His Royal Secret

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Authors: Lilah Pace
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Thailand, which hung in his bedroom, and those could be packed away at a moment’s notice. As glossy as this apartment was, as well as it suited his purpose, when Ben walked into it he knew he wasn’t coming home. For him there was no such place.
    And no matter how far off the margins Ben went, no matter how much he relished his wildness, no matter how many good times he’d had, sometimes a man wanted to come home.
    Ben kicked the door shut behind him, unpacked with his usual efficiency, and went for the hair-of-the-dog solution in a more reasonable manner, namely a single shot of vodka followed by nothing more than a cup of tea and some contemplation on his small, one-chair balcony.
    He didn’t like this about himself, this occasional yearning for something he could never have. Ben had last felt at home as a child; that sense of belonging had died with his parents. To some extent he knew he honed the edges of his solitude so that their absence would remain sharp for him. He had been disabused of the notion that life was fair, and happiness enduring, while he was still very young.
    Better to live without illusions, he felt, but he missed the comfort only illusion could provide.
    Warner was the only one who had ever made him wonder whether he could live his life differently. When they’d met in Berlin, Ben had been a rangy kid eager to experiment with his sexuality and just cocky enough to think he could handle a man in his thirties. Warner had been in his life for five months—which, to a sixteen-year-old, seemed like a very long time. During that time Ben had learned everything his body could do for another man, learned a lot about what another man could do for him, and discovered that he couldn’t handle Warner, at all. Back then, though, he hadn’t known why. He’d just cried himself sick when his lover took off one day, sending only a single short e-mail as a casual good-bye.
    Almost a decade later, during Ben’s vagabond stage, he’d found Warner again, in Thailand this time. Ben had told him he was a shit for taking off like that. Warner had laughed and said Ben had become even prettier now that he was grown. Within two hours Ben had been back in his bed. In the fever of the moment he’d told himself this was his fate—aware it cut both ways, even then—and that he’d be a fool to try and fight it. He felt tied. Committed. Bound, in ways bad and good.
    To be loved was to be owned: That was the bargain. Ben knew he could never bring himself to make that bargain again. But Warner had gotten to him early, so the usual rules didn’t apply.
    So many things about that temporary madness appalled Ben in retrospect, but the worst was that it had led him, almost accidentally, to the best decision he’d ever made.
    Ben was eager to stay in Bangkok and remain by Warner’s side. That meant some kind of work if he could get it. A friend of a friend worked at an English-language newspaper and was willing to give Ben a try on the business beat. To their mutual astonishment, Ben had turned out to both like the work and be good at it. The education he’d cast aside as so much jetsam floated back to him, now informed by a broader experience of the world. Before long, some of his stories were being picked up by wire services.
    Success couldn’t have come at a better time, because—once again, after five months—his relationship with Warner fell apart. Ben now saw that Warner’s “mysterious” behavior was deliberately opaque, part of the endless mind games he liked to play. Warner wanted the power in their relationship; he demanded it. Despite the hold Warner had over him, this time Ben had been strong enough not to surrender.
    Once again he’d been abandoned. This time, though, the loss hadn’t stung so much. Mostly Ben was angry he hadn’t been the one to leave first.
    He’d thrown himself into his work and reaped the rewards. He’d joined Global in their Bangkok bureau, then been transferred to Melbourne,

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