In Another Life

“Do you need help with that?”

I turn around, still straining to do up the clasps on the back of my dress, before I admit defeat and nod silently. Jeanette crosses my bedroom and gently closes up the zipper and then the hook-and-eye at the top.

She smoothes out the back of the dress and then steps away from me. “There you go. You look good.”

“Thanks,” I give her a small smile and then seat myself at my vanity to begin my makeup. My hands are shaking as I fumble with my eye shadow container and I hope that my friend doesn’t notice my obvious case of nerves.

But clearly I’m doing a poor job at keeping it all together, because Jeanette has a seat on the edge of my bed and studies me carefully from behind. I know that she’ll start her gentle prying and probing momentarily, and I also know that I’ll confess that it’s Harry that I’m going to see.

I whirl about on my stool just as she opens her mouth to speak and I stand up, tugging my skirt down as I go. “Do you think this is too short?” I do a quick turn, refusing to meet her eyes.

“No,” She answers quietly, still watching me closely as I sink back down into my seat.

As I begin to curl my eyelashes, I do my best to ignore her. I don’t want to talk about what I’m going to do. I don’t want to discuss how I’m feeling. And I certainly don’t want to chat about if I am going to let him off the hook or not.

Mainly because I don’t know the answers to any of those questions myself. So how can I expect to answer them for my friend?

Of course I’m furious with Harry. If I can be brutally honest, I was livid when I found out about his ‘fun night out’ with the redhead. And though my anger didn’t completely fade away, my sense of hurt then took main precedence. All I could think about was the fact that his arms were around her waist, and not mine. Did he find me that unattractive and unappealing that he couldn’t even take me out in public? Is he really that big of an arse?

All of my anger and all of my hurt feelings are still churning deep inside, still battling for my attention. And then I have to take into account my embarrassment. That’s putting it lightly—I was mortified when I realized just what was going on. Here my friends and I had been going on and on about how lovely Harry is and how perfect things would be if we just were together. And there he was, gallivanting out and about with a girl that wasn’t me.

Amanda and Jeanette and even Raina had been bending over backwards this past week, asking me if I was okay, if they needed to do anything, if I wanted some company. I’m not meaning to be a complete bitch, but I just want to be alone. I need some time to sort out my own feelings before I’m going to be able to take my friends’ constant worrying.

“You’re going to see him, aren’t you?” Jeanette says quietly. She’s still perched on my bed, one leg curled up under her as she absentmindedly plays with her toes. “Harry, I mean. You’re going to see him.” That last part isn’t a question.

I meet her gaze in the mirror, though I keep my back towards her, before I carefully nod. There’s a bit of silence in which I wait for her to admonish me, to beg me not to go, to just forget about him or something, but it never comes.

Instead she nods knowingly and then sighs heavily. “Do you need help with getting ready? Are you taking a cab?”

“I was planning on the tube,” I answer, starting on my mascara. “I don’t have money for a cab, not all the way out to Covent Garden anyway.”

She nods again, crosses her arms over her chest heavily and then uncrosses them. Clearly she’s unsure of what she should do and I can practically see the gears grinding away in her head. Should she approach me and attempt to talk me out of it, like her common sense is screaming at her to do? Or should she step back and allow me to make my own mistakes, because I am truly my own person and I should be allowed to learn these big life lessons on my own.

I spritz my neck and my wrists with my perfume before I turn around, lean forward and touch her bare knee gently. “I wouldn’t listen to you if you begged me not to go anyway, Jeanette. Don’t beat yourself up over it. I-I,” I falter over my words, because I don’t know how to phrase my thoughts. “I need to see him.”

“Okay, I understand,” She replies simply as she stands up. “Are you leaving now?” When I nod, she nods back at me grimly. “I’ll be here when you come home… if you want to talk, I mean.”

In a decidedly un-Jeanette-like fashion, she throws her arms around me and then squeezes tightly. I’m taken aback by her sudden display of affection. It’s very much unlike my friend to be so open, and so willing to touch another without much prompting.

“Just be careful, okay? And if you need me, let me know and I’ll come to wherever you are or-or-or I can go with you, and I can stay away until you need me and then I’ll kick his ass,” She’s completely rambling now and she sounds so much more like the Jeanette that I know and love.

“As much as I appreciate the offer,” I laugh, squeezing her gently before I step out of her grasp. “It’s not necessary. I think all we’re doing is talking, and that’s about it. I’ll be home before you know it and we can pretend like this whole entire thing never even happened.”

“Pretend that Harry never existed?” Jeanette wrinkles her nose and then crosses her arms over her chest, accentuating the growing bump beneath her t-shirt. “That’s not possible.”



Luckily for me, my day doesn’t get much better by the time I leave my flat. The humidity is nearly unbearable, and my already unruly hair is severely wilted by the time I make it to the tube. My oyster card was declined twice before the machine announced that it was broken and refused to return my pass. By the time I got through the ticket lines, I’d missed my carriage and I had to wait for the next one.

So by the time I arrived in Covent Garden, I was frustrated, tired and grumpy. Not to mention the fact that I was nearly an hour late for my meeting with Harry. All I really wanted to do at this point was turn around and head straight back home. Surely he couldn’t still be waiting for me at the restaurant. There’s no way he waited an hour for me to show up. It would be ridiculous to assume that he’d wait for just me.

Traffic is heavy as I rush down the street and cut across the road, ignoring the flashing ‘don’t walk’ sign. I’m sure that I pissed off quite a few drivers, but I console myself with the fact that I’ll never see them again as I nearly sprint the last few meters to the restaurant.

Christopher’s Bar & Grill is on 18 Wellington Street and sprawls backwards for nearly half of the block. It’s a huge white monstrosity of a building and it looks terribly imposing as I come to a rather graceless halt on the curb.

I take a moment to smooth out my dress and pat my hair down before I start forward, eyeing the intimidating gold ‘18’ stamped on either side of the entrance. All of the windows are tinted nearly black which makes it impossible to see into the restaurant.

The door opens as soon as I step onto the stoop and I nearly melt at the cool rush of air conditioning that breezes across my flushed cheeks. A dark-suited waitress smiles at me and allows me to walk inside before she escorts me up the hostess podium.

It’s a rather stern looking woman that’s perched behind her reservation book, and she eyes me disgustedly through her glasses before she sighs loudly and pulls her book towards her. “Name?”

Blimey, do I look that bad? I’d have to nip into the loo before I went anywhere near the tables if her condescending sneer were true. How long have I looked this wild? I cannot even imagine the looks I surely attracted on the streets.

“Uhm,” I falter as I realize that I have no idea if the reservations are under my name or his. How do I delicately state that I’m here for Harry and that I’m not some crazy stalker girl who just wants to meet him? “I-I’m not sure about what he’s placed the table under—”

“Name,” She repeats herself in a louder voice, not even lifting her gaze from her list. Her index finger taps a steady beat on the page as she waits.

I fidget awkwardly, standing on one foot and then the other, before I try again. “I-I’m here to meet someone. My name is Bryn—”

Her entire demeanor changes in a split second. The frown lines around her mouth disappear and a tight-looking smile takes its place. Her voice softens and she sounds nearly pleasant as she addresses me again. “Miss Matthews, we didn’t think you were showing up. It’s such a pleasure to finally be able to meet you. His Royal Highness has been waiting for you, as has the entire staff here at Christopher’s. Your patronage here is truly welcome and most appreciated.”

I blink owlishly, entirely taken aback by her sudden attitude change. Surely this cannot be the same woman who was glaring at me ten seconds ago? Where did that god-awful creature go off to?

“If you will just follow me this way,” She steps out from behind the podium and I note with a childish bit of glee that she’s really quite short and stout. “His Royal Highness has reserved the private dining area in the back.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupt her feebly, half afraid that her nice demeanor will disappear and that she-demon will be released once more. “If I might take a moment to freshen up?”

She bows me into the lavatory and as I shut the door behind me, I can’t help but breathe a heavy sigh of relief. This woman is unbelievable. I cannot believe just how two-faced and awful she is—and this is just to me! I’m not anybody special, and I know plainly enough that the only reason she’s treating me like this is because of Harry. I shudder to think about how she’d have treated me if I hadn’t been here for Harry.

I take these last few precious moments alone to touch up on my makeup and pat down the flyaway wisps of hair that have escaped the hair clip. After straightening out my dress once again and washing my hands, I’m ready to go. Or as ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.

When I exit the restroom, the hostess is nowhere to be found, much to my relief. I start off in search of the dining area, nimbly weaving my way around tables and waiters. After searching in vain for a moment, I admit defeat and a busboy points out the right way for me.

It’s through a set of discrete wooden doors and down a dimly lit hallway. Here I can properly hear the soft classical music that’s playing through the speakers, because the din of the other diners is completely cut off.

I turn the corner and then pause on the threshold. The room is fairly small with a private bar in one corner and a fireplace (though it is currently not lit) in the other. There’s a table set for two in the middle of the room, overloaded with glasses and plates and candles. The rest of the room is broken up with potted plants and a few cushioned benches. I imagine it to be quite a spectacular place if it’s filled.

Harry is standing with his back to me, leaning heavily up against the bar. I watch in slight amusement as he runs his hands through his hair and then checks his mobile, for the time I’m sure.

As he speaks to the bartender in a low voice, I take note of how rumpled he looks. His normally immaculate hair is standing on end, as if he’s spent much of the past hour pulling at the locks, and he’s fidgeting noticeably.

I catch the bartender’s eye from across the room and he clears his throat discreetly and then turns away. Harry turns, as well, and I watch as his entire face lights up. He begins to cross the room and I don’t even catch the words that are tumbling out of his mouth so quickly.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” He states breathlessly as he reaches out and crushes me to him in a tight embrace. Shocked, I take only a second to slowly reach up and hug him back gently. “I had just about given up on you.”

“The tube,” I say weakly. “The tube ate my pass, and I missed the first train and-and I should have texted you or something, but I just didn’t think. I’m sorry,” I add on politely, trying my best to ignore the way my heart soars with happiness at his touch.

“No, no, you’re fine,” He waves off my words, a wide smile at his lips. “I’m just glad you’re here now. Come, sit. Do you want a drink? I ordered the wine, but I wasn’t sure—”

“The wine is fine,” I break in quietly with a reassuring smile. He looks as though he needs to be calmed down some. “I’m sure whatever you’ve picked out is lovely.”

The words aren’t even completely out of my mouth before a waiter appears and pours out two generous helpings of wine and tops off Harry’s water glass before filling up my own. And then he disappears back through a door that I hadn’t noticed before. It probably leads to the kitchens or something.

Harry exhales heavily and rests his hands on the table before he looks at me. “I’m not even sure where to begin—if it’s proper for me to talk now before, or if it’s polite to wait until after our meal. I’m not sure Gran ever taught me quite how to talk to a girl about these things.”

I smile at his weak joke and before I take a sip of my drink, I take pity on him. “Just… just tell me. Let’s not drag this out anymore.”

He nods, swallows harshly and then starts speaking. “Those pictures you saw… that’s all they were. They’re just photographs of me hanging out with some mates. We went out to have a good time, and I swear to you that’s all it was. The girl in the pictures, she’s just an old friend that I used to go to school with, that’s it. She means nothing to me. You have to believe me.”

“But the pictures,” I begin as I allow all of my hurt to swoop back down and envelope me once more. God, how I’d tortured myself over those photographs. “The way you two were touching each other—”

“I had the biggest crush on Tara, the girl,” He falters over her name, realizing that I have no idea what she’s called. “I was practically in love with Tara back in school and that was the first time I’d seen her in years. I felt nothing, Bryn, absolutely nothing for this girl that I was supposedly head-over-heels with only a few years ago.”

“You felt nothing?” I repeat in a small voice, unsure whether or not I’d heard him properly.

He nods and reaches across the table to take my hand up in his own. “It was really lovely to see her and catch up with her, but there wasn’t anything there. We had some drinks, we danced, we chatted and I put her in a cab at the end of the night with some of her friends. That’s it, I swear. My mind was elsewhere that night, anyway.” He cuts himself short and his eyes widen a bit as he realizes just what he’s let slip to me.

“Elsewhere?” I question slyly, a teasing smile appearing as I realize just what he was implying.

His cheeks darken the slightest bit and he nods before he looks me directly in the eye. “All I could think about was you lying in bed with a glass of wine and a film on the telly. I was quite distracted with your text message, I assure you.”

Now it’s my turn to blush and I duck my head and fidget with the linen napkin in my lap before I look back up at him. “I want you to know that those pictures, they hurt me. You’ve no idea how upset and humiliated I was by them.”

He nods solemnly. “I can only imagine. I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

“I know,” I stop him before he can get much further. “I know, but I just want to let you know. I came so close to not giving you another chance, that’s how hurt I was.”

“It’ll never happen again,” His grips tightens on my hand, as if I was literally going to slip away from his grasp. “I swear to you. You-you’re too important—” He stops himself and goes to pull away, but I stop him and urge him on. “You’re special to me, Bryn. And there is no way I would jeopardize what we have for a girl who I knew ages ago.”

I nod and smile at him, though everything inside of me is screaming with happiness. I’m so content, so thrilled, that I’m almost afraid that this is all a dream and that I’ll wake up at home in bed because I decided not to come here after all.

“You’re special to me, too.” I whisper back quietly. “You have no idea.”

It all happens so quickly. He’s holding my hand and gazing at me from across the table and then a second later, his chair is pushed back and he’s rounding the table towards me. I stand, my napkin falling to the floor, and he wraps his arms around me for the second time this evening and pulls me close.

I melt into his embrace and wrap my arms around his neck to bring him closer to me. Our lips meet and my eyes flutter shut in pure contentment as he kisses me deeply. My fingers curl into his hair and his grip tightens at my hips and all I can think about is how delicious he tastes, how well I fit in his arms, how solid and warm and inviting his body is underneath my fingertips.

He breaks away, a bit breathlessly, and he sighs contentedly. His eyes are wide and sparkling with happiness and I cannot remember the last time I have felt such pure unadulterated joy flow throughout my body.

“Can we just forget about those pictures?” He whispers softly. “And just be us again?”

When I nod blissfully, he kisses me again. All of the thoughts go out of my mind completely as he drops kiss after kiss, sweet nothing after sweet nothing against my skin, and it’s only when the need for air becomes pressing that we break apart reluctantly.

“You shouldn’t be so concerned with the paparazzi,” He mumbles, nuzzling the tender skin at my neck. “They’re pesky, annoying little twats and I wish I didn’t have to deal with them. I suppose you’ll have to learn to deal with them, too.” He adds on as if it’s an afterthought.

I still at his words and then frown. “I will?”

He pulls away and nods, a shy smile on his lips as he gently tucks an unruly piece of hair back behind my ear. “You will if you’re mine.”

It’s honestly only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity as the enormity of his words rain down upon me. Is he asking me what I think he’s asking me? Is he serious? Am I seriously thinking about this? Can Harry and I be a proper couple, considering his royal title and my complete normalcy?

But all of that disappears as I look up into his clear, blue eyes. It’s the most amazing thing. I find myself nodding and reaching upwards to bring his lips back to me without another care or thought in my mind.

I kiss him sweetly, chastely, and then rest my forehead against his own before I answer him. “I’m yours.”