The Prince and the Girl

Gillian had made it through nine days of the tour, more than half of those days spent worrying over Harry’s disposition. For every moment they spent together, Harry spent two moments on his own, as if he was weaning himself off a drug. His sadness and tenseness had disappeared and he had returned to his usual self; this didn’t matter so much to Gillian because of the little contact they had.

They managed, somehow, to live in the same rooms and spend every moment by each other’s side without ever really being together. No one outside of their circle would see it – from the outside looking in, they still resembled a happy couple deeply in love. In less than a week their relationship had nearly fallen apart and Gillian was distraught. Every day, she reached out to Harry in hopes that he would reach back, but he never did. She didn’t know what to do.

It was obvious that Harry still loved her. She could see him pained by his knowingly causing her hurt. Every time they came close to each other, Gillian could see that he wanted to reach out and touch her, but held himself back.

The sky was darkening as the evening set in. Gillian and Harry had spent the day perusing the Washington museums and were now getting ready to have dinner with the president at the White House. They had arrived in Washington only early this morning after spending several days on the West coast.

Gillian had dressed in a beautiful chiffon gown that was daringly strapless; Phillip had called it their little secret. The gown was a deep navy blue with a classically cut empire waist and sweetheart neckline. The bust was decorated with ruffles of fabric.

She sat at the vanity that was positioned in the corner of the room, the chiffon splaying over her legs as she brushed through her hair. She had left it natural and it curled slightly around her face, having been parted to the side. Harry’s back was to her as he adjusted his bowtie on the other side of the room. The air was tense.

She stood up from the vanity and bent over her shoebox as her hair fell from its place tucked behind her ear. The shoes in this box were the one thing Gillian still had to look forward to. They were tall, open-toed heels with a blood red sole. The surface of the shoes was decorated immaculately with small rhinestones that sparkled each way they were turned, refracting even the smallest amounts of light. Gillian had no idea how Phillip had managed to acquire these for her very first tour; it must have cost a fortune.

She slipped the shoes on gracefully and stood up straight, now a few inches taller. The mirror hanging on the wall showed her reflection to be an unrecognizable figure, a shadow of herself. It reminded her of a story her mother had told her when she was young; a young girl sees someone else in her reflection and realises that she had spent her entire life doing what others want instead of what she wants herself.

“You look beautiful.”

Gillian saw another figure in the mirror now, but again, she didn’t recognise it. It was a shadow, the shell of someone she once knew. For the first time, she felt anger.

“Do I?” She asked as she turned away.

•••

Gillian sat on an unusually comfortable couch next to the president; the first female of her profession in her first year of her first term. She exuded power and confidence, but also kindness and understanding. She was young, probably not much older than Gillian, and was very beautiful. Gillian could understand why the American people had elected this woman through the campaigning process instead of Sarah Palin. Gillian, Harry, the president and her husband were seated in a living room of some kind; there were bookshelves lining the walls and comfortable looking chairs everywhere.

They had already faced the crowds and made their way into the White House to be greeted by the President, eaten dinner and dessert and now they simply sat and talked.

“Dear, you should show your plans for your charity to Harry,” The President said to her husband. “He could probably give you a few tips.”

Harry smiled. “I would love to.”

“While you two do that, I can give Gillian a tour of the library.” She turned to Gillian and smiled. “You look like a lover of literature.”

They walked to the library in silence, a relaxing atmosphere seeping from the walls of the majestic house. As soon as they were alone in the expansive library, surrounded by the musty smell of old paper and the leather bindings of antique books, the President spoke.

“I know the strain that can be put on the kind of relationships we are in.”

Gillian tried to conceal the look of surprise on her face. “Excuse me?”

She smiled kindly as they walked among the shelves. “You and Harry may be going through something tough right now but you’ll pull through, I’m sure.”

“How did you know?” Gillian asked quietly after a pause.

“I know because I’ve had to do the same thing that you two are doing right now: fake the happiness, put on a smile, pretend to be okay.” The President replied.

Gillian was silent as she rubbed her forehead with one hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The President ventured.

“He just won’t tell me what’s wrong.” Gillian managed eventually. “He says that one day, I’ll understand, but for now, he can’t tell me.”

The President raised an arm to rub Gillian’s back. “Do you trust him?”

“I used to.” Gillian responded.

“What changed?”

“He did. Something changed him, something his father told him.” Gillian replied.

“Think of man he used to be. All you need is to remember the person you fell in love with. Trust that person’s judgment.” The President responded surely. “If it’s meant to be, it will.”

•••

Gillian used the President’s advice to get her through the rest of the tour. She managed to make it across Canada, fooling everyone she met along the way into thinking that she was fine and that Harry was fine. She even managed to fool her mother, when they arrived in Montreal, who was absolutely smitten with Harry.

By the last day, Gillian was ready to go home to her vineyard, to Iris and hopefully, to her old Harry. She missed him dearly as they grew further apart. The night before their departure, Gillian slept restlessly with excitement, reassuring herself that she would soon have the Harry she knew again.

•••

A day had passed since Gillian had been welcomed home by a party thrown for her by Iris. She had begun to settle in to her home again when Harry had called to arrange a quiet dinner for them that evening. His tone was relaxed and calm, leading her to think that perhaps, he was ready to let her in.

She had chosen a dress that she knew she never would have been able to pull off on the tour. It was short, falling about a foot above her knees and strapless, with an asymmetrical neckline. The blue leopard print fabric was cinched and pulled to be attractively form to Gillian’s body, and just under the bust, were black jewel embellishments. She had paired the dress with a strappy pair of heels, the strips of fabric dotted with jewels.

As she came down the stairs, Iris wolf whistled from the foyer.

“Damn, girl.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows mischievously. “What did Harry do to deserve this torture?”

Gillian laughed. “I just felt like I needed to break out something that wasn’t knee-length.”

“Well you certainly picked a showstopper.” Iris nodded. “Is Harry picking you up?”

“Actually, George is coming to get me.” Gillian said just as the doorbell rang.

Her hair flowing behind her, she crossed the foyer to open the door. George’s reaction was similar to Iris’ and he looked her up and down with eyebrows raised.

“What is the occasion?” He grinned devilishly.

“No occasion.” Gillian grinned back.

They got in the car and drove off, waving to Iris as they went. The drive was relaxing, and Gillian felt completely at ease by the time they arrived.

“The Palace?” Gillian asked as she got out of the car and looked up at the extensive building.

“That’s what Harry said.” George replied surely.

“That’s odd.” Gillian said.

“He must be planning something special this evening.” George grinned again.

With that, Harry appeared at the door. Gillian waved goodbye to George as he drove away before leaning in to kiss Harry.

She smiled up at him. “Long time no see.”

Harry laughed and kissed her again. “Let’s have some dinner, shall we?”

His hand found hers and he led her back to the same room where they had eaten their first meal together, pulling her chair out for her to sit down.

“You look …” He paused as he sat down. “So different tonight.”

“Good different?” Gillian asked, grinning.

“Very good.” Harry replied. “Very, very good.”

Gillian laughed and felt a tension that had been lurking in her chest for weeks dissolve. Harry was back to his old self and she, hopefully, had nothing to worry about. Their conversation reminded her of the first time they had been here together; it was light-hearted, witty and relaxing. She felt the warmth of their relationship returning.

Soon, they had finished eating and Harry suggested that they take a walk through the Palace.

“This is like déjà vu.” Gillian smiled.

Harry’s only response was a small smile, almost indiscernible, as they walked about the regal hallways.

Eventually, they made it to the library. Gillian remembered that first night, when they had looked out the windows together and Harry had brushed her hair over her shoulder so gently. She remembered the feeling of his breathing on her cheeks when she had turned around to look at him. It had been so simple then, so uncomplicated.

They had come to stand in the same place Gillian had stood many years ago, in the same position. She stood in the window frame, the huge red velvet curtains brushing her arms gently as Harry pushed her hair over her shoulder and kissed her neck.

“Gillian.” He whispered gently and she turned around the face him.

He kissed her deeply and passionately, his fingers tangling in her hair. Gillian gripped the lapel of his suit jacket.

“You know I love you.” He breathed as he pulled away.

“Yes.” Gillian responded gently.

“And you know that I would do anything to protect you from getting hurt.” Harry continued.

“Yes.” Gillian said again, now wary.

Harry let her go and stepped back, running his hands through his hair in the same way she had seen before.

“Well, Gillian,” He couldn’t look at her. “I think we should break up.”