The Thrill Is Gone

The photographers went wild when William exited the vehicle. Almost instantly, they began to cry out for him, imploring that he turn to face them and gift them a smile that would do well for their respective publications. He had sent them into a massive frenzy, and had the photographers not been bound by an agreement with the FA, they would’ve surely swarmed the young Prince, but as it was, the photographers were required to stay within a designated area or else they would be escorted off the private property by the security personnel that was strategically stationed throughout it. The threat of being thrown out was enough to keep the photographers in line. None of them were willing to risk expulsion in order to get a closer shot of the young man that was second in line to the throne. That would’ve been foolish of them. There were many more members of international Royal families to take pictures of, and as such, they contented themselves with simply taking standards shots.

Since William was the figurehead President of the Football Association that was putting on the reception, he took his time to pose for several shots along the arrivals area and even stopped to give statements to a few recognizable faces in the crowd. He knew it was his duty to speak of how delighted he was with the South African World Cup, he had to chat it up, mention the appropriate names in conversation, and somehow manage to tie in his grandmother and father. He did so quite effortlessly, putting to use all the years of grooming that he’d received, and once he finished, he politely excused himself and was then ushered inside by his security detail.

It was an hour after William made his way inside the venue that Harry and Paulina finally showed up. Their initial plan had been to drive over with William, that way they wouldn’t have to fuss about taking separate cars, but somehow, their twenty minute shag-a-thon had spiraled terribly out of control. They’d foolishly lost track of time, and as a result of that, William went ahead without them. He couldn’t waste his time waiting around for his brother to finish having a go. That wouldn’t have been professional of him. He had a duty to carry out for the Football Association, and so he left, but not before charging Alistair with conveying Harry and Paulina to the venue, no later than six o’clock.

Harry might not have held a leadership position in the FA, but he still had duties to carry out. He had to chat up the foreign dignitaries that had been invited, mingle with the foreign Royals, and just generally charm people, since that was his man duty. Harry just had to be Harry. He had to smile and laugh, and make people feel as if he genuinely cared about whatever it was they were going on about. Harry was well aware of the part he was to play at the reception, and he was genuinely quite good about being prompt to do those sorts of things, but he’d been so keen to be with Paulina that the entire world had just sort of slipped from his mind. He didn’t care about the reception or introducing her to the Swedish Royals. The only thing he could think about was how beautiful she looked as she cried out his name and how bloody fantastic it felt to be between her thighs. Those were what his thoughts consisted of. At least, that was what they consisted of until Alistair started banging on the damn door.

It was then that the lovers were torn away from their little world and forced back into the real one. They scrambled to get ready, sharing a quick shower and then hurrying about to get dressed and presentable for the reception. Since she was short on time, Paulina didn’t bother with properly styling her hair. She simply straightened it and stuck a few bobby pins, hoping that that would be enough to keep it from falling in her face.

It was at a half past five when they finally left the hotel, and had it not been for the massive amount of traffic, they would’ve certainly arrived at the reception space in ten minutes. As it was, the streets were overrun with traffic and pedestrians that seemed to completely disregard the rules of the road. The drunken fans from all over the world walked across the street with no regard for the traffic lights or signs. In their minds, they had the right of way, and since no one wanted to deal with the trouble that came from running someone over, they had no choice but to wait and wait and wait, until the traffic began to move along. And finally, with only a few minutes to spare before six o’clock, they pulled up to the venue.

The young couple didn’t exit the vehicle right away. There was a bus parked ahead of them, filled with the entire English National Football team. The players had been scheduled to arrive a bit earlier, but due to not having finished practice on time, their coach forced them to remain behind until everything had been completed. Training was the priority, their coach had said. And if training meant that they had to arrive a half hour late, then so be it. After all, it wasn’t like they were the main attraction. The guests hadn’t flocked to the venue for a chance to meet Rooney or Crouch or any other footballer. They’d gone because it was a Royal event. Members from all the European, Asian, and African Royal Families were to be in attendance, as well as famous celebrities. It was the sort of event that didn’t often happen, and the absence of the footballers wouldn’t be taken into much consideration. Because who cares about a footballer when there are Princes, Princesses, and even Kings and Queens in attendance? That was the general mindset of the guests inside the venue, but despite the guests not being obsessed with the players, the press was.

As soon as the bus doors opened, the photographers went mental. They snapped photo after photo, hoping to catch the players frowning so the editors back home could slip in a caption regarding the disastrous match against Algeria. To most people that probably sounded absurd, but the photographers knew that one frown could be connected to the disappointing performance. In fact, as they snapped the photos, they imagined the possible captions that would go along with them. Rooney still hasn’t recovered from humiliating draw. Crouch still sulking. There were endless possibilities of what could be written with the appropriate picture, and the photographers wasted no time in trying to get just that. The reporters that weren’t busying taking photographs were busy trying to get statements out of the players. They shouted inquiries that none of the players dared answer. The players were all actively avoiding making any statement to the press in regards to the match. It was best to keep their mouths shut. Otherwise, they’d say something stupid like Rooney had. And no one wanted to do that.

It was quite some time before the last of the footballers disappeared inside the venue. They’d been lingering about, posing for pictures as they walked along the arrivals carpet. Had it been up to them, there wouldn’t have been a staged area for pictures to be taken, they would’ve just rushed in without paying any mind to the press, but as it was, there had been several staged areas for the press to demand photographs and the footballers had found themselves forced to stop at each one.

Harry and Paulina waited impatiently in the vehicle. They wanted to get the damn press portion of their evening over with so that they could hurry inside to the reception, but instead of getting on with it, they had to wait until the arrivals had been cleared. That way, Harry could make his grand entrance. The attention had to be solely focused on him. Well, him and his girlfriend, those were the orders that had been given to the security details. There couldn’t be other Royals or celebrities or footballers to take attention away from them. Since those were the orders, Kamal waited until there wasn’t a footballer in sight to pull up to the loading and unloading zone. And once Kamal had parked, Alistair exited the vehicle to open the door for Harry and Paulina.

The first to exit was Harry. He stepped out with that trademark smirk of his, the one that never failed to make others go weak in the knees. It was a look of confidence. That’s why people enjoyed it so much. Harry was conscious of the fact that he was attractive and in good standing in life, so he always that youthful confidence that a man with endless possibilities, ought to have. As Harry buttoned up his jacket, Paulina stepped out. She gently took hold of Alistair’s outstretched hand, smiling in gratitude as she did so, and then she carefully planted her feet on the ground.

It didn’t matter how many times she arrived at events, it still unnerved her. To have all those cameras focused on her and Harry was surreal. Surely, there were better things to photograph, more important images to document. She could think of loads of things that were more pressing in terms of global impact, instances that truly warranted press coverage. There was the American and British involvement in the Middle East, the growing tension among the citizenry of various Middle Eastern countries, the global economy that was still making its way out of a recession, the treatment of the LGBT community all around the world – there was an endless list of important matters that necessitated greater news coverage, but instead of covering that, the photographers were busy watching her as she made her way up the arrivals area alongside Harry. They were busy taking pictures of her shoes, of her bracelet, of her hair.

It was absurd to her, but she knew she had to play her part. This was something that came with the territory of being a serious Royal girlfriend. The other girlfriends, the ones that were just there until things got too serious, could get away with not being poised, but the serious ones that had been accepted by the families had to be a cut above it. They had to have an air of elegance to themselves, had to pose beside their boyfriends, gaze up at them to give the press good photo ops at the designated areas. It was just one of those things that had to be done, and she did them to the best of her abilities.

When she and Harry finally entered the venue, she let out a soft sigh of relief. She no longer had to deal with the overzealous paparazzi, only with a few highly respectable photographers that had been personally selected by the FA leadership to cover the event. And while Paulina wasn’t particularly thrilled about being on guard, she was glad that her present circumstance afforded her a bit more freedom. Her every move was no longer going to be documented by a lens. There were other people present, more important people whose photographs would fetch a higher price, and Paulina was glad of that. She knew her picture wasn’t worth anywhere near as much as that of a Crown Prince or Princess, and that was fine by her. In fact, she’d be delighted to be overlooked by the photographers, because if they didn’t pay much attention to her, she’d be free to run off with Zara.

And if Paulina could spend the majority of the reception with Zara, she’d deem it a success. Now, that’s not to say that she didn’t want to spend time with Harry. In an ideal setting, she would’ve been allowed to stay at his side throughout the entire course of the evening, but that just wasn’t possible. He had duties to carry out, conversations to have on behalf of his charitable endeavors and those of his grandmother. So he couldn’t very well waste the opportunity to network by spending the evening with her, and she understood that. She understood the fact that he had to go into work mode. This was his job. It was what his livelihood depended on. The Royals had to mingle, they had to be charitable, they had to give their people a reason to keep them around, and she was fine with his going off to tend to business. He had to do it, and she was just grateful that Zara was going to be there, because that meant that she wasn’t going to have to float around as much as she usually did. She’d be able to socialize for a bit and then retreat to wherever Zara was.

That was what she planned on doing. That was what her thoughts revolved around when she first stepped inside the venue. It wasn’t until Harry asked her to accompany him in meeting the South African President and First Lady, that she actually remembered that she was going to have to play the part of the dutiful girlfriend at his side for a little while. He was going to speak with whoever was the important figure, and then she’d speak to whoever was left over. That was how it always was. And as such, she stood at Harry’s side, discussing the beautiful South African landscape with the First Lady as Harry discussed his charity work in Lesotho. The President was friends with Prince Seeiso so the charity was quite important to him. He was an active contributor, and Harry always made time to keep the President well informed.

Their conversations with the South African President and First Lady didn’t last long. Hardly ten minutes passed before they parted ways, and when they did, Paulina thought that Harry was going to excuse himself. It made sense to her for him to begin the rounds so early on, but that wasn’t the case.

“Well,” said Harry as they walked away from the President and First Lady. “What do you say we find ourselves the Swedes? I reckon this is as good a time as any to introduce you.”

“Not yet,” blurted out Paulina, caught off guard by how quickly he wanted to introduce her.

“Are you really not that keen on meeting them?” Harry nearly laughed. “Look, I know Carl’s not much to look at, but I reckon you’d get on well with his sister. She’s like you, she is: stubborn and smart.”

“Don’t be daft.” She feigned hurt. “It’s not that I’m not keen on meeting them. I just thought that you were going to introduce me to other people first. I mean, you mentioned that we were going to have to meet with the FA leadership as soon as we got in, and you still have to introduce me to Rooney and the rest of the team.”

“I’ve changed my mind about that bit,” he said, playfully. “Rooney’s a tosser so I reckon it best if we skip that introduction.”

“If you skip that introduction, then I’ll just have to introduce myself.” Paulina declared. “I’ll walk right up to him, I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” gasped Harry.

“I would very much dare,” she replied. “So you get to choose, either you introduce me or I introduce myself.”

“Oh alright then,” he grumbled, though the twinkle in his eyes made it very clear that he was amused. “But you better not run off with him. I’m not about to be replaced by some balding wanker. That’d be like you running off with Wills. And ya just can’t do that, especially not when you’ve had such a lovely head of hair lying beside you for so long.”

“There’s no arguing with that logic.”

“There really isn’t,” added Harry. “Ya can either have a bald prat or this loveliness.”

“And I’d much rather have your gingery–ness,” she reassured. “That’s why I always the wear the lock you gave me.”

At that, Harry’s chest swelled with pride.

“That was brilliant of me, wasn’t it?” He asked, referring to the locket that held a miniature portrait and lock of his hair.

“Extremely brilliant and romantic,” she assured him. “So, now that we’ve settled the fact that I’m not gonna run off with Rooney, what are we gonna do?”

“I suppose we might as well make our way through the FA leadership. Wills was really insistent that we get around to that, so we’ll have a go at that and at introducing you to Rooney, and then we’ll have at the Swedes. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Now let’s get on with it, güerito.”

It didn’t matter how many times she called him güerito, it always produced the same effect. Being referred to as that never failed to leave him grinning like an absolute love struck fool. His eyes would light up, cheeks take on a slightly rosier tinge, and his grin would be so massive and sincere that Paulina would be mesmerized by it. There was no better look for a person than that of love. It had a way of beautifying every feature, of breathing new life into a smile, into a gaze. And as Harry smiled fondly at Paulina, and Paulina gazed tenderly at him, the guests in close proximity couldn’t help but be struck by just how taken the young couple was by one another.

“What ya looking at me like that?” asked Harry, his grin never faltering. “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” She shook her head. “You just look very handsome.”

“Make sure to keep a close eye on me then. Don’t want anyone kidnapping me for my dashing good looks.” He smirked, but instead of smacking his shoulder playfully like she always did, she just giggled to herself. “Oi!” he exclaimed, feigning hurt. “Ya won’t be laughing when someone’s run off with me.”

“No one’s gonna run off with you.”

“I reckon they will,” he said, very matter-of-factly.

“Then I reckon I’ll have to knock anyone the fuck out if they try to kidnap you.”

“That a promise?” Harry was always turned on when he talked like that.

“Of course it is. I have to take care of my Snow White.” She smirked. “Now come on then, let’s get this underway.”

“You know, if someone told me two years that I’d be getting turned on by being called Snow bloody White, I’d have laughed at them.”

“Life’s crazy like that.”

“Bloody mental it is.” Harry gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “S’alright though.”

“S’alright?” she repeated.

“More than alright,” he conceded. “Rather brilliant actually, when you’re being a pain in the arse.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m only ever lovely, thank you very much. I’m so bloody lovely that I’m taking you to meet Rooney, even though you’re liable to run off with him. But ya better not, cuz I’ll take whatever hair that wankers got left.”

“You’ll have to use hot wax to take whatever hair he’s got left.”

“Hot wax it is then,” he laughed. “Now let’s hurry about, I see Wills looking over at us. He’s got a look to him that I reckon means we have to hurry up and meet the FA leadership.”

Shortly thereafter, the pair arrived at the area where the FA leadership stood gathered. Had Harry and Paulina arrived earlier, when they were meant to, they would’ve been personally welcomed at the entrance by the leadership. They would’ve smiled, said a few polite words, and that would’ve been the end of it. Only a few minutes would’ve been taken up by the FA leadership, but as it was, the young couple had arrived more than an hour late and now found themselves forced to search out the leadership and spend a significant portion of time with them.

Neither Harry nor Paulina was particularly thrilled about having to stand about and chat with the leadership. Sure, there were a few ex-star players in their ranks, but for the most part it was just the people that had spent their entire lives behind the scenes, the ones that had scheduled matches, gotten sponsors, and ensured that the players were properly compensated. Given that, it was only natural that Harry and Paulina weren’t overly thrilled by the meeting, but they did their duty just the same.

They spent nearly twenty minutes engaged in conversation with the leadership. It seemed that everyone in the high ranking positions were keen to talk with Harry, and those same men were more than happy to flatter Paulina as she stood at Harry’s side. She did her best by Harry. She smiled warmly, appeared to be genuinely engaged in the conversation, and paid the necessary respects to the association.

All in all, it was a successful encounter. And when it was over, the pair made their way over to where the English National Football team was gathered. The entire team was lingering about their assigned seating, not caring to venture too far off since they had been explicitly forbidden from overindulging in food or drinks. They were on a strict diet, one designed for optimum performance on the field, and they had to adhere by it, even if all they wanted was some crisps and a go at the bar. If they could only have a few drinks, they could get on with the reception tolerably well. It would make them forget the fact that they were exhausted from practice and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. It would give them a fresh burst of energy, but as it was, the alcohol was off limits and they were left standing amongst each other, avoiding walking too far into the crowd out of fear of being reminded of their disastrous match against Algeria. They knew they’d done a shit job at the match, but being constantly reminded of it was more than they could handle.

So they kept to themselves as best they could. Of course, they spoke to the other guests whenever they approached them. It wasn’t like they could just ignore them, but the footballers didn’t make an effort to put themselves out there. They had already spoken to the FA leadership and to the sponsors that were present. That was all that their coaches demanded that they accomplish at the reception, and now they just had to wait until nine o’clock so they could head back to the hotel to catch up on some much needed sleep.

“For fuck’s sake,” cursed Wayne Rooney as he nursed his third glass of mineral water. “How much longer we’ve got in this damn place? I’ve a knee that needs icing and standing about like a wanker isn’t doing it any favors.”

“We’ve still two hours to go at this.” Peter Crouch informed Rooney. “And that’s if they don’t fancy having us stay longer. Don’t ya remember a few days ago when that tosser decided we ought to have dinner with those sponsors? Had us out until eleven at fucking night, when our arses should’ve been sleeping. And then they get all angry when we’re not all there at practice.”

“It’s there own fucking fault,” grumbled Rooney in agreement. “How are we meant to be at our best when they’ve got us running about from practice to receptions and wherever else they bloody feel like taking us? It’s rubbish if ya ask me.”

“The worst of it is when we get stuck with those bastards that do nothing but criticize. They’re fat old farts and yet they’re having a go at us for not being quick enough. Ugh. Nothing gets my temper going more than that. All I want is to tell them to put down the crisps and get on the field if they’re gonna be running their mouths, but we can’t damn well say any of that.”

“That’d land us in a disciplinary hearing, it would.” Rooney spoke from personal experiences. “Fuck ‘em though. We’ve already kissed the arses we were meant to. Hopefully we’ll be forgotten.”

“I reckon we will.” Crouch spoke, confidently.

“Especially since Beckham’s here,” said Rooney. “Everyone goes mental when he’s lingering about, and the fucking Princes are here to. I saw, uh, Wills earlier. He was having a chat with the blokes from the FA. And Harry walked in not to long ago.”

“Was he with his bird?” Crouch asked

“I didn’t see her.” Rooney replied. “But I reckon she is though. It’s not like a bloke’s gonna leave a bird that looks like that at home.”

“What bird are you lot talkin’ about?” Jermain Defoe chimed in the conversation.

“The one that’s with the Prince,” Crouch was foolish enough to think that’d be enough of an explanation.

“The Middleton bird?” asked Jermain.

“Not that one.” Crouch said. “We’re talking about Harry’s.”

“Oh, you mean Paulina.” Defoe’s girlfriend was an avid Royalist and even if she hadn’t been partial to the monarchy, he’d seen Paulina in the lad’s mags that he was keen on reading. “Yeah, mate, she’s fit.”

“Proper fit,” agreed Crouch. “She’s got that massive bum on her. What I’d do if I –”

“I reckon you ought to hold that thought, Pete.” Rooney advised.

“Why’s that?” Crouch didn’t understand what his teammate meant by that.

“Because she’s coming straight at us,” replied Rooney. “Well, her and the Prince.”

“Don’t bloody muck about like that, mate.” Defoe found it hard to believe that Prince Harry was seriously making his way over to them.

“I’m not mucking about.” Rooney didn’t get why his friend didn’t believe him. “Ya can turn around and see for yourself if ya bloody like.”

“And do ya think they’re coming here? Because I’ve not met Royalty before so I’ve no idea as to how to go about it. I reckon we’re meant to bow, but I don’t know how. Is it only the head we bow or is it from the back?”

“I dunno,” replied Crouch. “I’ve not met them either. I remember mum used to say –”

“Have you lot honestly not met a Royal before?” Rooney found it hard to believe that two highly accomplished players hadn’t met a member of the British Royal Family.

“Obviously not,” Defoe snapped. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be asking about a bow. Would I?”

Rooney fought back a laugh. “Well lucky for you, I have.”

“When has your arse met a Royal?” Defoe arched his brow, dubiously.

“I’ve met Royals loads of times, thank ya very much.” Rooney proudly stated. “I’ve met Wills once before, at some FA charity event, and I’ve met Harry a few times. It’s not like I’m mates with him or anything, but he’s a good lad. Oh! And I’ve met Prince Philip.”

“Bullshit,” said Crouch. “I’ll believe that you’ve met Wills and Harry, but not Prince Philip.”

“Go ahead, think it’s bullshit if ya like, but I’ve met him. He was nice enough, a bit of a prat with his sarcasm and dry humor, but he was alright by me.”

“How’d ya even manage that though?” Defoe inquired.

“Dunno,” was Rooney’s response. “I just got lucky, I suppose.”

“Right then,” said Defoe, still somewhat unconvinced as to Rooney’s honesty. “So once they get here, you’ll introduce us?”

“Introduce you?” repeated Rooney, nose scrunching slightly. “Who the fuck do I look like? The bloody son of an earl? No, mate. I won’t be doing any of those introductions. He’ll come, he’ll start the talk, and he’ll know who’s who. And we don’t even know if he’s going to stop and chat or walk straight by us. I saw the Swedish royals not too far away. Maybe they’ll hang about with them.” Rooney had barely finished saying that when he locked eyes with Harry. It wasn’t a prolonged gaze, but in that time, Rooney bowed his head respectfully and offered a polite smile to the Prince. “Then again, I reckon they’ll be stopping,” he informed his friends. “I’ve just made eye contact. So follow my lead, wankers . . .”

It was hardly a minute later when the young couple arrived, and as custom dictated, Harry was the first to speak. He greeted Rooney warmly, with the usual charm and friendliness with which he approached everyone, and after having shaken hands with the temperamental footballer, Harry introduced himself to Defoe and then to Crouch. The two footballers did their best to follow Rooney’s example, but it was unnerving to have an actual member of the Royal Family standing before them. Sure, they were both wealthy men that were accustomed to the good life, but they didn’t move around in the circles of the aristocracy, and to speak to the grandson of the Queen was something truly massive for them. It was the sort of thing that even managed to humble men that had multi-million football contracts with Premier League teams.

After he finished establishing an acquaintance between the footballers and himself, he redirected his attention to Paulina, who was exerting every bit of her self restraint to keep herself from asking Rooney for an autograph. She was finding it incredibly difficult to process the fact that was actually going to meet Wayne Rooney. It didn’t seem real to her. Not after all the years that she and Luis had spent fangirling over his athletic abilities and behavior on the field. It was almost as surreal as meeting Robert Plant, though not quite at that level . . . just a few notches below. That was where she placed her meeting with Rooney, and that was why she was trying her absolute best to not seem like some overly enthusiastic fan. That wouldn’t have been appropriate in the present company. It would’ve been alright at a bar or a club, but not at a reception where there were respectable photographers and other Royals.

Harry noticed the distress in his girlfriend’s eyes. Had he been someone else, it would’ve been undetectable, but in the two years of knowing her, he had become adept at reading her moods and as such, he was able to tell that she was anxious to meet Rooney, that she was having an inner struggle to keep herself from appearing overly excited.

The polite thing to have done in a situation such as that would’ve been to introduce her to Rooney straight away, to not prolong her excitement and distress, but Harry felt like being a bit of a prat. He could prolong it just a bit, it wouldn’t be so bad. And as such, the first person that Harry introduced Paulina to was Defoe. Despite not being Rooney, Defoe was a footballer that Paulina was fond of. He was an amazing striker that always left it all on the field, and as she shook hands with him, she smiled warmly and praised his efforts. The next person that Harry introduced her to was Crouch. If she was to be completely honest, she wasn’t as excited in meeting him. He played for Chelsea. Chelsea! The team she hated most in the Premier League. Well, most after Arsenal. So she was biased, but despite that, she was charming and polite, treating him with kindness and warm civility.

After having tortured Paulina by first introducing her to Defoe and Crouch, Harry finally introduced her to Rooney. He had a feeling that she was going to ramble on a bit, just like when she’d met Robert Plant, but surprisingly enough, she was able to keep her excitement under control. Sure, she smiled a bit wider than she’d met the others, and her eyes seem to shine a bit more, but she didn’t ramble or embarrass herself like she had with Plant. She was composed, she was charming, and she surprised the footballers by just how normal she seemed to be. They had, in all honesty, expected her to be a little stuck up. That was the way that most women who dated Royals or celebrities were. They thought very highly of themselves, and deemed most everyone else as beneath them, but Paulina was gladly laughing at the stories they were sharing. She even snorted at one point, causing Rooney and Crouch to laugh heartily while Defoe struggled to hold down the mineral water that was threatening to shoot out.

“You alright there?” inquired Paulina as she took a handkerchief from her purse. “Here, I think you might need this one.”

“I couldn’t possibly.” Defoe replied, slightly embarrassed. “I’ll get a napkin off the table.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She fought back a laugh. “I made you spit some of that out, so the least you can let me do is give you a handkerchief.”

“Just take it,” advised Harry. “She won’t give up until you do. She’s far too stubborn.”

“He’s right.” Paulina confirmed. “Or do you want to wipe it off? Because if I do, then the photographers are going to be taking pictures and by tomorrow morning, the tabloids are going to be running articles claiming that we’re having an illicit affair.”

“Then they’ll dig up some old picture of me looking unamused, and say that I’m sulking about over it.” Harry further elaborated.

“Alright then, but only because I don’t want my bird to go off on me. She’ll be jealous enough that I’ve met you.” Defoe told Harry and Paulina.

“Well then let’s take a picture, and we can send it to her.” Paulina proposed. “Get your phone out and we’ll squeeze in. Come on güerito.” She tugged at Harry’s hand and he gladly complied.

“Are Crouch and I not to be involved then?” Rooney feigned hurt.

“Course not,” replied Defoe, quickly. “My bird’s seen you loads of time, but not His Royal Highness and Paulina.”

“I’ll remember this.” Rooney threatened playfully. “Won’t we Crouch?”

Crouch nodded in agreement. “We’ll get you back for this, we will.”

“After all that whining about they ought to be let into the picture,” commented an amused Harry. “Or else you might be quite done for at hotel.”

“Knowing them, I probably will be.” Defoe admitted as he fumbled about with his phone. “Sorry, I’ve only just got this mobile so I’m still fumbling about with – ah! Got it!” he exclaimed, victoriously. “Right then, come on lads. If Prince Harry says you ought to be in the picture, then I reckon s’alright by me.”

The group assembled themselves as best they could for the impromptu photo session. They all grinned brightly at the camera. Well, Rooney and Crouch smiled alright enough. They weren’t wearing massive grins or anything like that, but they looked genuinely pleased, and a bit smug, if one was to be completely honest. Not that the others noticed though, they were far too busy beaming at the camera phone, acting like drunken college students trying to get a decent picture in a poorly lit club. But thankfully for them, they weren’t at some poorly lit club. They were at a very well lit venue and were able to take quality shots that were almost immediately sent over to Defoe’s girlfriend. He sent her a few images, the ones he’d liked best, and he’d hardly placed his phone back in his trousers before it began to ring.

Rebecca honestly couldn’t believe that her boyfriend had just taken pictures with bloody Prince Harry and Paulina. That was mental! Of course, she knew that her boyfriend was high up. He was a world renowned footballer, but Defoe had never been one for Royalty. He’d never met them before, and yet there he was, taking pictures on his mobile with Prince Harry. That wasn’t something that was supposed to happen, and the fact that it had, left Rebecca in hysterics. She couldn’t help but shout about with glee and ask questions like mad. Had she known that Prince Harry and Paulina were standing right next to Defoe, she would’ve made an effort at remaining a bit more composed, but she hadn’t a clue. She was running at the mouth, and Harry was so amused that he took the mobile from Defoe, and had a chat with Rebecca. There was a moment of silence on her end, she wasn’t sure that it was actually Prince Harry on the line or just one of Defoe’s mates having a laugh, but in time, she realized it was the Prince. She tried to be cool. She failed, quite miserable. Not that Harry minded. He was genuinely amused, and when he tired, he handed the mobile off to Paulina, who gladly chatted with Rebecca.

All in all, the meeting with the footballers was fucking fantastic. They were hilarious, they were raunchy, and while Paulina did her best to not be too vulgar, she couldn’t help but feel that she was among her old rugby mates. It was nice to be in that environment again. Their energy made her spirits soar, and for the first time since they’d arrived, she wasn’t all that nervous about meeting the Swedish Royals, because if she’d been able to meet Rooney without making an ass of herself, then she could definitely meet a few Royals.

At least that was what she thought until she came into view of the Royals. She’d been perfectly fine, calm and collected, but then they left behind the footballers and the celebrities and everyone else that wasn’t titled, and all of a sudden, there were nothing but Royals in front of her – Royals from all over the fucking world. They were all huddled together, as if they couldn’t be bothered to venture out and mingle with those without titles. It was unnerving to have them all concentrated in one area. They should’ve been spread out that way if she made an ass out of herself in front of the Swedes, the others wouldn’t be there to witness it, but no, they were there. They were there and they were watching discreetly, thought not discreetly enough for Paulina’s taste.

“You alright there, love?” inquired Harry softly, noticing the way her hold on his arm intensified.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied, though it wasn’t very convincing.

“Don’t believe you.”

“I’m fine, güerito.” She attempted to sound a bit more genuine that time. “I’m just a little nervous and excited. It’ll be alright though.”

“It always is.” He stated. “I don’t even know why you’re getting yourself so worked up. You always get yourself worked up over something or another, and then it all works out.”

“Not all the time.”

“Enough of the time,” he said. “Now don’t ya bloody worry, alright? You’re gonna be fantastic.”

But she was worried. She knew enough about high society and the aristocracy to know that some of them could be massive fucking pricks. There were a few of Harry’s relatives, the lesser Royals that hardly ever made the tabloids, that hadn’t been welcoming of her. They treated her with cold civility, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Prince Charles and his siblings and sibling-in-laws. The lesser Royals looked at her with contempt. They were unable to process the fact that the Queen had actually approved of her. That honestly made no sense whatsoever to them. Because how could the Queen approve of her when she’d once held her in marked contempt? They had seen the way the Queen’s eyes would narrow in annoyance whenever someone brought up her name. Of course, the Queen was never vocal about it in their presence. That business was only to be discussed with her grandsons and son and husband, not with the lesser royals. But still they were able to see in her eyes that the American was an unwelcome intrusion on their family. That was why they felt comfortable speaking ill of her, and making comments regarding the fact that they prayed Harry would soon grow bored. But despite all that, despite the Queen narrowing her eyes and allowing the lower ranking members of her family to badmouth Paulina, she had come around. She now viewed Paulina as a welcomed addition to their family. She now invited the American to dine and take tea at the Royal Residences, and had even gone so far as to invite her to stay in Balmoral with her. And they all knew that, they all knew that Paulina had become a favorite of the Queen, but that didn’t change their opinion of the young America.

Paulina was unfit.

That wasn’t an opinion. It was a statement of fact. She was unfit to be with Harry, just like Kate was unfit to be with William, though if they were to be perfectly honest, the lesser Royals were willing to make more allowances for Kate since she was at least a British commoner and not an American. That was Kate’s saving grace. Paulina had none. Nor was she likely to ever develop one, and she knew that. She understood the fact that they hated her, and she honestly didn’t care. The high ranking Royals were kind to her. They weren’t all as warm and attentive as Zara, Prince William, Prince Charles, and Sophie, but they were each welcoming in their own way. They had accepted her, even though the lesser ranking Royals had thought her unfit.

And as Paulina walked into the Royal occupied space at the FA venue, she couldn’t help but notice that some of the individuals there were staring at her with the same disdain of the lesser Royals. It was a look of offense and disgust, a look that would’ve been better suited for a rival, instead of a stranger they’d never crossed paths with. But the fact that they didn’t know her didn’t make any difference at all to him. It wouldn’t have mattered if she was the sweetest most compassionate person in the entire world. What mattered was the fact that she wasn’t one of them. She was just another commoner that was trying to make her way up the ranks, and that – oh that was unforgivable. To them, there was nothing worse than a social climber, even though at some point or another, their own families had engaged in that practice in order to ensure their position and wealth, but at least they’d done so while having a title. She, on the other hand, did not. She was a reminder of the fact that so many Royal families and titled families were beginning to mix in with commoners. They were losing their exclusivity, and that was an affront to their very person.

Thankfully for Paulina, the Swedish Royals weren’t like that. Victoria had married a commoner, a young man that had once been her gym trainer and who had been incessantly teased by the Stureplan Brats over his accent and his less than refined etiquette. Victoria and Daniel, the Crown Princess and her Prince didn’t stare at Paulina with disgust, neither did Prince Carl. They seemed genuinely pleased to have her there. Victoria smiled brightly, remaining regal all the while, but still conveying an acceptance as well as a desire to become well acquainted, and Daniel – funnily enough – looked about as nervous as Paulina did. He was still getting used to everything. After all, he’d only been Royal for a little over a week. He had, of course, been with Victoria for roughly eight years. So he was somewhat accustomed to being in high society, but it was a very different thing to go from only being the commoner boyfriend to being the Prince husband. He now had an even more demanding duty to present himself a certain way, and it was going to take him awhile to feel comfortable in his new role, especially since some of the other Royals regarded him as nothing more than a social climbing country boy.

“Carl!” Harry warmly greeted his friend. There was no need for formality. They were equals in titles.

“Harry!” exclaimed Carl, setting his champagne on a nearby table. “About time you got in! I was just telling Victoria that you’d forgotten us.”

“I could easily forget you, but not her future Majesty.” Harry joked as he shook hands with Carl.

“Such a cruel man you are.” Carl feigned hurt. “But I suppose you are right. I could easily forget you, but not William.”

“Now I find that very hard to believe,” said Harry. “There’s no forgetting beauty like mine.”

“And mine’s forgettable?”

“Forgettable compared to mine.” Harry smirked. “Don’t worry though. You’re better than most.”

“You’re a right pain in the arse, but I’ll pardon you on one condition.”

“Being?” inquired an amused Harry.

“Being that you introduce me to your beautiful companion.” Carl flashed a debonair smile and bowed his slightly. He was a charming man that knew how to enchant people.

“And who says she wants to meet you? She might’ve come along only to be introduced to your sister and brother-in-law.”

“I flatter myself by believing that she won’t mind being introduced to me.”

“You’re lucky you’re right.” Harry grinned. “Now, allow me to do the honors as custom dictates. Your Royal Highness Prince Carl, do allow me of introducing you to my girlfriend, Miss Balcázar.” He paused, allowing Carl the time to smile some more. “Dearest Paulina, do allow me the honor of introducing you to His Royal Highness Prince Carl.”

“Miss Balcázar,” Carl spoke first. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“It is entirely my own, Your Royal Highness.” She curtsied as custom dictated.

“That is an exceedingly well formed curtsey.” Carl complimented.

“I’ve had lots of practice.” Paulina replied with a smile.

“I’m sure you have.” He said. “And its practice well spent. You curtsey better than Harry bows.”

“Oi!” exclaimed Harry, warningly. “You’re not one to talk about bowing. You’re worse at it than I am.”

“Nonsense,” stated Carl. “I’m far the superior.”

“Only in your dreams,” said Harry.

“Careful now,” Paulina chimed in. “I’m sure you two don’t want to start an international conflict over who bows better. Or am I so dull that you’d rather argue amongst yourselves than talk to me?”

“Forgive me if I have given the impression of preferring to argue with Harry than conversing with you,” said Carl, smoothly.

“So bloody smooth,” mumbled Harry, smiling to himself.

“You’re forgiven,” replied Paulina.

“Now that I’ve been pardoned, how are you enjoying South Africa? Harry told me earlier that this is your first time to the continent.”

“My second,” replied Paulina. “I have visited Botswana and Lesotho with Harry before.”

“That’s right. You visited his charity. Tell me, how did you like it?” inquired Carl.

“I think it’s fantastic.” Paulina answered, honestly. “The charity is doing great work with the community, and what’s best of all is that as well as providing nourishing meals and medicine, its providing education, which will be so crucial for the future of the children in the area. Education is a means for their continued betterment, and I love the fact that the charity focuses so heavily on that.”

“I see education is a cause very close to your heart.”

“It is.”

“Does that mean you are involved with education related charities back in America?”

“I wish I could be,” she replied. “I’ve not the time for it though. That sounds awful. Doesn’t it? Of course it does. Here I am going on about how brilliant it is that Harry’s charity focuses so much on education and I’m not involved with anything education related for the younger generations in America. At the moment, I’m just a bit too focused on law school and working for Professor Warren.”

“Elizabeth Warren?” asked Carl.

“Yes. Do you know her?”

“Not personally, but Victoria does.” Carl informed her. “Warren came to Stockholm to visit with environmental lawyers from America. She discussed matters relating to the economy, and was well received. The woman is brilliant. If only your country would allow her to regulate the banks, I think the global economy would be all the better for it.”

“I completely agree with you. The only problem is that Wall Street is working incredibly hard to keep her from a position of power. They’re afraid that if she were to be in charge of regulation, that she was actually implement it, instead of allowing them to go ungoverned.” She was getting passionate. She was always passionate when she discussed Professor Warren’s work. “It’s a pity though, because I honestly feel that if she had been in charge of regulating the banking industry, this recession that the global economy has been driven to, would’ve never happened. Subprime lending would’ve been a harshly discouraged practice.”

“You’re well versed.” Carl complimented.

“Not at all,” she replied. “There’s still much to learn, but I’m getting on tolerably well.”

“She’s just modest, is all.” Harry chimed in. “She’s absolutely brilliant. That’s why that Professor’s takes her to Washington whenever she goes.”

“Does she now?” Carl was impressed. He knew that Harry’s girlfriend was intelligent, but he hadn’t thought that she would properly be pursuing a career. He thought that she’d be biding her time like Kate was.

“I’ve accompanied her on several occasions.” Paulina confirmed. “The last was actually to discuss legislation that would implement greater financial regulations. They House is actually going to be taking a vote on it in the upcoming week.”

“Hopefully the legislation will be enacted, because the last thing we need is for this recession to worsen or for another to happen in the near future. Especially us Royals,” he added. “Because whenever things go wrong with the economy, the commoners begin to think that perhaps the monarchy is not earning its keep.”

She wanted to say that it was understandable, that monarchies were archaic institutions that could be done away with, with tolerable ease, but she kept that comment her to herself, knowing very well that that was not an appropriate comment to make. They conversed with Carl for a bit longer and then Carl declared that he would introduce her to Crown Princess Victoria and the newly titled Prince Daniel.

As stated prior, Victoria smiled brightly, remaining regal and elegant, yet still extending an air of welcome to the young American, and Daniel looked a bit nervous, yet there was an understanding look to him, a look that made it clear that he sympathized with her, for he had once been where she stood.

“Dearest sister,” spoke Carl in a commanding voice. “I have a friend whom I wish to acquaint you and Daniel with.”

“Then do acquaint us,” she replied, staring intently at Paulina.

Carl cleared his throat. “Your Royal Highness The Crown Princess of Sweden allow me to introduce you to Miss Balcázar. Miss Balcázar, do allow me to introduce you to Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess of Sweden.”

Paulina waited until Victoria initiated conversation and then curtsied.

“Miss Balcázar,” spoke Victoria after she and Paulina had finished the protocol of becoming acquainted. “Do allow me to introduce you to my husband, Prince Daniel of Sweden. Daniel, my dear allow me to introduce you to Miss Balcázar.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Balcázar,” spoke Daniel, in a thicker accent than Victoria or Carl had.

“The pleasure is entirely my own, Your Royal Highness.” Paulina then curtsied and resumed her rightful place beside Harry.

“Is there to be no introduction for me?” Harry inquired, teasingly.

“Do you honestly require one?” asked an amused Victoria.

“I believe so,” was Harry’s response. “I’ve never met His Royal Highness Prince Daniel of Sweden.” And he wasn’t lying; he’d only met Mr. Daniel Westling, not Prince Daniel.

“In that case, allow me to introduce you to His Royal Highness Prince Daniel of Sweden.” Victoria spoke with great pride

Daniel, accustomed to bowing to everyone in high society, began to do so. He positioned himself to receive Harry as he would’ve received him only a week earlier, but before he could do so, Harry spoke.

“There’s no need for that.” Harry interjected. “You’re a Royal Highness now, Prince Daniel.”

“I am not yet accustomed to it.” Daniel spoke, somewhat embarrassedly. “It’ll take some time.”

“Don’t worry, Daniel. There are still those we must bow to. Kings and Queens and the beautiful women whom we wish to keep happy.” Harry winked at Paulina. “She shakes her head, but she knows it’s true. Don’t you love?”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, blushing.

“He is right.” Daniel agreed, taking Victoria’s hand in his. “That is a man’s sacred duty.”

“He’s only saying it because they’re on their honeymoon.” Carl chimed in. “Give it a few months though, he’ll be singing a different tune.”

“Carl, do not say such things,” scolded Victoria.

“Dearest sister, follow your husband’s example and be happy.” Carl grinned, knowing that would further annoy her. “And be excited, because Miss Balcázar works for Elizabeth Warren.”

“Do you really?” Victoria’s eyes flickered with delight. “Oh, Miss Balcázar, what a privilege it is to work with such a remarkable woman.”

“Have you met with her frequently?” Paulina inquired, politely.

“I cannot say that I have had such an honor,” replied Victoria. “We met once, at a conference held in Stockholm. It was a conservation conference, in which environmental lawyers and scientists and activists gathered to discuss what could be done about climate change. I opened the conference and stayed throughout it. She wasn’t personally invited to attend since conservation is not her field, but she came along with a Kennedy and a few American scientists.”

“Was that Kennedy by chance, Robert Kennedy Jr.?”

“Yes.” Victoria confirmed. “How were you aware?”

“I know Mr. Kennedy,” replied Paulina. “Not very well, but I do know him.”

“That is good.” Victoria smiled. “It does the mind well to surround itself with those that are experts in their respective fields.”

Since Victoria was content to continue discussing conservation efforts, she engaged Paulina in a lengthy conversation, leaving the men to talk amongst each other. Victoria was a woman with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and she was glad to be able to learn new information from the young American, as well as to relay information that Paulina had not yet been made aware of. All in all, Victoria found Paulina’s company to be stimulating and she was more than happy to extend her friendship, to be the first foreign Royal to welcome the young American into the elite society.