"You don't want to have the taste of how good it is when you know you will never be able to have it." It was only meant to be a one night thing, but when the country goes into lockdown, Louis Tomlinson finds himself stuck in windsor castle, in company of his royal fucking highness, Harry, the prince of England.

"I hate you." He looked at me for a long moment. Then, almost sadly, he smiled. "No." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You don't." Something inside me faltered. "You don't know that." "I think I do." "No, you don't." "I don't think you hate me at all." The sentence landed with terrifying precision. Because I couldn't answer it. Instead, I looked away. Toward the sea, toward the horizon. Anywhere but him. The silence stretched between us. I could hear my own heartbeat. "You don't know anything," I muttered. "I know enough." "You don't." He stepped closer. Not enough to corner me. Just enough that I could hear his breathing over the wind. "I know you haven't looked at me the way you look at people you hate."