The Thrill Is Gone

Although not having been warmly received by the majority of the Royals present at the FA reception, Paulina still dared to deem the outing a success. She had established an amiable acquaintance with the Swedish Royals. In Victoria, she had found a kindred spirit whom cared deeply about many of the political causes which were so close to her own heart. In Daniel, she had found a friend who had been exactly where she’d stood, and who had been kind enough to offer a helping hand. In Carl, she found a young man who was incredibly similar to Harry in manner and taste, and she approved of him, even though Carl and Harry acted like little children when they were in one another’s company.

Paulina genuinely enjoyed being in the company of the Swedes, and much to her satisfaction, the feeling was mutual. They found in her an acquaintance that they would very much like to further. She would be an ideal companion to spend more evenings with in the future. She wasn’t stuffy and arrogant like some of the others that they frequently met with at receptions and charity events. She was well spoken, intelligent, charming, and possessed refined manners that would do well within their sphere. All in all, she was a welcomed addition to their elite society, and the Swedish Royals looked forward to being more often in her company.

That acceptance, though limited to only three people, filled Paulina with a great sense of satisfaction and hope. It made her feel that there was a good chance that she would one day be accepted by the rest of the Royals or it not accepted, at least treated with polite civility. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life treated as if she were some unwelcome intruder. Life was hard enough without adding that to the equation, especially since she wasn’t obligated to put up with their smug faces. It wasn’t her duty to endure their cold civility. She wasn’t some lower member of the aristocracy that had to put up with their bullshit. She was an American. There was no monarch in the world that she had to bow to.

In fact, the only reason that she bowed to the Queen and to Prince Charles and the Swedes and every other Royal that she was introduced to, was because she wanted to do right by Harry. She bowed to them out of love and respect for her own gingery Prince. He was why she put up with the cold civility and displeased looks. Had it not been for him, she wouldn’t have been wasting any time trying to get to know those people. They were of no importance. They were just figureheads that could be done away with at any moment by the people of their country. They had very little political influence, and as such, they weren’t worth Paulina going out of her way to please them. Had they been Kennedys or Clintons or Gores, she would’ve sung a different tune. Those were the people she would’ve endured cold civility from. Those were the people she’d work tirelessly to impress out of her own sense of duty, not the Royals though. They were only tolerated because of Harry.

And he knew that. He knew that his darling had only endured the displeased looks of the Spanish Queen, because she felt it was her duty to him. He knew that the reason she had held her tongue when the former King of Greece directed a backhanded compliment towards her, was because she didn’t want to start trouble. And each time that Harry had begun to speak up, offended at their distasteful behavior, she had given his hand a gentle squeeze and shot him a discreet glance that seemed to say, it’s not worth it.

Had the circumstances been different, she would’ve told both those relics to go fuck themselves. Not in those words, of course, she would’ve been clever about it, but she would’ve conveyed the same message and she would’ve taken pleasure in doing so. But as it was, Paulina didn’t want to start any trouble between the British Royal Family and the foreign ones, so she held her tongue and urged Harry to do so as well. He knew that it killed her to do so. Swallowing her pride was a very difficult thing for her to do, but she did it for him. And he loved her all the more for it.

When their time in South Africa came to an end, Harry and Paulina wanted nothing more than to disappear for a little while, to retreat to Prince Charles’ flat where they could finally have some much needed rest. Inside that blessed flat, they’d be able to lie about in bed all day or lay sprawled across the couch, catching up on their shows. They wouldn’t have to fuss about their appearance or whether or not they were acting in a dignified manner. They’d be free. Finally free from the prying eyes of the world, if only for a few days, but unfortunately for them, that wasn’t an option.

Their time had already been promised elsewhere. The moment they arrived in London, they were forced to go their separate ways. Harry went to Clarence House, where he spent his days seeing to his Royal duties and accompanying his father to functions. And for her part, Paulina ventured to Wilton Crescent where she spent her days with Lord and Lady Fellowes. The pair was delighted to have her back under their roof. They each doted on her in their own particular fashion. Lady Fellowes was expressive and warm, taking pleasure in going out on the town with Paulina and taking tea in the garden. Lord Fellowes doted on her by inviting her to drinks in his study, where they discussed the current global political climate. Perhaps Lord Fellowes’ version of doting wasn’t the most exciting or pleasant. It certainly wasn’t as warm or filled with smiles like Lady Fellowes’, but it pleased Paulina well enough. She knew that Lord Fellowes didn’t just ask anyone to share a drink over a lengthy political discussion. He only did that with people whose opinions he truly respected, and Paulina was now one of them. He no longer saw her as a child that had to be educated, she was now a competent young woman that had established her own influential political connections and was personally working for a highly respected figure.

In the year since Paulina had left England, she had established herself as so much more than just Prince Harry’s girlfriend. Her name was starting to mean something in America. It was constantly being brought up in connection to Elizabeth Warren, people saw her as the connection that had to be made if they wanted to get in with the Professor, and Lord Fellowes recognized that. He was a little worried that Paulina would be so caught up by the power and influence she was gaining, that she would turn her back on Harry and live out her life in the United States. He genuinely thought that was a possibility, because personally speaking, he wouldn’t have been able to turn his back on his own political aspirations to become someone’s spouse, even if that someone was Royal. Lord Fellowes was a man with an innate need to distinguish himself and he felt Paulina shared that trait.

His wife disagreed.

To her, Paulina was quite the romantic. The dark haired American was a young woman who knew Captain Wentworth’s letter to Anne Elliot, by heart. She obsessed over poetry. She believed in fairytales and happily ever afters. She was very much Marianne Dashwood with a hint of Elinor mixed in for good measure. That was how Lady Fellowes viewed her dear friend. And she believed that when the time came, Paulina would follow her heart to England without a second thought. She felt that Paulina was going to work hard in America for as long as she could, and then when it came time to marry, she would renounce all that and devote herself entirely to her new duties. That was what Lady Fellowes hoped would happen, because more than anything, she wanted Paulina to wed Harry. That way she wouldn’t just be Harry’s aunt. She’d be Paulina’s as well.

For her part, Paulina was unaware that the Fellowes spent so much time dwelling on what the future held in store for her. She, of course, knew that they entertained certain hopes for her future. That was made clear enough whenever she was in their company, but she didn’t think it was such a frequent topic of conversation for them, especially since they had three adult children to think of. That was where there thoughts should’ve been engaged, at least, that was what Paulina believed, but the Fellowes were already certain of what route their children’s lives would take. One of them, had already achieved everything their parents had expected of them, and the other two were well on their way and required minimal attention to help them along. Their future had already been secured to them, but Paulina’s had not. Hers was up in the air, waiting to see which way it would go, and they thought often about it, each holding their own personal beliefs of what would come to be.

Neither Lord nor Lady Fellowes mentioned those particular beliefs to Paulina. Lady Fellowes didn’t tell her American friend that she hoped she would one day become a Duchess, and Lord Fellowes didn’t tell her that he suspected she would break Harry’s heart and become a prominent political figure in America. They simply told her that they expected her to graduate from Harvard Law with honors. That was it. That was their main expectation of her. Well, that and they also wanted her to continue projecting a highly respectable and enviable image to the world. Those were their main expectations. And she was fulfilling them both quite well. She carried herself with great poise in public and she was getting on quite well with her studies. There was no doubt that she would be graduating with honors.

“And how much longer will it be before you graduate?” inquired Lady Fellowes as they took their tea.

“Not much longer, Ma’am,” replied Paulina, setting down her cup. “Only two more years until I graduate, and while I suppose that sounds like a long time, I know it’ll go by rather quickly.”

“Of course it will, dear.” Lady Fellowes agreed. “It will certainly go by as quickly as your time at Oxford did.” She paused, taking a moment to enjoy the tranquility that her garden afforded them. “Tell me,” she began. “Are you to work for the Professor again?”

“I will.” Paulina proudly confirmed. “She offered to keep me on as a research assistant, and she also desires that I – well, I suppose I shouldn’t already be talking of this since I’m not sure if it’ll happen or not.”

“If what will happen?” pressed Lady Fellowes.

“If certain legislation passes in America,” replied Paulina. “Because if it is enacted into law, Professor Warren will be the special assistant to the President, she’ll be charged with implementing the legislation and I’ll be charged with being her personal assistant throughout it all.”

“I daresay your position will be quite a coveted one,” commented Lady Fellowes. “It is certainly a position of great honor to have, though I must admit that I fear it will keep you from visiting us at all.”

“It won’t.” Paulina assured. “I’ll be in England twice a month. That is, when classes start.”

“Twice?” repeated Lady Fellowes, her disbelief apparent.

Paulina nodded. “I’ll be here twice, and Harry will travel to America once every month.”

“How delightful!” exclaimed Lady Fellowes in a voice that she would never have dared used in public. “Nearly all your weekends shall be spent in one another’s company. That is fantastic news indeed, but I wonder as to why Harry had not mentioned it before. Perhaps he was trying to keep you from me.”

“Perhaps he is,” laughed Paulina lightly. “Though in truth, I believe it’s because we only recently decided on it. And since he hasn’t been able to visit recently, he’s not had the opportunity to tell you.”

“That is true. His schedule has been exceedingly filled by his Royal Duties. As has yours,” she added. “The weeks leading up to your trip to Africa were spent accompanying Harry to his engagements. Not a day passed when you were not in the media.”

“We were very busy,” agreed Paulina. “There was hardly anytime to think.”

“Thankfully, there is now.”

“Thankfully,” repeated Paulina with a soft smile. “It’s lovely to take tea in the garden. So tranquil and peaceful . . . if only the rest of London were like this . . .”

“If it were, it wouldn’t be London.” Lady Fellowes said. “But not to worry, dear, for our home shall always be at your disposal.”

“You are far too kind to me, Ma’am.”

“Not at all,” Lady Fellowes chuckled. “My affections have been quite earned by your person.”

“Just the same, I believe you to be far too kind.” Paulina glanced down at her watch. “Harry will arrive in a few hours,” she commented.

“Only to take you from us,” reminded Lady Fellowes. “Four days aren’t nearly long enough to comprise a proper visit. I daresay that you should’ve stayed an entire week with us, at least a week.”

“If only I could have, Ma’am.” Paulina was touched. “But I’m afraid my time in England has run short.”

“Because you only stayed six weeks,” Lady Fellowes said. “I urged you to spend two months. Do you remember?”

“Of course, but my parents want to see me as well.” Paulina couldn’t help but smile. “And I also want to see them.”

“Two weeks wouldn’t have made a difference.” Lady Fellowes went on. “They would’ve had you an entire month. Certainly, that would have been enough. And you could have spent an entire week with us and then a bit more time traveling with Harry.”

“Perhaps that’ll be how I allocate my time next year.” It wouldn’t be. She was just saying that to appease Lady Fellowes, because as much as Paulina loved England and everyone in it, she couldn’t help but miss her family.

“And perhaps your parents could visit as well.” Lady Fellowes had desired to meet the Balcázars for quite some time. “Surely, your parents could spare a week from their summer to come visit. Lord Fellowes and I would be honored to have them stay.”

“I thank you, Ma’am, but my parents mean to travel to Mexico next summer.” Her parents spent two weeks out of every summer in Mexico. It was tradition. And to be honest, Paulina knew her father wouldn’t be able to stand being the guest of Lord and Lady Fellowes. He would see their way of life as nonsensical, and be bored of it by the second day. The only way she could imagine that they would get on was if they were to invite her parents to their country house. There, her father could employ his time by hiking about the countryside, but being confined to sitting rooms wouldn’t suit him.

“Surely, they can reschedule.” Lady Fellowes stated.

“Perhaps,” said Paulina. “I will inform them of your warm invitation when I next speak to them.”

“Do indeed.” Lady Fellowes reached for a biscuit from the nearby tray. “And inform them that they will be my particular guests. They will be made to feel utterly at home.”

“I will.”

“And do –”

Lady Fellowes intended to go on awhile longer. She was going to assure Paulina that her parents would be treated with the upmost respect. There would be no distinction of rank, not with them. They were to be treated as equals – not just equals, but as much beloved acquaintances. That was an honor not often bestowed. It was one reserved for the high ranking members of the British Royal Family, but Lady Fellowes felt it necessary to treat Paulina’s parents in that manner, because the simple fact that they were her parents was enough to make Lady Fellowes eager for the acquaintance. She wanted to secure it. She wanted to nurture it. She wanted nothing more than to be on friendly terms with them. That was why she wanted to make it clear to Paulina that she was going to do everything in her power to ensure that her parents would be well seen to if they were to travel to England, but before Lady Fellowes got too far into it, Edmund rushed outside and announced the arrival of their much beloved gingery prince.

Both women were taken aback by the information. Harry wasn’t meant to arrive until much later in the day. He was supposed to get there at around one o’clock so that he could take lunch with his aunt and uncle, and then whisk Paulina off to Torquay. That had been the agreed upon plan, but somehow or another, he managed to cut his morning meeting short by a few hours. He’d walked into it determined to finish everything as quickly as he possibly could, and after an hour and a half of concise dialogue, he exited the building and climbed into the awaiting vehicle so that his security details could drive him over to Wilton Crescent.

He was eager to get there. In fact, he hoped his early arrival would mean that he’d be able to maneuver his way out of having lunch with his relatives. Perhaps lunch could be replaced with tea or an impromptu picnic in the garden. His aunt was terribly fond of indulging him. So hopefully she’d be up for it, because Harry wasn’t in the mood to spend too much time with his relatives. He didn’t want to mind his manners or be attentive to them. All he wanted was to whisper naughty things into his girlfriend’s ear and have her tell him off for saying those things in front of the security details.

That was all Harry wanted, but unfortunately for him, Lady Fellowes wasn’t much in the mood for indulging. She’d planned the lunch two weeks in advance, having instructed her chef to prepare her nephew’s favorite meal, including dessert. So she wasn’t about to have an impromptu picnic set up or have tea take the place of a proper lunch at her table, and she made that very much clear to Harry, who almost instantly regretted having ever proposed a substitute for lunch.

Since there was no getting out of it, Harry endeavored to enjoy himself as best he could. He chatted with his aunt about his cousins, commented on boring political situations whenever Lord Fellowes pressed him to, and shot glances at Paulina whenever his aunt and uncle weren’t watching. That was how he passed his time until the moment to leave finally arrived. It was then that he warmly thanked his relatives for lunch and for being so good to his darling, and for her part, Paulina affectionately hugged Lady Fellowes and shook Lord Fellowes’ hand.

As soon as they finished with that, Harry led Paulina outside to their awaiting vehicle. He had hoped that the press didn’t catch wind that he was at his relative’s homes. That they would’ve been too busy following some other poor bastard, but that wasn’t the case. They knew precisely where he was, and when he exited the house accompanied by his girlfriend, the photographers went mad. They started shouting at the top of their voices, crying out for the young couple to turn their way. It was the usual sort of thing, except that the usual sort of thing was escalated by a nervous first time photographer who accidentally stumbled over himself and ended up falling onto Paulina.

In a desperate attempt for stabilization, the photographer grabbed at the fabric of her dress, foolishly hoping it would somehow spare him the humiliation, but all it did was cause her to violently jerk forwards. She had no control over her movements. The intensity with which he grabbed her, had stripped her of that, and had it not been for Harry reacting so quickly, Paulina would’ve tumbled atop the young man and the photographers would’ve had a photo op unlike any other. Thankfully for her, Harry was able to keep her from meeting the same fate as the photographer, but unfortunately for her, he wasn’t able to keep her dress from tearing. The fabric gave way. A good six inches was taken, revealing a dangerous amount of skin that Paulina had never shown while out and about.

Mortified, she placed her hands atop her thighs, hoping to shield them from the trigger happy photographers that were hard at work. They hadn’t even stopped to help their fallen comrade. It didn’t matter that he was on the floor or that he’d hit his head fairly hard on the sidewalk. The only thing that mattered to them was the fact that Paulina’s upper thighs were exposed, and pictures of them would surely be worth thousands upon thousands of pounds. The lad’s mags would jump to purchase them, as well as the mainstream tabloids. And the entertainment programs would have a wicked time messing about with them. They could make montages in which AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long, would play in the background. They could keep repeating the line about American thighs. The possibilities were endless, really, and that was why the photographers jumped at the opportunity to invade her privacy even more than usual.

And that was why Alistair jumped to her rescue. Paulina was so mortified that she completely blanked out on the fact that Gethin was holding the vehicle doors open. All she could focus on was covering up. She tugged on the fabric, hoping that it would stretch enough to afford her some privacy, but it was a pointless endeavor. Try as she did, she couldn’t get the fabric to cover more than an inch of her exposed thighs. As she struggled to stretch the fabric, Alistair took off his jacket. He placed it out in front of her, the dark fabric resting against her trembling hands, and in a collected voice, he urged her to clutch the jacket instead of her dress.

“Miss,” he urged her in a collected voice. “Do take it. Please.”

It took her a moment to register what he’d said, but as soon as she did, she took possession of the jacket, holding it firmly against her body. It was at that moment that Harry dropped his hold of her. He was secure in her being in safe hands. Alistair would look after her. He’d get her into the vehicle safely and without further trouble. So Harry let them go about it while he stood back a moment, getting ready to tear apart those fuckers in the press.

“Listen to me, you bastards!” he said in a voice that rarely saw the light of the day. “If any of you ever lay another finger on her, I swear you’ll be seeing me in court!” threatened Harry. “Have I made myself clear?”

They nodded in understanding, and for a moment, they were so panic stricken that they didn’t even dare photograph their furious Prince.

“And you!” he hissed at the young man who was barely beginning to straighten himself up. “If I so much as see you near her again, you’ll have to answer to –”

“Henry!” cried Paulina from her place within the vehicle. “Please get in!”

“Not yet!” he shouted over his shoulder. “They need to know –”

“They already do,” she told him. “Just get in here, please güerito.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. He felt that he hadn’t threatened them anywhere near enough as he ought to have. That bastard had torn her dress in front of everyone, he’d nearly dragged her down with him, and he was getting away with it with just a minor warning. Harry felt that he should throw a punch or at the very least, threaten to kick his ass if he ever got near Paulina again, but the tone in Paulina’s voice made it clear that she didn’t want to linger about there any longer, and he wasn’t foolish enough to cross her when someone else already had.

“You lot better mind your manners in the future.” He then climbed inside the vehicle. “What was that about?” he asked her. He might not have pressed the issue further outside, but he wanted to know why she hadn’t let him go off like he should’ve.

“What was what about?” she replied as she fixed Alistair’s jacket on her lap.

“That bit about telling me to get in here.” He said, pointedly. “I needed to tell that bastard off so he’d never come near you again.”

“You weren’t just going to tell him off.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “You were going to threaten him.”

“So?”

“So there would’ve been witnesses.”

“And?” he pressed.

“And that little asshole could’ve had someone beat him up and pretend that you’d sent someone to do it.”

“Don’t be daft.” Harry scoffed. “There’s no bloody way that would’ve happened.”

“Are you really so thick that you don’t think someone in the media would do that?” She shuddered at the thought. “Those bastards don’t have any scruples. They’re willing to do anything for a story and a fat paycheck.”

“Still, I don’t reckon he would’ve.” Harry argued. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

“None of them know what’s good for them,” she muttered. “They don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves. I mean, for fuck’s sake! What kind of man grabbed a ladies dress when they’re falling? Who the fuck does that?” Unable to control herself, she punched the back of the driver’s chair, letting out her frustration. “Sorry!” she cried when she realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry Gethin, but –” she rested her head against the chair, gritting her teeth as she did so.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. You know?” Harry spoke softly as he rubbed her back. “We don’t always have to act sensible. I reckon Gran wouldn’t have minded if I’d had a go at that photographer.”

“She would’ve been furious.”

“I don’t think so, not really.” Harry assured. “I reckon she would’ve understood. In anything, she would’ve given me a pat on the back, congratulated me on being such a gentleman. Hmm, now that I think about it, she’ll probably be cross with me because I didn’t challenge that bloke to a duel.”

“A duel?” she questioned, slightly turning her head to look at him.

“A duel,” he confirmed. “We would’ve done it with pistols. That’s the only way to defend a lady’s honor.”

“You’re mental.” She cracked a small smile.

“And I’m alright with that, so long as you know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know.” She whispered. “I just didn’t think you doing that would’ve been worth the headache, especially not since it’s almost time for me to go back. I just wanted everything to go smoothly, you know? I mean, I honestly thought that we weren’t going to have any serious run in with the press during this trip, but those fuckers always find a way.”

“That’s because that’s what they’re paid for.” He reminded. “They’re a bunch of prats, but they won’t be able to bother us this weekend. Not while we’re at the cottage. And they won’t bother us at all when we’re at Balmoral. We’ll be able to walk about without having to worry about them.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It will be” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss. “Now get over here. I’ve not held you in ages.”

“I thought you said cuddling wasn’t dignified.” She smirked.

“Don’t be an arse, just get over here.” He said, his cheeks flooding with color. “And it’s not cuddling, not really. I’m embracing you. It’s much more . . . grown up.”

“Right, right,” she nestled against him. “Well go on, embrace me then.”

“You’re such an arse,” muttered Harry as he held her close. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“So very lucky . . .” she nestled into him. “And Harry?” she began.

“Yes, darling?” he replied, gazing down at her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, eyes firmly fixed on his. “I don’t even want to think about how out of hand things would’ve gotten if you hadn’t caught me.”

“I’ll always catch you,” he said without thinking. “Bloody hell . . . I don’t reckon I’ve ever been so damn corny, but I mean it. Honest, I do. I mean it even though I want to kick my own arse for saying it.” He chuckled. “It’s one of those lines blokes are always running about with when they’re trying to get into a bird’s knickers, but I promise that I’m not saying it just to say. I’ll catch you, no matter what.” The sincerity in his voice made her heart flutter. “And if for some reason I can’t, then I’ll fall right with you. I’ll cover you with myself so no one can see your bits.”

“How considerate of you . . .” she said, arching her brow teasingly.

“Why the tone of surprise?” he inquired, playfully. “I mean, I am Snow White. So I’m meant to be considerate – terribly considerate, actually. Especially when it comes to my Prince Charming,” he added.

“Right you are,” she grinned. “You’re one badass Snow White.”

“That I am.” He stated, proudly. “Make sure to remember that next time we quarrel.”

“You’re daft.”

“Oi!” he exclaimed, swatting her shoulder. “So much for being badarse,” he mumbled.

“You can be daft and badass.” She assured. “You’ve mastered the art of it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” She fought back a giggle.

“Well I reckon you’ll be paying for that when I get you alone.”

“And who says you’ll be getting alone?”

“I do.” He declared. “We’re sharing a room, remember?”

“Afraid not,” she told him.

“What?”

“I said we’re not sharing a room.” She lied. “I wish we were, but Alfred’s old school. So you and he are going to share a room, and Olivia and I will share another.”

“Fucking hell,” muttered Harry, rubbing his face with his right hand. “If that’s the case, I’ll get us a damn hotel room. I’m not about to be sharing a room with him, when I mean to be with you.”

“Can’t do that,” she told him. “It’d be rude.”

“And that matters why?”

“It matters because his house has been cleared by your security and because he and Olivia have been very much looking forward to this.”

“So he’s looking forward to sharing a room with me, is he?” He shook his head. “I reckon he must be bent. That’s the only reason why a bloke would do what Alfred’s doing. No bloke in his right mind would willingly go about that. No bloke at all.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She fought back a smile. “Alfred’s clearly smitten. But who can blame him? You’re clearly attractive enough to make any man question his sexuality. Hmm, now that I think about it, you’ll have to put a chastity belt on to guard your bum.”

“Oi!” he shrieked, clearly distressed. “That’s not funny!”

“It’s a bit funny. Actually quite hilarious,” she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You twat!” he cried, suddenly realizing that she was just pulling his leg. “I can’t believe ya were having a go at me like that. Honestly, ya had me fearing for my bum.”

“Don’t be daft. We both know the only danger to your bum, is me.” She reached down and pinched the bit of his bum she could get, causing his hip to buck. “Mmm, mmm, I do love me some gingery ass.”

“Not funny . . .” he muttered, petulantly.

“Really?” she arched her brow questioningly.

“Oh alright,” he huffed. “It was a bit funny, but you’re a wanker for going on like that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Will you now?”

She nodded. “Just you wait until we’re alone tonight. I’ve got something you’ll love tearing off.”

“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose that’s a start.”

It was much more than a start, but Harry didn’t want to seem too pleased. He felt like sulking a bit more, just for show. And she knew that. She knew he was pouting only to pout. He hadn’t actually been offended by what she’d said. Sure, there’d been a momentary panic in which he’d genuinely believed that he would be forced to share a bedroom with Alfred. That was the last thing he wanted to do. There was no point in sharing a room with a bloke when his girlfriend was in the same bloody cottage as him, but as for his bum, for that, he hadn’t feared. He knew nothing would ever happen to it. But still he sulked for a few minutes, having at it until Paulina placed a delicate kiss on the corner of his lips.

He expected her to expand that peck into a proper kiss, but that didn’t happen. She simply let out a content little sigh and then curled up beside him, finding comfort in the warmth radiating from his being. He was her bit of paradise. No matter how rough things got, simply being with him was enough to make it better, and having his arm snake around her waist, was enough to make her forget all about the incident with the press. She’d remember it at some other time, sulk about it then, but for now, she was going to focus her attention solely on Harry, on being with him.

In time, the pair eventually fell asleep. They slept for three hours straight, only waking when they arrived at Torquay, and even then, they weren’t keen to wake up. It took Alistair several attempts before he was able to truly rouse them from their sleep, and even when they were awake, they were grumbling about, groggy from their prolonged nap. Had they only slept for thirty minutes or an hour, they would’ve been in better shape, but the three hours had taken a lot out of them, and it would be several minutes before their senses were truly returned to them.

But when their senses did return, they were completely taken in by the beauty of Torquay. The grounds were lush; its flowers and shrubberies thriving. The trees were kept neat, allowed to grow tall, but not unruly. The grass had been recently trimmed, an endeavor that took the landscaper the better part of an hour to complete, and the path leading up to the house had been repaved since the last time they’d been there. Alfred had taken it upon himself to do some minor improvements. Now that he had his own income coming in, he felt it only right that he make some additions to his beloved cottage. So he repaved the path, had the fence around the property replaced, and had even furnished the sitting room and master bedroom to Olivia’s taste. His grandfather would’ve rolled in his grave had he known that his grandson was making changes to the cottage just to please a woman, but Alfred didn’t care, he’d redo the entire cottage if it made his beloved Olivia happy.

After all, the cottage wasn’t just his anymore. It was hers as well. Just like his flat in London had surely but surely been altered to suit her taste, the cottage was also undergoing a similar transformation, and Alfred was glad of it. He was glad that she was making his flat and his cottage into their home. That she was adding touches that would make him think of her even when she wasn’t around. His grandfather might not have forgiven him had he been alive, but Alfred’s grandfather had never been a particularly happy man. Domestic felicity was something that had escaped him, something that he hadn’t cared all that much for, but for Alfred, domestic felicity was of the upmost importance. He wanted to have a home with Olivia, he wanted to lead a happy life and raise a family with her. Those were his ultimate goals, and that was why he was always happiest when he was sharing a roof with Olivia.

That was why, when he stepped out to welcome his guests, he wore a massive grin on his face. He had been sharing the cottage with Olivia for the last two days, and the joy that brought him, softened his features and made him appear more handsome than usual. It was so notable an alteration that even Harry was struck by it. Alfred usually appeared so serious and solemn. Of course, the man smiled every so often and joked around, but he never seemed so genuinely taken by his felicity. That sort of look was reserved strictly for when he was with Olivia or when he was discussing Olivia with Paulina. That look wasn’t often seen by strangers, but on that occasion, Harry saw it and couldn’t help but comment on it.

“You seem very well, Alfred.” Harry addressed him. “Torquay suits you.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness.” Alfred replied, bowing politely.

Despite having been acquainted with Harry for well over two years, Alfred preferred to keep the greetings formal. He didn’t feel comfortable with referring to him as Harry straight off the bat or with shaking his hand. That sort of familiarity didn’t suit them. So instead he abided by protocol. He bowed and uttered the appropriate words, he kept his tone polite, and once that was done with, he relaxed a little. Granted, his particular brand of relaxation didn’t mirror that of his companions, but at least he was making an effort. He knew that Harry preferred to be treated as an ordinary bloke, and Alfred endeavored to treat him as such, but try as he did, there was still a distinction.

“Come on there, Alfred!” exclaimed Harry, chuckling slightly. “I’ve told you loads of times that there’s no need for any of that. When I’m with you lot, I’m not a Royal Highness. The only bleeding title I’ve got is that of her boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend whom happens to be a Royal Highness,” countered Alfred, awkwardly.

“There’s no bloody hope with you.” Harry shook his head, smiling all the while. “But at least it’s only in the welcome that you’re so formal.”

“It’s because he’s a sucker for protocol.” Paulina chimed in. “And don’t you dare say you’re not, Alfie, because we both know you are.”

“I know. I know.” Alfred grumbled. “But there’s nothing wrong with following traditions. That’s how it ought to be.”

“Alfie, my dear man, you’re absurd, but I love you.” Her face broke out into a massive grin. “Now come on, open those arms! I’m in the mood for a hug.”

“Ugh. Do I have to?” he asked, playfully.

Paulina nodded. “I’m afraid you do.”

“Well, alright, but only because I’ve no say in the matter.”

She smiled and embraced him, breathing in his scent – the distinct smell of Brut aftershave. It wasn’t a popular aftershave with his family. His parents hated it. According to them, it was a cheap drugstore aftershave that was unworthy of a Ferrars, but Alfred loved the smell of it. It was an aggressive scent, there was no doubt about that, but it sat well with him and Olivia. So it didn’t matter how many aftershaves his parents gave him, he was sticking with Brut. And Paulina loved that. She loved that he was always going to smell the same. She loved the fact that whenever she smelled that scent, be it in a drugstore or on a stranger, she would have the comfort of Alfred’s memory.

“You know Alfie,” she began as she pulled away from the hug, “I’ve got a feeling that even when we’re in our sixties, you’ll still smell the same.”

“Is that your way of saying I stink?”

“A little, yes.” She joked, though in truth, his aftershave did give her a headache if she was directly exposed to it for too long. “But it’s alright. It’s comforting.”

“Comforting?” He shook his head. “Scented candles are comforting. Brut is virility.”

“Describe it however you like, but I think it’s comforting that you’ll always smell the same.” She pinched his cheek.

“How is it that you’re keen on his aftershave, but not mine?” inquired Harry, clearly baffled. “I’ve had to change mine, my cologne as well.”

“That’s because yours gave me headaches.” She told him. “It was too strong.”

“Brut’s even stronger.” Harry argued.

“It is,” she agreed. “But I don’t have to smell it in bed. Do I?”

At that, Harry smirked. Of course she didn’t have to smell it in bed. She only had to smell it in passing, in open quarters where there was enough ventilation to blow it on through. That was why she tolerated, why she even found it comforting. But not his though. No. Harry’s cologne and aftershave was the sort she couldn’t escape. They were ever present when they were making love or having themselves a shag, when they were sprawled out across the couch or in bed and that was why she hadn’t been able to tolerate that one. It was too strong and in close quarters, it had been unbearable.

“Well, I reckon you’re right about that,” he replied, still smirking. “Tell me, Alfred, where’s the lady of the house?”

“What lady of the house?” Alfred replied, confused. “Oh! Olivia! Yes, of course . . . of course, she’s the lady of the house.” He shook his head, unimpressed with his momentary lack of understanding. “She’s fantastic. Running a bit late, as you can see. She went down to fetch a few things from the market. I was actually meant to go with her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. My place is here, apparently. But yes! She’ll be here soon. It shouldn’t be much longer. Anyway, let’s get you settled in. Yes?” he clapped his hands together. “I’ll fetch the bags in and you can rest in the parlor.”

“Alfred, ya don’t have to carry the bags in.” Harry reassured, patting Alfred on the back. “That’s what the security details are for. You’ve only got to tell them where to drop the bags off.”

“Right then – well, if you will, Alistair, I’ll show you where they’ll be staying. It’s not particularly confusing getting there, but I’ll show you, just so there’s no miscommunication. Harry, Paulin, I’ll be back directly, but like I said, you can wait in the parlor. I’ve a kettle on, so we’ll have a cuppa and biscuits, in a bit.”

Before Harry or Paulina could say anything, Alfred disappeared inside the cottage with Alistair.

“Now that’s what I call hospitality,” Harry commented as he turned to look at his girlfriend. “We’ve only just arrived and there’s already tea and biscuits to be had.”

“That’s Alfie.” Paulina proudly stated. “He likes having food ready for whenever he’s got guests coming over, says it’s only right. And I agree. You can’t have people come over and not have something ready for them to eat.”

“See that’s why I love you and your mates, you’ve always got something to eat lying about. My mates aren’t like that. The bastards have drinks to no end, but never food. Anyways though, let’s go on in. I’m fucking famished.”

“You’re mental, güerito! We were literally just eating on the drive over.”

“I’m a growing boy.” He shrugged. “And I need nourishment, especially for the night we’ve got a head of ourselves.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “Don’t you remember? You said ya had something I’d love ripping off.”

“The fact that you remembered that, but can’t remember what kind of toilet paper to get is beyond me.”

“Toilet paper isn’t important,” he said, dismissively. “But whatever it is I’ll be ripping off, is.”

“There’s no arguing with that reasoning.” She smirked.

“There really isn’t. Now come on. We’ve got three days of shagging and drinking before we have to go to Balmoral and behave ourselves. And I fully intend to indulge.”