In Another Life

“So who is Richard Wollheim and what did he do? He did…” I murmur, scanning the block of text carefully. “He distinguished three approaches to the definition and evaluation of art in the 20th century,” I announce triumphantly, my marker squeaking as I highlight the answer to my question.

I glance up at the clock and note the time. It’s Thursday and it’s just past five in the afternoon and I’d been home from school for a while now, passing the time with schoolwork and note-taking. It didn’t necessarily make for the most thrilling afternoon of my life, but it passed the time methodically.

The end of my highlighter bounces up and down as I study the clock, worrying down on my lower lip and tasting the mint lip gloss that decorated my lips. My stomach tightens and I briefly wonder what I’m going to eat for supper before there is a loud knock on my front door.

I carefully cap my pen before I place it in the groove of my text and push myself up off of the sofa. As I move, I look back at the digital face of the clock. Just a few minutes late, but I guess that fashionably late applies to their world just as much as it does mine. I pad to the door in my bare feet and throw the lock before I open the door to reveal Matt, Liv’s driver.

“Miss Bryn,” He greets me formally, bowing stiffly at the waist.

I smile painfully tightly. “Please, it’s just Bryn. Let me just put my shoes on, okay?”

He nods and I turn away from the door before I slip my feet into a pair of modest lace pumps. I pick up the soft white clutch on the table and glance at my reflection in the foyer mirror. I look every bit the part of a frightened girl, not the cool and confidant aura I had hoped for while I dressed myself.

I nod again at Matt as I step out onto the front stoop and shut my front door behind me. As I use my keys to do up the locks, I’m painfully aware of Matt standing just behind me. It’s always made me uncomfortable having Liv’s help assist me—I’m 23-years-old and fully capable of doing things on my own.

As I drop my keys into my clutch, Matt offers his arm. “To assist you down the steps, ma’am. Don’t want to take a nasty spill into the street, do we?”

I take his arm carefully and feel the stiff material of his uniform jacket under my fingers as he guides me down the steps and onto the sidewalk. I catch Olivia’s eye from inside the Lincoln town car and return her excited grin with a shaky smile of my own as Matt opens the door for me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, ducking inside the car and settling myself on the bench.

As he shuts the door firmly behind me, Olivia leans forward and touches my knee. “You look gorgeous, Bry.”

The smile I give her is a bit shaky as I smooth out the creases in my white linen trousers. “I look okay then.”

“You look brilliant,” Philip replies kindly, raising his champagne glass in a mock salute. “Relax, Bryn. You look like the lamb being led to slaughter. It’s just a dinner.”

“Right, just a dinner,” I laugh, except it doesn’t sound anything like me. I have no idea how either one of them can be so calm—I’m freaking out on the inside. I don’t know a thing about proper dining protocol. I use one fork when I eat, not four or five.

“Bryn,” Olivia’s voice cuts through my thoughts, effectively startling me back into reality. “You are going to be fine, I promise. I won’t leave you alone tonight. Except, of course, if a certain prince comes around…”

I roll my eyes at her words, though I can’t stop my heart from skittering in my chest anxiously at her words. And really, hadn’t that been the only reason I’d ended up coming to this dinner? It had been the memory of his bright blue eyes, his rosy cheeks, the way he smiled at my words, the romance of it all—isn’t it what every girl dreams of? Prince Charming to come and sweep her off of her feet.

I had been dead set in the beginning. I wasn’t going to go to the dinner at all, even though all of the proceeds were going to be donated to cancer research and I normally didn’t waste any opportunity to help others. To be completely calculated and honest, I don’t belong in this social circle and I never will belong here. It's clear to everyone that I'm very much outside of my comfort zone.

But the mental image of Prince Harry making his way around the room, searching for me and always coming away empty-handed haunted me. And so I decided to come to this one dinner, just to see if he would actively search for me.

And then another doubt had risen in my mind: what if Prince Harry wasn’t even at this dinner? London hosted many, many charity dinners and events. What’s to say that he’d be at this particular one? What if the only reason I was invited to this was because somebody had seen me with Olivia and figured I’d buy a plate at a table, too. What if the only reason I had been sent an invitation is because I was walking around with a giant pound sign on my head and everyone figured I’d be so willing to buy my way into everyone’s good graces?

Still, the thought of falling headfirst into my very own fairytale prevailed above all and I found myself ringing Olivia and telling her I’d attend the dinner. And then I’d proceeded to pick out a carefully neutral outfit. I wasn’t going the orthodox route and I had decided to attend this event in a dress top and trousers, even though I knew I’d be pretty much the only woman not dressed in some outrageous outfit.

“Miss?”

I look up at the address and realize that a man in uniform is holding out his hand to me. Olivia and Philip are already ascending the stairs that lead into an impressive marble building. I grab my clutch and accept his outstretched hand before I slide out of the car and smooth out the creases in my pants.

“Alright then?” He asks, nodding at the steps before us.

I nod, offering him a small smile as I allow him to lead me up the steps to where Olivia and Philip are waiting for me. At the top of the stairs he releases me and I smile again at him. “Thank you.”

He nods and then starts to make his way back down the stairs towards the next arriving car. Olivia nudges me lightly with her elbow as we start to make our way inside. I smile at her, my excitement overtaking my nerves as we sweep into the brightly light entranceway.

There are waiters milling about with trays of champagne in their grasp and small clusters of people talking and laughing animatedly. I trail behind my cousin and her husband, a bit cowed at the sight of so many people and so much obvious money.

Olivia falls a step behind and loops her arm through my own tenderly. “We’re going to go say hello to Bridget Holloway, who is hosting this party with her husband, Trent. All Trent ever does is talk about his cars and Bridget is rather… spacey. She’s just like that though, don’t take it personally.”

Presently enough we round the corner and I watch as Olivia breaks away from me to hug and air-kiss a reedy blonde woman with alarmingly large eyes. Philip is clasping the hand of a tall man, who looks as though he had once been handsome. But his receding hair line and protruding belly beg to tell a different story.

“And this,” Olivia reaches back and takes a hold of my wrist so that she can pull me forward. “This is my cousin Bryn Matthews.”

“Hello,” I smile politely at her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She holds out a limp wrist and as I go to shake her hand, she pulls me into a loose embrace and then bumps her bony chin up against my own. “I’m Bridget Holloway and this is my husband Trent. Thank you for coming and supporting our dinner tonight.”

“Of course, thank you for inviting me. I was surprised when the invitation came, but pleased nevertheless,” I amend hurriedly when I see her eyebrows start to rise towards her brow in disbelief. “You have organized a wonderful, gorgeous benefit.”

“Yes, thank you. Trent’s own mother succumbed to the dreadful disease just last year, so this charity holds a special place in our hearts,” Bridget smiles tightly, resting her hand on her husband’s arm, as if for comfort.

Olivia begins to tug on my arm. “It was a pleasure, as always, Bridget. We must do lunch sometime.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll ring you, shall I?” She smiles, already turning to the next couple behind us and starting to greet them.

I fall in close with my cousin as she leads me away. “Nice save back there. Bridget thinks she throws the best parties in all of London—she’d probably have a heart attack right there if she thought you thought otherwise.”

“Who does throw the best parties in all of London?” I ask innocently as I snag two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hand one to Olivia.

She murmurs her thanks and then takes a small sip before she answers. “In terms of what? Music, food, booze? It really depends on what you’re after—some people invite all of the right people, some people know the best caterers and some supply some of the best alcohol.” She nearly chokes on her drink and then hastily wipes at her chin before she leans in close. “Look, that's Laura Lopes; she’s Camilla’s daughter.”

I look up in time to see a slender brunette sail across the room, a few girls hurrying in her wake. My eyebrows come up at this and I glance over at my cousin. “So what does that mean?”

“That means that the Royal family is around here somewhere,” Olivia replies vehemently, locking eyes with me. “So you’re going to have your chance with the prince after all.”



As it turns out, the dinner wasn’t so bad after all. The table was full of Philip’s work friends who monopolized the conversation around work and the future. That left Olivia and I to our own devices, which we were more than happy about honestly.

Olivia didn’t care if I used the wrong fork or if I didn’t cut my meat the proper way, nor did she think it weird when I freely discussed school and my professors. In fact, she welcomed the conversation because, as she so delicately put it, having a conversation with me is the only time she knows for a fact that my intent is genuine and innocent.

So we dissected the cute boy who sat next to me in my painting class and the way he’d always wander up to my easel and find something positive to say about my work. We discussed a particularly fussy client I’d had the other week at work and how ridiculous it is that people get so worked up over their clothes and their fashion.

“Don’t look now,” Olivia begins, staring down at her plate as she delicately cuts into her dessert. “But there’s a guy totally checking you out.”

I freeze as her words register in my head and I covertly look at my cousin from under my eyelashes. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” She replies, taking a small bite and turning so she can study the man closely, all under the pretense of looking at her husband. “He’s quite handsome actually and he has fantastic shoes on.”

“So he’s gay?” I laugh into my napkin and reach for my drink just as I hear someone clearing their throat softly. I look up and over the rim of my wine glass to see a tall man smiling at me.

“Hello,” He has an accent that sounds drastically different from my own. It’s rather posh actually and if I could, I’d place it from the south of London.

I place my glass down on the table and glance back up at him. There’s something about his face that strikes me as familiar, but I can’t quite place it. “Hello.”

“I’m Luke Samuel,” He pauses and allows me to digest this new bit of information before he proceeds. “Would you like to dance?”

Beneath the table, Olivia is smacking me with her hand, all the while smiling widely at our unexpected guest. “She’d love to,” She replies, not even looking at me. Probably because she knows I’m staring at her incredulously. “Go on then,” She waves us off, winking cheekily over top her wine.

I slowly rise and place my napkin in my chair before I take Luke’s outstretched hand and walk with him out onto the dance floor. My heart is racing beneath the lace of my shirt and I wonder if he can feel the way my hands suddenly seem to be clammy and trembling.

But if Luke notices my sudden anxiety, he says nothing. Instead, he falls into a familiar position with one hand on my hip and the other holding my right hand out prominently. “I didn’t catch your name,” He speaks quietly, his dark eyes flashing in the lights from the chandeliers above our heads.

I smile and duck my head. “I didn’t. I’m Bryn Matthews.”

“Bryn,” He repeats himself thoughtfully. “That’s Welsh, isn’t it?” When I nod, his entire face lights up in a toothy grin. “I have a soft spot for etymology, I beg your pardon.”

“You’re alright,” I reply, laughing a bit. “It’s not often that I come across someone who can identify the origin of my name. Normally I get these strange looks—apparently Bryn is a boy’s name and it’s not that common.”

“Well I like it, it suits you.” Luke smiles as we move about the dance floor.

I’m suddenly aware of just how much of a fairytale this night has turned out to be so far. I’m dining with London’s elitist crowd, with so many beautiful people surrounding me and I’m twirling about in the arms of one of the most eligible bachelor’s in all of England. So many girls would love to be in my position right now.

I’d finally been able to place why Luke looks so familiar to me. It’s because his family owns a popular brewery and Luke is the heir to the family fortune. Of course he’d be at all of these social functions—isn’t that the lifestyle of the rich and famous?

The song is coming to an end and I know that as soon as the orchestra stops playing that I’ll slip out of Luke’s grasp and find my way back to my seat. But his grip tightens as if he can read my mind and I look up into his eyes questioningly.

He smiles at me. “One more dance?”

“Just one and then I have to get back to my cousin,” I reply, dropping my gaze so that I can hide the smile that turns the corners of my lips up. “I wouldn’t want her to get lonely.”

“Or is it because you don’t like to dance?” Luke spins us as the music gracefully segues into the next song.

I shake my head. “No, I do like to dance. It’s just that,” My voice gets caught in my throat as he dips me up and then pulls me back into his arms. “That I feel a bit like a show pony, trotting around for everyone to see and admire and discuss.”

“You’re new to these,” Luke surmises dryly, arching a delicate eyebrow up at me.

I hesitate and then nod. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”

His head gives an affirmative answer, laughing a bit and revealing a perfectly white smile. “Any other girl would be fawning over the spotlight. Well,” He switches topic gears suddenly. “Let’s give them a show then, shall we?”

Before I can understand what he’s getting at, Luke has tightened his grasp on my body and is moving me around the dance floor hurriedly. We make a large circle around the other dancers and then Luke pulls me even closer before he spins me out.

I twirl out of his arms, laughing wildly as we remain connected by just our hands. But the smile on my face quickly fades as I realize that there is a group of people standing at the edge of the dance floor, studying me closely. The men are towards the back of the huddle, talking and drinking their liquor lazily, while the woman are towards the front, their heads bent together as they gossip and dissect the dancing and the couples.

Standing in the middle of the group is a familiar face with rosy cheeks and bright red hair. My heart leaps up into my throat as I realize that I’m staring at the reason why I’ve decided to attend this dinner tonight and all of my girlish fantasies are about to play out.

My brown eyes lock with his brilliant blue orbs and for the longest few seconds of my life, I truly believe that he’s going to come forward and sweep me off of my feet in front of everyone.

But he breaks our eye contact and continues conversing with his friend and Luke pulls me back into his arms, laughing as I stumble rather gracefully into his chest. “Careful there,” He chides, straightening me out. “You don’t want to take a tumble with everyone watching.”

“Yes,” I smile, except it’s a weak mask that’s quickly crumbling. “That would be bad. Excuse me,” I break away from him and then look into his warm eyes. “Thank you for dancing with me; it was such a pleasure meeting you, Luke.”

“Likewise, Bryn,” Luke does a bit of bow before he exits the dance floor, heading for the bar where I know he’ll find another girl to occupy his attention for the rest of the night.

I spin about on my heel and move towards my table, focused intently on Olivia. She’s sipping at her champagne delicately and conversing with Philip and a few of his work associates, though she looks up once she feels my gaze burning into her.

“What’s wrong?” She asks as I drop down into my seat, my neck and cheeks hot with embarrassment.

I shrug my shoulders and reach for my wine glass. “Nothing. I’m just done dancing.”

“You weren’t out there very long,” Olivia responds thoughtfully, looking back out on the dance floor. “Did Luke say something or do something?”

I shake my head, running my index finger across the lip of the glass idly. “No, Luke was very nice. I just was finished dancing.”

She nods and flags down a waiter, who graciously replenishes our alcohol before disappearing. I spend the next half-hour nursing my drink and absentmindedly listening to Philip and his colleagues discuss some new client that they landed a day or two ago.

Olivia, quickly growing bored of the subject, took me on a rather hasty table-hopping experience in which I met the Prime Minister and his wife, a few socialites and their cliques and even a couple extended members of the Royal family. That only served as bitter salt in my wounded pride and I remained politely indifferent and removed for the rest of the evening.

I didn’t realize that across the room, there was a prince scanning the dance floor for my face and frowning as he came up empty each time.