians and honored with a ticker tape parade. But that’s as far as I go.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a rugby game.”

“Match. A rugby match.”

“Or that either.”

“But you’re sure you’ll hate it.”

“I’m sure that I’ll like anything as long as I’m sitting next to you.”

We both burst out laughing.

“I was fairly certain you’d be resistant, and I actually adore rugby, but I’m scheming, because I adore you as well, and I want England to share that. But just right now, due to an incident in Manhattan involving a photograph of two fellows in bed, which I’ve entirely forgotten, England is somewhat divided. On the subject of you.”