In Another Life

“I don’t know,” Jeanette announces, pushing a tortilla chip loaded with salsa into her mouth. “I’m more partial to the peach colored dress.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a ball or anything,” Amanda replies, shooting our friend a scathing look. “She can’t traipse about in a full-length gown, she’ll be the only one there dressed like that.”

“Don’t I get any say in what dress I pick?” I ask, my lips twitching in amusement.

Amanda slaps my bare shoulder and forces me to straighten out my head once again. “No, you do not. We are here to make sure you look absolutely perfect—”

“Are you saying that my dress sense before wasn’t absolutely perfect?” I question, arching my eyebrows up at her in the mirror.

She flushes appropriately at this and then shakes her head. “No, you know what I meant. We’re just trying to help. Your eyebrows have gone down considerably,” She muses thoughtfully, squinting at my face. “No more swelling, which is an awesome sign.”

“I told you not to wax them,” Raina pipes up from where she’s made herself a throne of cushions at the head of my bed. She has a magazine in her lap and a bowl of crisps resting next to her. “It takes two to three days for the swelling to go completely down.”

“Nonsense,” Amanda waves her words away flippantly. “They’re just a tiny bit red and you won’t even be able to tell after I’m through with you. Now, keep your head straight and don’t say anything. I have a curler in my hair and I can burn you,” She brandishes the hot styling tool in my face before she goes to work on my hair.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jeanette snorts from where she’s rooting through my jewelry box. “Then you’ll have a burn mark on her and that’s not attractive. You should totally wear these,” She holds out a pair of chandelier earrings that my cousin bought me for Christmas one year that I have never worn because they’re far too heavy and I’m convinced they’ll tear out my ear lobes.

Amanda hums quietly to herself as she gathers up all of my hair and pulls it back into a tight ponytail. As she brushes everything into a sleek wave, she talks quietly to me.

“So have you given any thought to playing hard to get with Harry?” Her gaze flickers up and meets my own in the mirror before she returns to my hair.

I almost shake my head, but then remember at the last second about her threat with the curling iron, so I stay still. “I don’t know, Amanda. I’m not very good at playing games and I don’t see the point in them. I think I’ve done a pretty good job so far. I mean, Harry’s still talking to me and all I’ve done is just be myself.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” She asks as she begins to section out my hair. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you really like someone in all of the time that I’ve known you.”

“I do like him,” I say quietly, feeling the swell of butterflies stir alive in my gut. “I mean, I guess I do—as much as I can like him with only seeing him a few times,” My voice peters out and I try to sound as convincing as possible. “It’s just a silly crush anyway. There’s no way he’d be interested in a girl like me.”

“Oh right,” Amanda laughs under her breath. “Because he just invites random girls to be his escort to events,” She begins to pin my hair up with bobby pins, stuffing her extras into her mouth as a holding place.

“But doesn’t it seem a bit…well, insane? He’s a prince and I’m just me. It’s too—too—” I’m struggling for the right word, groping at incorrect adjectives and fumbling for coherency.

“Fairytale-esque?” Raina supplies helpfully from the bed.

When I nod in the mirror, Amanda smiles, her fingers making fast work of my hanging hair. She wields the curling iron at my reflection, a cheerful glimmer in her eyes. “You know what I think? I think our little Bryn is a mystery to His Royal Highness.”

“A mystery?” I repeat dubiously, the unladylike urge to snort welling up suddenly in my throat. “Hardly, I’m an open book essentially. You all know that.”

“No, she’s right,” Jeanette chimes in, perking up at the idea of being able to expand on their crack pot theories of princely romance. “I will bet everything that I have that you’re all shy and jumpy around him and he wants to know why. I mean, it’s not unfathomable—he’s probably used to girls throwing themselves at him and you’re a good change of pace.”

“But I’m not mysterious or anything. I’m just myself,” I start to shake my head, but Amanda stops me with a not-so-gentle jab to the neck. “So you’re all wrong.”

Jeanette’s getting excited now. She’s hoisting herself up so she’s sitting back on her heels and she’s bouncing up and down lightly on the bed as she speaks. “No! You’re totally a mystery to him and that’s why he keeps asking you to meet him places. I mean, no offense, you’re gorgeous too, so that’s a nice bonus, but he’s so intrigued by your-your—feminine wiles!”

At this, everyone in the room does burst out laughing. The notion that I possess any sort of flirtatious tricks is ludicrous. I couldn’t flirt with anyone even if I wanted to; I am absolutely hopeless in that department. Liv has told me time and time again that I flirt with anything with a pulse, but honestly? I don’t see it. I’m really only meaning to be nice and polite to people and I guess it gets misconstrued as flirting or something.

“At any rate,” Amanda sobers up and continues pinning my curls to my head evenly. “I still think that you’re mysterious and elusive for him, but you’re giving in too easily. You should send him sultry texts or-or pretend to be busy so he drives himself mad wanting to see you.”

“Should I bat my eyes for him, as well?” I quip dryly, knowing full well that this conversation could go round and round in circles for hours on end. “He’s not like that, guys. He really isn’t.”

“For as long as he’s been in the press, he has been shown as a flirt, as a playboy, as a trickster. You can’t possibly think that he’s not like that in real life,” Amanda reaches for the two rose pieces and pins them securely off-center at the base of my hair. “If he isn’t giving the media fuel for the fire, so to speak, than why does he do it?”

I’m quiet at this, but Jeanette latches on to this theory greedily. She embarks on a long-winded spiel about how I need to show him all the signs that I’m interested, that I want him to kiss me, and then when he goes to make his move, I should reject him and then smile coyly, like I had no idea what his intentions were.

With a tight smile, I stand up and head for the bathroom. Raina hands me the soft silky material of my dress and I smile gratefully at her. She watches me with a curious look on her face before I disappear behind the bathroom door.

As I undo the sash around my waist and let my robe fall to the floor, I can’t help but go over my friends’ suggestions. Maybe I would be better off making an attempt to flirt with Harry. Would he be more interested in me then? I’ve seen loads of his pictures in the rags after he’s been out partying all night and more often than not, he has some girl attached to him. Does he want me to act like that, too?

Almost immediately, I push this thought away. If he did want me to act like this, then he wouldn’t keep taking me places. And he’s never made any sort of hint that he doesn’t like the way I am, so why should I change myself when we both seem to be pretty happy?

God, I sound like we’re in a relationship or something. At the very, very least, Harry and I are just friends. Nothing more. It’s not even a friendship, to be honest. I mean, he knows a little bit about me and I know next to nothing about him, aside from common knowledge.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and study myself closely. I’m an attractive person and I haven’t ever had any problems in getting a boy’s attention before. And yes, my dating expertise has been very limited and my friends blame it on me being too picky, but I just have standards. I’m a great catch and anyone would be lucky to date me. So I shouldn’t change myself for anyone. Not even Harry. Not even a prince.

I exhale heavily and do up the zip on the side of my dress before I adjust the chest area and smooth the material down flat. My hair’s been swept back and curled to perfection before Amanda encircled it all with an adorable little crystal band that flashes and glitters in the light. And then, of course, she has the two roses added for a bit of the wow-factor. I’d done my makeup already and I’m quite pleased with my appearance tonight.

The dress is one borrowed from one of Amanda’s cousins or something. She hadn’t even worn it before now, so we had to snip the tags off, but it fits like a glove. It’s a little tight in the chest area, but it’s not unbearable. I can stand it for one evening.

I slip a pair of teardrop earrings on and then add my pièce de résistance: a thick, gorgeous onyx cuff that I’d found ages ago at an estate sale back home. I’ve never had anywhere to wear it before, but I’d found a pair of earrings that matched and it was like destiny.

I’m nervous as I open the door and step back out into my bedroom. The conversation dies abruptly and I look up to see all three of my friends gaping at me. I rub one bare foot across my leg awkwardly and then make an attempt to fold in on myself.

“Have I got something on my nose?” I ask, my voice going all high pitched and tinny. “Did I mess up my makeup?”

“No,” Raina rushes to assure me as she stands up from the bed and moves forward. “Jesus Bry, you look amazing. You look,” Here she pulls a weird face and then laughs. “You look really grown-up for some reason.”

“That’s a scary thought,” I murmur under my breath as I reach for the heels that I intended to wear tonight. I realize that my friends mean well, so I smile at them as I slip my feet into the straps. “So I look decent, yeah?”

“You look proper lovely,” Amanda claps her hands excitedly. “Oh god, it’s amazing. He’s going to have the hardest time paying attention to—well, to anything else really.”

My heart sinks. “That’s not the point though. I’m not there to serve as a distraction!” I turn to the mirror and pull at the clinging material fretfully. “Is it too much?”

“No!” Three voices answer me in unison and despite my nerves, I begin to laugh. Amanda’s bright face appears just over my shoulder and she smiles at me in the mirror. “You look so gorgeous, Bryn. Don’t even think about changing anything.”

“Oh!” Jeanette gets up quickly and rushes from the room, leaving my bedroom door open in her wake.

Raina and Amanda exchange concerned glances before Amanda sighs and starts to follow our friend. There have already been quite a few melodramatic outbursts in my apartment since I gained a new flat mate, but we’ve all been blaming them on hormones so far. That doesn’t make them any less fun though and quite frankly, it’s really unnerving to attempt to eat breakfast while a friend’s sobbing into her toast.

Jeanette bursts back into my room holding a large square box to her chest tightly. Her eyes are sparkling and she’s practically hovering off the floor in her excitement. “I said I would pay you back for letting me move in,” She begins as she pries off the stiff lid and starts to sift through the white tissue paper. It crinkles and crackles as she pushes the last layers away. “And this is how I’m going to begin.”

She lifts out a shimmery mass of black material before she carefully shakes out the creases. A gorgeous shawl unfolds and I can’t help but gasp when I take in the elaborate fringe and the intricate beading detail.

“This was my great-aunt’s shawl. She never had kids or anything, so she passed it on to my Gran, her sister, who then gave it to me.” Jeanette arranges the shawl about my shoulders artistically and then takes a step back. “I’ve never had a chance to wear it anywhere, but this seems like a special enough occasion to make its London debut.”

I turn around and look at my reflection in the mirror. “Oh my god, Jeanette, this is brilliant. Thank you so much.”

She smiles and nods, but doesn’t say anything because her eyes are starting to glisten again. Raina hugs her tightly from behind with one arm, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly with her free hand.

There’s a loud knock at my front door and my heart leaps up into my throat as I realize that it’s already five o’clock. That should be the car that Harry’s sent around to pick me up.

My hands are trembling as I pick up the lace clutch that I’d borrowed from Liv ages ago and never returned and I do my best to ignore my friends’ giddy laughter and exclamations.

“You look gorgeous, don’t change anything. Just be flirty and cute and make out with him loads,” Amanda hisses into my ear as I approach the front door. “And we all expect a full report tomorrow in staggering gory detail.”

I flash them all a weak smile before I undo the locks and open the front door. There’s a tall, thin man standing on my stoop in a crisp blue uniform. I’m a bit taken aback by his outfit, the gold trimmings and the stiff cap, so I nearly miss his first sentence.

“Miss Matthews?” He asks in an incredibly posh voice.

“Uh yes,” I nod, blinking a few times as I take in his bright white teeth. “Yes, I’m Miss Matthews.”

It feels a bit weird to be referring to myself as such. To be honest, the only time anyone’s ever called me Miss is Mum’s dodgy relatives from Wales that I rarely see, except during family reunions. And Ewythr Efa always says it with horrid breath and a creepy sneer.

“Are you all set then, ma’am?” He queries cheerfully.

I glance back at my friends and all of them are peeking out at the driver from underneath my arm or through the crack in-between the door and the doorframe. God, and Amanda is always going on about how immature Jeanette and I can be at times. At least I’m not the one spying through a slit in the door.

I nod, pulling the shawl a bit closer around me. “Yes, I am, thank you.”

He offers me his hand and I accept it gratefully as I step outside. I’m mindful of the ground, ever watchful for cracks and nicks that my heels could get caught in, as I walk towards the curb where the car is idling.

It’s a stunning automobile. I don’t know much about cars, but this one is beyond beautiful. It’s all sleek and shiny with dark tinted windows and an impressive sounding engine. The driver opens the back door and I’m amazed to see that it opens in the opposite direction.

Is this how they drive around in America? No, their steeling wheel is on the opposite side and they drive on the wrong side of the road. Everybody’s doors open in the same direction. I think.

He offers me his hand once again and I allow him to help me into the car. He waits patiently until I’m comfortably settled before he nods and shuts the door behind me. I watch as he walks all the way around the car and then climbs in behind the steering wheel.

I only get one more look outside my tinted window to see my friends blatantly ogling the car before we pull smoothly away from the curb. I sit rigidly for a moment or two, unaccustomed to the feeling of riding in a car as opposed to the tube. I’m used to the sway and the clatter of the train and in here, I feel like I’m sitting in my living room on the sofa or something.

But I gradually relax, sinking back into the cushions gratefully as we motor along. Since I know the scenery of my own neighborhood fairly well, I begin to take notice of the interior of the car, noticing details and luxuries that I had missed at first.

Everything is done up in a burnt orange leather with a dark chocolaty brown wooden accent. It’s a polished mahogany, I think. As I say the phrase in my head, a delighted shiver races down my spine. Every time someone mentions mahogany I have magnificent visions of a massive mansion with heaps of money lying about.

And then my eyes focus on the silver rectangle that’s centered on the dash between the driver and me. Two R’s overlap each other, one light and the other dark, and the words Rolls Royce are set above and below the letters.

My heart skitters up into my throat. Blimey, he sent a Rolls Royce to pick me up. That’s like the epitome of luxury cars, is it not? Maybe I shouldn’t be sitting so heavily on the seats…

Far too quickly, in my opinion, I realize that we’re rolling to a slow stop in front of an impressive looking building. All of the lights are on, showcasing the architecture and the immaculate looking gardens, and standing on the steps are people dressed in fabulously fantastic garments. I even spy members of the media snapping photographs of the guests and the hall.

I don’t even register the fact that the driver has parked the car and is opening my door until a burst of hot summer air blows across my face. I jump, startled by the invasion, until I hastily regain my composure and accept his outstretched hand.

I steady myself out on the sidewalk and then run hurried palms down my dress to smooth out any wrinkles before a man in a suit approaches me. It takes me a second, but his name pops into my head and I recognize him from Wimbledon.

“George!” I say a bit loudly before I realize my faux pas. “George,” I repeat myself in a quieter voice. “How are you?”

He smiles at my enthusiasm. “I am well, Miss Matthews. I trust you found your ride here to be satisfactory,” He casts a look at the driver behind me.

I’m confused for a second until I realize what he’s asked. “Oh! Yes, him—he was lovely, really. Thank you,” I turn to him with a wide smile. “I really appreciate it.”

The driver bows deeply from the waist. “I shall be back to escort you home at the end of the evening, Miss Matthews. Until then, I leave you in the capable hands of your security team.” He bows again and then disappears before I have a chance to correct him. I don’t have a security team.

I turn back to George and smile, though it’s dimmed a bit by now. He smiles back at me before he offers me his elbow. “My instructions are to stick by your side until His Royal Highness can join you himself.”

We begin to ascend the stairs and I nod, knowing that Harry is most likely busy with last minute things and disasters. “Okay, that’s fine with me. I promise not to be too much of a burden,” I laugh as we sweep past a set of security guards stationed at the entrance.

“You never are, Miss Matthews,” He responds demurely, leading me into the building. “Truly, you aren’t.”