International Relation(ship)s

Chapter 3

Clay got absolutely murdered when he got back. Figuratively of course - it wouldn't bode well for his mother's image if the nationally beloved First Son Of The United States died, especially if she wanted to be re-elected. Which she did. Very much so. Darryl was giving him a full and proper scolding whilst his mother sat next to him and watched, chipping in occasionally. Clay wasn't surprised that Darryl was far more annoyed than his mom, she was the sort of person to keep a cool head in every situation, and he was pretty certain she was more concerned about his injured hand than the whole fiasco, and she had a plan, so she simply didn't feel the need to be stressed. Darryl, on the other hand, was due a heart attack any day now. Having worked with their family for the past 3 years, every clumsy mistake or miswording that Clay had made, of which there were many, would send him into a spiral of stress, not stopping until the 'crisis' had been averted.

"I can't believe you did that, Clay. You know not to drink more than a glass at important events..."

Clay couldn't help but zone out. He was well aware of what he had done, he had already thought about all the possible ways it could affect his image, the Prince's image, the relationship between the UK and the US, newspapers, rumours... and he was off overthinking it all again. He knew that hearing it from another person wasn't going to make a difference to how he was planning on acting, what he was going to say, to do, he was sure he had it all sorted out until he actually focused on what Darryl was saying,

"... and so to stop anyone thinking that you two muffins have some sort of rivalry going on, you two are gonna meet up again and make it seem like you have been best friends for a long time, okay?"

"I'm sorry, what?!"

"Clay, please actually listen to Darryl, he isn't just talking for the sake of it." His mom chimed in, shifting her chair closer to take a figurative place in the conversation again.

He mumbled a quick apology to the pair of them before turning his focus back to the matter at hand: "I have to meet up with him and- and be friendly? After what he did?"

"I know you hate him but it takes two to have an argument Clay, and seeing as you were the one who was drunk, I'd be willing to bet that you started it."

Clay only groaned in response, burying his head in his hands, the backs of which lay flush against the table as the lecture continued.

Before he could even comprehend what had been happening between exams at university, bold news headlines and paparazzi bombardments he found himself back in the private jet, once again soaring across the Atlantic Ocean for slightly less favourable reasons this time.

"Remind me what I'm doing again?" Clay asked with a sigh as they disembarked the plane, his eyes adjusting to the monochrome that was cold, drizzly London.

"You're gonna pretend that you and George have been buddies for years and that it was some kinda little fallout, okay you muffin? Once you're both done with the appearances you can head back home tomorrow."

"Do I have to?" He whined like a little child, his eyes wide as he looked down at the shorter agent, who just gave him a sympathetic look. Unfortunately for Clay, puppy dog eyes don't exactly work on someone who's half a foot shorter than you, especially not when you're twenty-one and well built at that.

"Yes, you do! You did get yourself into this mess, Clay. Now go and grab your luggage and make sure you know everything about the Prince." Darryl instructed as they were met by what seemed to be the palace's equivalent of a 'Darryl' at the airport, before signing a foot-thick NDA and being shepherded into a car.

Clay had been forced to learn about George in order to effectively pull off the plan. It seemed obvious, but it was, in Clay's humble opinion, a pain in the ass. In order to maintain public relations, the decision-makers through their correspondence across the pond decided that the best way to minimise the damage caused by the "incident" at the wedding would be to tell the press that they had been best friends all along, and this was just some petty spat stemming from a long and happy friendship. So, he had spent the past 7 hours on the plane studying the long list of facts about the Prince he had been given, and presumably, he had been doing the same.