Red, White & Royal Blue

“Is it possible you willfully forgot about the biggest international event of the year because you don’t want to see your arch nemesis?”

“Is it possible you willfully forgot about the biggest international event of the year because you don’t want to see your arch nemesis?”

“Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.”

“O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

“First, you’ve been, like, Draco Malfoy–level obsessed with Henry for years—do not interrupt me—and since the royal wedding, you’ve gotten his phone number and used it not to set up any appearances but instead to long-distance flirt with him all day every day.”

As usual, the day guard at the Dirksen Building glares at him as he slides through security. She’s certain he was the one who vandalized the sign outside one particular senator’s office to read BITCH MCCONNELL, but she’ll never prove it.

As usual, the day guard at the Dirksen Building glares at him as he slides through security. She’s certain he was the one who vandalized the sign outside one particular senator’s office to read BITCH MCCONNELL, but she’ll never prove it.

"So, you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.”
“Have you met Henry?” Alex says. “How am I supposed to do that? He has the personality of a cabbage.”

"But he thinks about Henry, and, oh. He thinks about Henry, and something twists in his chest, like a stretch he’s been avoiding for too long."

“Alexander, babes,” Pez says when he picks up. “How lovely for you to give your auntie Pezza a ring on this magnificent Sunday morning.” He’s smiling from what looks like the passenger seat of a luxury car, wearing a cartoonishly large sunhat and a striped pashmina."

“Never tell me the odds."

Alex, the First Son, has one arch-nemesis: Prince Henry of England, the Crown’s golden boy. After their long-held feud escalates to a disaster at the Royal Wedding, the two are forced to fake a friendship in the spotlight to smooth international relations, and it’s going to be absolutely terrible. After all, Alex hates Henry! … doesn’t he?

Alex, the First Son, has one arch-nemesis: Prince Henry of England, the Crown’s golden boy. After their long-held feud escalates to a disaster at the Royal Wedding, the two are forced to fake a friendship in the spotlight to smooth international relations, and it’s going to be absolutely terrible. After all, Alex hates Henry! … doesn’t he?

“And you are good. Most things are awful most of the time, but you’re good.”

“The turkeys are not going to Jurassic Park you. You’re not the bloke from Seinfeld. You’re Jeff Goldblum.”

“You have so much in you, it’s almost impossible to match it. But he’s your match, dumbass.”

It’s nothing like kissing anyone he’s ever kissed in his life. It feels as steady and huge as the ground under their feet, as encompassing as every part of him, as likely to knock the wind out of his lungs.

Whatever, fine. Henry is annoyingly attractive. That’s always been a thing, objectively. It’s fine.