In Another Life

“I must say,” Harry laughs, his eyes twinkling merrily. “You are a fantastic cook.”

I kick his calf lightly with my bare foot, trying to mask my own amusement and failing. “Oh, I know, right? You didn’t know I can make Chinese take-away in my own kitchen?”

Harry laughs, that adorable dimple popping out in his cheek once again. “And you even had time to place it all in these authentic greasy takeout containers and whittle chopsticks, too? I only left you alone for 10 minutes. I am impressed, I’m on a date with Wonder Woman.”

My cheeks heat up at his comment and I duck my head to avoid his gaze. How does he not know what he does to me when he says such sweet, endearing things? Or maybe he does know all too well and he’s doing it just to get under my skin and fluster me. Either way, I’m positive I wouldn’t trade his gentle teasing for anything else in the world.

“Oh yes,” I continue our joke easily. “I have the costume in my wardrobe, didn’t you see it?” As soon as I speak the words, I realize just how sexual my comment could be turned into, and I pray that Harry either won’t notice or won’t remark on it.

In true gentlemanly fashion, Harry ignores the easy jab and adds to the running joke. “I would think the costume would make it difficult to wear every day clothes. Is that something you have to have on 24/7 like Superman, or do you just hope that London doesn’t need you when you’re out and about?”

“I keep a spare in my bag at all times,” I toss my head and shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re obviously a normal. Any true superhero wouldn’t have to ask that question.”

“Oh pardon me, Wonder Woman,” Harry inclines his head towards me and my heart flutters in my chest. “Would you settle for a pitiful normal boy instead of that hunky Tony Stark?”

I explode into laughter, nearly choking on my noodles. “Who uses the word hunky?!”

“Clearly I do,” Harry laughs, nudging my foot with his shoe. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re so obsessed with Iron Man!”

“It’s the suit,” I explain, giggling into my Chow Mein. “It does things to a woman—the way those eyes light up…”

“I knew it,” Harry sighs dramatically and drops his chopsticks into the empty carton before he sets it on the coffee table. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you about that painting over there.” He nods at my easel and I follow his direction, taking in the messy paint splattered tray and the unfinished brush strokes on the canvas. “It’s yours?”

I nod, taking my last bite and placing my carton next to his before I speak. “I started it ages ago, but I just never got around to finishing it, I suppose.”

“Why not?” He asks, standing up from the sofa so he can have a better look.

I shrug, watching as he walks closer. “I don’t know; I got busy. I’ve been meaning to finish it up, but there aren’t enough hours in the day unfortunately. It’s…it’s special to me.”

“Why? I mean,” Harry turns so he can see me. “If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”

I pause, unsure of how to phrase my thoughts. How do I explain to him that he is what’s inspired my painting? I started it one sleepless night after being with him at a polo match. Maybe I was still floating on those tingling euphoric feelings, still coasting on pure adrenaline—whatever it was, those crystal blue eyes had been lingering in the back of my mind as I studied my blank canvas.

I shake my head, realizing that I hadn’t answered him yet. “Just a boy I know.”

His frame goes still for a split-second before he melts back into his fluid self once more. “Just a boy, eh? He must have been something to make you create this,” He gestures at the bold brush strokes and the bright, warm colors. “He makes you happy.”

It’s not a question; it’s a statement.

I nod my head yet again. “More then he’ll ever know.”

The room is quiet as Harry sits back down next to me. The cushions sigh as he sinks down and I exhale, unsure if he notices the tension in the room. Jeanette and Amanda would call it sexual, but I know better. I’m just anxious and it’s making everything a lot more uncomfortable.

“I think,” Harry begins in a slow voice, looking at the coffee table rather than me. “I think the boy would very much like it if you’d finish the painting. He’d like to see it once it’s completed.”

“I can do that,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat as our eyes finally meet again. “And then I’ll let that boy know.”



“Oh god,” I laugh, nearly snorting in amusement. “I cannot believe I just told you that—I don’t even think I’ve told any of my mates that.”

“Oh don’t worry, Miss-I-Locked-The-Boy-I-Was-Snogging-In-My-Cupboard-So-My-Mum-Wouldn’t-Find-Out,” Harry laughs, his cheeks a brilliant ruddy red. “I thought things like that only happened in films. I had no idea that was your life.”

“I was only 13,” I protest, leaning forward and picking up the wine bottle to pour myself some more. “Don’t laugh at me. I was terrified of my mother finding him—and I was not snogging him! We were just… hanging out.”

“With your tongues,” Harry says seriously, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he allows me to pour him another glass.

I wait until the wine bottle is safely on the table before I reply. “Okay, maybe it was with our tongues. But we only wanted to see what all the fuss was about!”

“And was it everything you imagined?” His lips twitch as he struggles to remain somewhat serious. Though it’s rather difficult when we’ve both finished off two bottles of wine and I’m well on my way to feeling proper pissed.

“Everything and more,” I manage, my stomach cramping from all of the laughing we’ve done this evening. No doubt my neighbors’d think us crazy if they heard us through the walls. “God, I have not laughed like this since… since ages.”

Harry nods his head, agreeing with me. “It’s been nice. Not many people would sit here and joke about with me all evening. I-I appreciate it, Bryn. You’ve no idea.”

His tone has turned serious, and I’m not sure how exactly to respond to that. I know that he’s starting to let down some of the walls he’s built up over his life. And he’s doing this all in front of me, a nothing special girl with a rather bland and predictable future. I’m touched by his sincerity, but words are escaping me at the moment. How does one properly convey all of their emotions with all of this alcohol clouding their brain?

Bugger. This is probably why I shouldn’t drink.

My hand is shaking as I reach for Harry. I don’t have time to wonder if he’ll be able to tell that my palms have gone all sweaty, because I’ve already tangled our fingers together.

I squeeze, hoping that he’ll understand because I can’t manage to coherently string all of my words and thoughts together. And when words fail, a touch speaks, right? Or something like that—I’m really quite rubbish with those clichéd sayings.

Harry starts to laugh, squeezing my fingers lightly before he leans forward. “I knew you’d understand,” He whispers, his breath ghosting across my skin sensually. He closes the gap between us and presses a warm kiss to my temple, his lips lingering for the longest few seconds of my life.

I look up at him from under my eyelashes, my heart hammering in my chest as I meet his gaze. He looks quite serious, and his eyes keep flickering between my eyes and my parted lips. My breath suddenly feels like the loudest thing in the world and I find myself nearly screaming for my body to just lean forward and close the gap.

But he’s hesitating, clearly conflicted about something, because he’s not moving. My entire body is alive with tension—I’m not sure just how much more of this I can take. I just want his lips on mine already, for Christ’s sake. That’s not too much to be asking for, is it?

I make my mind up in a split-second decision. No doubt when I recount this later tonight, I’ll be beyond mortified and horrified by my brash forwardness, but right now, I’m feeling fairly confident and relatively alluring.

My hand is shaking as I reach up and touch his soft skin, my fingertips tracing his delicate bone structure, the soft tufts of hair curling over top his ears. He truly has no idea just how handsome he is—

The sound of a key in the lock is an obnoxious grating noise and his eyes crash open, startled by the sudden intrusion. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest and I want nothing more than to fling myself at the door and do up the deadbolt so no one can enter.

I squint at the numbers on the digital clock above the television before I realize that it’s nearly two in the morning. Harry has been here all evening and it seems like no time has gone by at all.

“My friend,” I begin, but stop when I see the disappointment in his eyes. I want Jeanette to notice his car parked out on the street and realize that we’re not finished in here. God, I never thought I’d say this, but I want her to go away.

“Bry,” Jeanette’s voice floats into the room as the door opens and my best friend steps into the foyer. “So how did your—oh!” She stops short upon catching sight of Harry and I sitting on the sofa. Immediately her cheeks turn bright red and she takes a step backwards. “I-I’ll just go then—my apologies, Your Highness.”

“Please,” Harry smiles politely at my friend as he stands up. “Don’t let me keep you from your bed. It’s well past time I’ve taken my leave. I’ve lingered far too long anyway.”

“You’ve not,” I begin in a desperate voice, wanting to reach up and draw him back to me. But he looks down at me and smiles warmly, effectively crushing any protest to my lips.

“You must be Jeanette,” Harry continues, a genuine grin lighting up his face as he outstretches his hand towards my friend. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Jeanette looks torn between being thrilled with the idea that the prince knows of her existence and horrified that she’s managed to cut our date short. She goes to accept his offered hand before she seems to realize that she is in the presence of royalty. So she dips into an awkward curtsy, a bit restricted by her skintight jeans.

Harry laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Or you can curtsy, that’s fine. A handshake would have been more than enough.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Jeanette mumbles, her face heating up in a magnificent blush. “I-I—”

“Harry,” He interrupts gently. “No need to make it any more painful than it already is,” His voice is warm and teasing and Jeanette visibly relaxes at the sound. “Now I’ll just help Bryn clean up, and then I’ll be off—”

“I can do it,” I stand up, not even sparing the remains of the cake and wine a glance. “Don’t worry about it, Harry.”

Jeanette mouths an overly-dramatic ‘sorry’ behind Harry’s back before she slips into the kitchen, surely intent on hiding out in her room until the coast is clear. I don’t blame her. I would be beyond mortified if I were she.

“My mother always told me it was polite to help the hostess clean up,” Harry says briskly, starting to gather together the dishes. “And I don’t mind, honestly. I like the normalcy.”

I allow him to take the plates and the wine glasses before I pick up the platter and the wine bottle. “I’ll let you carry them into the kitchen, and that’s it. I won’t submit you to dish cleaning just yet.”

“Yet?” Harry echoes as he leads the way into the kitchen.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Well yes. I’ll… save it for next time.”

He deposits the dishes in the sink before he looks at me. “So there will be a next time?”

I nod as I place the empty wine bottles by the sink. “I want there to be a next time. I don’t care if that’s too forward or rude or something. I want to see you again, Harry.”

“I’m glad you’re being forward and rude,” Harry teases me, moving closer and reaching for my fidgeting hands. “I think it’s… sexy. It’s a date then.”

“Without any interrupting roommates,” I say softly as his fingers ghost up my arms.

He chuckles quietly in my ear. “Without any interrupting roommates,” He agrees, his lips brushing against my ear lobe gently. “And any other interruptions, for that matter.”

My heart is thundering, fluttering, soaring in my chest as he places one hand at the side of my head, the rough pads of his fingers stroking my skin lightly. He’s focused in on my lips and I can feel my body slipping under his spell.

My eyes drift shut and I lean forward until his lips touch my own. And then he’s gone again so quickly that I barely have time to wonder if I’m really that drunk before he comes back for another kiss.

He tastes of raspberries and other fruit, of spices and magic, of chocolate and bliss. His lips are soft and sweet, hard and pressing, needy and giving all at once. I’m keenly aware of his hands tangling in my hair, of him pressing me into his body and of the way I kiss back just as fiercely.

I’m the first one to break away, the need for air overwhelming. I gasp for breath, a bit shocked at my boldness. Harry, too, is a bit breathless as he looks down at me, his eyes searching as he looks for my reaction.

I smile and bite down onto my lip, shyness once again sweeping over me. What am I supposed to say to him? More please?

“I’ll call you,” He whispers, dropping another kiss onto my lips. “Thank you for tonight, Bryn.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, finally meeting his gaze. “I—I’m glad you came tonight.”

He kisses me a few more times before he squeezes my hands and pulls away. I don’t want him to go, but I know that it’s completely unfair to Jeanette in the other room. She’s probably dying, and here I am, mewling on and on about getting a proper snog on.

I walk him to the front door and watch as he pats down his pockets for his car keys. Finally, he finds them and draws them out, the keys clinking together quietly. I’m busy watching the floor, worried that if I look directly at him, he’ll realize just how affected I am by his presence.

“Good night,” He whispers, reaching out and touching my cheek lightly.

I finally look up and catch his gaze. My smile is small, but sincere and he grins back at me before he opens the door and steps out onto my front stoop. I follow and stand in the doorway, one hand on the handle. “Good night,” I say quietly, feeling a bit like a schoolgirl as he walks towards his car.

I watch as he gets into his car and as he pulls away from the curb, I offer him one last wave before he drives away. The glow of his taillights light up the dark, narrow street as he brakes and then he disappears around the bend and I’m left alone in the humid night air.

Reluctantly I shut the door and do up the locks, a small smile dancing on my lips as I replay the last ten minutes of my life. He’d kissed me—I’d kissed him. It doesn’t matter, because it was absolutely perfect and amazing and wonderful.

“Is he gone yet?” Jeanette’s quiet voice floats out from the kitchen.

I have to laugh as I start forward, intent on cleaning the dishes. “Yes, yes he’s gone.”

“Thank god,” She steps out of her room and pulls a tragic face. “I cannot believe I just did that, Bryn. I am so, so, so sorry.”

I wave away her words, well aware of just how annoyed I’d been fifteen minutes ago. None of that matters now, because I’m on cloud 9 and nothing is going to bring me down. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. He thought it funny.”

She visibly relaxes and then slips up onto a barstool as I start up the tap water. “So-o-o…”

“So,” I mimic her, reaching for the soap and squirting it into the running water. “How was Amanda’s?”

“Fuck off,” Jeanette laughs, her eyes wide and glittering. “How did it go!? What happened? What did you talk about? What did you do?”

“We… talked,” I answer honestly, pausing in my dishwashing. “We ate Chinese food and talked on the sofa all night. Honestly, it sounds so boring, but it was nice. It was perfect,” I whisper the last part to myself.

My friend doesn’t even hear me; she’s far too busy gushing over the royalty that just left our apartment. “Oh god, I knew you weren’t lying when you told us about Harry, but—but it’s completely different actually seeing him here, in your apartment. It’s so surreal!” She sighs, leaning back in her chair, looking thoroughly shell-shocked.

“I know,” I smile as I rinse off the dishes and place them up on the drying rack. “But you get used to it.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” Jeanette shakes her head, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Christ, a prince in your living room!”

I smile, a shy nothing that I keep for myself as I touch my kiss-swollen lips with my fingertips. “Good night, Jeanette.”

“Wait,” She whines, slipping out of her chair. “You’re not going to tell me all of the gory, vivid details?” When I shake my head, she rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun. What’s the point of dating a super hot prince if you’re not going to dish all about it to me?”

“Maybe someday,” I laugh, entering the living room and ignoring her protests. “Good night, Jeanette!”

She grumbles her response back at me before I enter my bedroom and shut the door quietly behind me. For a brief moment, I lean up against the door and close my eyes, relishing the entire evening and filing it away.

Eventually I get ready for sleep and climb into my bed, intent on replaying tonight on repeat in my head until sleep came to claim me. But a light flashing from my nightstand distracts me.

I reach out and pick up my mobile, seeing the missed call and new voicemail notification on my screen. Frowning, I unlock the touch screen and click on the calling log.

It’s a number that I don’t recognize, but it’s from here in London. I click over to voicemail and select play before I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Good evening, Miss Matthews, I’m Victoria Parks with The National Gallery. I was calling because I received your resume, along with an impressive recommendation from Doctor Harris. I am very much interested in scheduling you for an interview regarding our summer internship here at the museum. Give me a call back, and we’ll set something up. Have a good evening.”