Loving Henry

Saturday, 12 March 2011.
Cape Royale Luxury Hotel.

I stood in a hallway tapping my Jimmy Choo shoes against the marble floor, while waiting for the elevator. I was already going to be late for lunch with my father and now the darn lift won’t hurry up.

I sighed and checked my watch. Finally, I heard the ding and the doors slid open.

Inside was a man, who held a newspaper in such a way that I couldn’t see his face. I stepped inside and pressed the ground floor button.

The lift started going down, with some classical song playing. I wasn’t in the mood. I checked my watch again and sighed.

The next sound I heard was a string of groans and scraping sounds coming from the lift and then it lurched to a stop. The lights and music went off and the emergency lighting came on. The man beside me closed his newspaper and asked me what was going on.

With my back to him, I answered that I didn’t know. I was searching the panel of buttons for an emergency call button.

There wasn’t one. What the freck? I dug my phone out of my matching Jimmy Choo handbag and saw that there was also no reception. Great. I groaned and turned to the guy behind me to explain that we’d probably be stuck until someone noticed that the elevator wasn’t working.

He looked kind of familiar and he was peering at me intensely, looking for some reaction. Was he waiting for me to realize that I had something on my face?

“Is there a reason why you’re looking at me like that?” I asked.

He appeared taken aback. He held out his hand and introduced himself, “I’m Harry.”

I took his hand, “Gabrielli.” Well, this was weird. He was still staring at me waiting for me to react on his words, I guess. All he told me was his name and it doesn’t mean anything to me. I hope I wasn’t someone he’d met in a bar or something. That would be awkward.

Getting no satisfactory reaction from me, he turned back to his newspaper. What a strange guy. Still, he was attractive. A woman would have to be blind to not notice that fact. Not that attractiveness excuses weird behaviour. But, it didn’t hurt either.

I looked over at the article he was reading and saw that it was about the British royal family. There was a huge picture of Prince William, his bride to-be and his brother, Prince Harry-

For the love of all things holy! Please tell me that I’m not, right this second, stuck in an elevator with the Prince of Wales. No wonder he had been looking at me like that. He’d been waiting for me to recognize him. Well, I did now. Trying to appear calm, I turned away from him and just stared at the wall. I tried my best to give the impression of being nonchalant, while I was freaking out on the inside. I know that he’s just a person like everyone else, but this was still just a bit too far out of my comfort zone. I think I just need a minute or two to relax.

A half an hour went by and I thought that I might die from the pain emanating from my feet. I’d been so excited to wear my new high heels when I put them on this morning. Now, I was seriously regretting it. The hype of meeting a real life prince had long since faded as my annoyance at myself and discomfort grew. My legs were cramping something fierce and I’d happily hack off my own feet with an axe to get rid of the pain.

I was debating whether or not it would be ladylike to take off my shoes and sit on the floor. Harry… uh, Prince Harry, had finished his newspaper and was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

Maybe he wouldn’t even notice if I sat down. It will only be for five minutes. Possibly six. No more than ten.

Willing to risk it, I took my handbag down from my shoulder and put it on the floor next to me. Then I very slowly and quietly sank down, trying my best in the process to keep my skirt from riding up. Glad to finally be off my feet, I made the mistake of sighing very loudly.

Harry’s eyes snapped open and when he saw me sitting on the floor, he got a befuddled look on his face. I closed my eyes, wishing that the cable holding us would snap and we’d go plunging down the shaft. Hopefully I’d perish in the crash. Then I wouldn’t have to sit through this humiliation. At least I was off my feet.

I heard movement and when I opened my eyes, I saw the Prince sliding down the wall, planting his royal behind on the floor.

He saw me watching and gave a grin, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of sitting before. My legs were killing me.”

I smiled back, “I thought it would be better to sit down gracefully, instead of falling over.”

He laughed, “I know what you mean. I guess we’re going to be in here awhile.”

“It does look like it.” I looked at the floor and things fell silent between us.

A few minutes later he sighed heavily and I turned to look at him. He gave me a level gaze and said, “I knew you’d figure out who I am.”

“Honestly, I wish I’d remained ignorant.”

My answer surprised him, “Why do you say that?”

I blushed, if I didn’t know who he was, I would have been able to flirt with him.

Instead, I said, “I just don’t like feeling uncomfortable.”

‘Nice save, Li,’ I chided myself, silently. He probably thinks I’m an idiot.

“I understand. You’re afraid you might say the wrong thing and offend me,” he stated. I gave a nod and looked away. He didn’t say anything else.

Another hour of excruciating silence and intense boredom passed. I was so aware of him in this tiny space. I had to keep forcing myself to not stare at him. He was just so attractive and I couldn’t help myself.

There was something that I wanted to ask him, but it was stupid and personal and none of my business.

After a few more minutes, the question left my lips involuntarily and I cursed myself.

“Isn’t your real name, Henry?” He looked shocked that I’d spoken at all and then he started focusing on my question.

“Yes. It is. Why do you ask?”

“Because, people call you Harry.”

He appeared to be puzzled and then said, “I don’t understand.”

“I just don’t get why people would call you Harry when your name is Henry. I get that it’s a nickname, but it doesn’t make sense. When giving someone a nickname, it’s supposed to be a shortened version of your name or a type of endearment. For example, my name is Gabrielli, but my friends call me Li. That’s why I don’t understand why someone would call you Harry. It takes the same effort to say it for both names have the same amount of letters and syllables. And then why didn‘t anyone give your brother a shorter nickname? You don‘t see people calling him Willy or Bill.” I was rambling, wishing that I had the ability to punch myself in the face for speaking at all.

I was sure that I was insulting him and to top it off, he was staring at me, as if I had two heads. I don’t blame the guy.

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say that my mother felt that Henry was too serious a name for a boy. She probably didn’t want my name to weigh down my mood.” He continued to peer at me and all I said in return was “oh.”

Fantastic, now I’ve insulted his dead mother.

The silence reigned after that. Today was just not my day.