I’m not sure who in the room looked the most surprised. Terry swiveled and stood, his hands on his hips. His head bounced from Nick to Bea, whom he clearly felt more comfortable confronting, because he directed his complaint to her: “With all due respect, I was told we’d have twenty minutes and it’s been a fraction of that.”

“We’ve had a scheduling change,” Bea improvised, crossing the room, then taking Terry’s arm and guiding him toward the room’s exit on the opposite side. She waved the cameraman and the sound guy out the door after him. “You’ve certainly got enough at this point. We’ll have your gear packed up in a flash, and naturally we’ll supply you with a lengthy exclusive statement from the prince that can give a fullness to your piece…”

The door closed behind them. Across the room, I saw Daphne pull a pack of tissues from her purse and head toward Freddie. But she didn’t get there first. It was Nick who reached his brother, Nick who put a hand on his shoulder, Nick who pulled a ragged Freddie to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. Freddie’s head collapsed on Nick’s shoulder, and he let out a wrenching sob.

My heart seized.

“Come on,” I whispered, gesturing for everyone else to hit the door. “Leave them be.”

Daphne cast the brothers one more look, then nodded and squeezed past me. Richard lingered at the door, watching.

“You could stay, sir,” I said delicately. “You have a place there, too.”

Richard thought for a moment and then looked down at me. “No. I don’t think I do,” he said. “This moment is for them. Let them have it.”

He turned on his heel and left. My hand on the knob, I glanced back at Freddie and Nick. They hadn’t moved. Freddie wept freely, coming undone in his brother’s embrace; Nick stood firm and solid, rubbing his back, the bright light of the still-burning TV spotlight seeming to keep the darkness around them at bay.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Bex!” Cilla called to me across the living room. “Nick is hogging the baby!”

“I am not,” Nick whisper-yelled from the sofa, where a dark-haired infant was sleeping on his chest. “But he cries if anyone else tries to hold him. It’s not my fault that I’m his favorite.”

Next to him on the sofa, Lacey yawned expansively as Cilla began handing out teacups: to me, to Bea, to Olly, and to Lacey, who wrinkled her nose but accepted it.