The Thrill Is Gone

Laughter emanated from the cramped elevator, echoing throughout the brightly lit hall when its metal doors finally opened. The first to step out was Olivia, her blue eyes shielded from the bright light by a pair of dark sunglasses that she’d been wearing since she rolled out of bed that morning. The night had been hard on her, the slowness of her steps and throbbing in her head, attested to that. Paulina was the second to emerge from the elevator. Her skin was much paler than usual, and there were beads of sweat forming along her hairline. There’d been too much alcohol, too attractive a man to buy her drinks, and she’d spent her time taking drink and after drink, until ultimately making out with the stranger, only to be pealed off him by a drunken Olivia that swore he was a shady bloke. The final person to abandon the elevator was Alfred. Dark bags adorned his eyes and an exhausted look befell his face. He’d spent part of his night throwing up in a rose bush . . . a rose bush and Paulina’s shoes that had fallen, victim in the crossfire. That incident was the one they spent most of their morning joking about. It was that they were laughing about at that moment.

“You’ve had your laugh.” Alfred said. “Thinks its best we forget that business ever happened.”

“Forget?” giggled Olivia. “Oh no, this won’t be forgotten! At least not anytime soon,” she added with a cheeky smile.

Alfred shook his head, embarrassed by the memory. “It’s not like I meant to get it on her shoe. She was just sort of there and got caught in the action.”

“And my shoe will never be the same,” added Paulina, feigning solemnity.

“You didn’t even like those shoes,” declared Alfred. “Kept complaining that they were so bloody uncomfortable . . .”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted them to get puked on. Then again, maybe the puke will help them stretch and make them easier to walk in. Hmm . . . Alfie, want to have go at my shoes?” inquired Paulina, stifling back a laugh.

To her inquiry, Alfred responded by flipping her off. They then came to a stop in front of his apartment door. He stuck his hand into his coat pocket, digging around for the keys that’d give them access to his place. The key was soon found, and after sticking it in the keyhole and jiggling it a bit, they were in. They stepped into the fashionable apartment, dragging their luggage behind them. Their luggage was then carelessly stacked beside the free wall in the living room. And as soon as the last of their things were stacked, they descended upon the obliging couches, which seemed to welcome them with the same excitement that they, themselves, had in seeing them.

“Still going out tonight?” asked Alfred, his eyes closed and head resting against the couch.

“Uh, we don’t have to. Not if you guys don’t want to.” Paulina replied.

“It’s up to you.” Olivia curled up against a throw pillow. “It’s still your birthday weekend, so we’re at your disposal. And if you’re tired, we can rest and then just go out at night. It’ll be alright since the clubs don’t get going until eleven.”

Napping sounded good, like some forbidden dessert that had been denied to them. Paulina nestled into the couch, her eyes struggling to stay open as her upset stomach finally began to settle down.

“That sounds good,” Paulina eventually said. “But if we’re not feeling up to it by nine, we’ll just stay in and go out tomorrow night.”

Alfred nodded in approval of the plan. “You lot can take the bed if you like.”

“Couches are comfy,” muttered a half asleep Olivia.

“So comfy,” muttered Paulina in agreement, her eyes finally shutting as a little smile tugged at her lips.

The apartment was completely silent as they slept, not a sound echoed through its bountiful space. They just lay in their respective couch, each, content to sleep in the comfortable silence. It wasn’t until nearly a half hour later that they were woken by the front door opening and the sound of an obnoxious, overly cheerful voice practically screaming into a cell phone. The high pitched voice immediately woke Alfred. His brow narrowed and eyes hardened when his sister waltzed into the living room, wearing an outfit that had clearly been work out the night before.

“What are ya doing here?” asked Alfred.

“Last I checked, I lived here,” shot back Charlotte, her arm resting on her thin hip.

Alfred let out an annoyed sigh. “Last I checked, you promised you wouldn’t be here this weekend. I even rented out a room for you, to ensure it. Or have you forgotten the fact that you demanded a suite?”

“I haven’t, but I changed my mind. No crime in that, is there?”

“You can never keep your word.” Alfred huffed, his voice growing louder. “Just once I’d like it if you actually do something that you say you’re going to do. But no, that’s impossible, because Charlotte Elizabeth Ferrars does whatever she wants and has absolutely no consideration for anyone else!”

“Oh my God!” shrieked Charlotte. “You’re so fucking annoying! You act like everything’s the most important bloody thing on earth. But it’s not! So what if I told you, I was leaving and changed my mind? People change their minds all the time.”

“But most people only do it once in awhile. You’ve made a habit out of it! It’s almost as if you enjoy letting people down!” By that point, Alfred was standing. “I asked you three weeks in advance to let me have the apartment to myself. I even went ahead and financed your arrangements, but even then, you couldn’t make things easy on me, could you? You couldn’t just give me a weekend with my mates.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a bloody drama queen. It’s not like I’ve plans to conquer your room, or colonize the common space. You’re free to do whatever the hell you want to, you bloody tosser!”

“You might not be in space, but we’ll hear you!” he bellowed. “We’ll hear you on that wretched mobile of yours and we’ll hear you shagging whoever it is that has the misfortune of crawling into that gonorrhea ridden cesspool, you call a vagina.”

“Alfie,” interjected Olivia, her voice soft. “Maybe we should go out for a walk.”

At her voice, his expression softened.

“Come on, we’ll go out and have a bit of tea, soothe the nerves.” Olivia was well aware of the tense relationship between the two siblings, and having been on the receiving end of Charlotte’s catty remarks and rude behavior, she knew very well why Alfred so passionately disliked her.

He was tempted to go, but couldn’t stand the thought of Charlotte standing victoriously in their apartment.

“Thanks, but no. I'm not going anywhere.” He declared.

“Neither am I,” Charlotte stated, she then smirked and turned to face Paulina, whom was battling against the sleep that threatened to once again sweep her into its grasp. “Paulina, darling Paulina,” said Charlotte in an overly sweet voice as she skipped over to her. “I’ve a present for you.”

“Huh?”

“A present,” repeated Charlotte, having taken a seat beside Paulina. “And I'm certain you’ll love it. Unlike my brother, you know how to have fun.”

Paulina looked over to Alfred, pleading for him to step in because she didn’t have the energy or patience to put up with Charlotte.

“Charlotte, leave Paulina alone. Go find someone else to bother.” He told her.

“Bugger off,” hissed Charlotte. “Can’t you see I'm talking with darling Paulina, and not you? So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. I’ve a present for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” mumbled Paulina, groggily.

“Nonsense!” she took hold of Paulina’s hand, much like she would those of an intimate acquaintance. “So, there’s a new club opening up tonight. It’s supposed to be brilliant; very trendy, yet high end and exclusive. That’s why I’ve not gone to Paris,” she said that last bit extra loud to annoy Alfred. “The great thing is my mate’s dating the owner so she managed to get me on the guest list. And I, in turn, insisted that you be put on, as a birthday present.”

“Thanks Charlotte, that’s really nice of you. I'm touched that you thought of me, but I was hoping to spend my birthday with Alfred and Via.”

“They’re on the list, as well.” Charlotte reassured. “Well, not technically on the list, but you’ve been put down for two guests. So you can take who you please.”

Yet again, Paulina looked over at Alfred for direction, but received nothing more than a shrug.

“Well, that’s rad. Thanks. We’ll do our best to be there.”

“Your best will not do!” she gave her hand a squeeze. “Promise that you’ll be there. You must promise!”

“I promise,” she eventually conceded.

Charlotte smiled triumphantly and after shooting Alfred a look. She abandoned the living room and went to her bedroom. As soon overly digitalized pop song started blaring from her room, Alfred hunched over and began to speak, “Why’d you tell her, we were going?”

“Because you didn’t say anything,” replied Paulina. “I was hoping you’d sweep in and be a dick so I wouldn’t have to be a bitch. But when you didn’t, I couldn’t be a bitch. You heard her; she got us into a fancy club that’s all exclusive and shit. What was I supposed to do? Tell her, fuck you bitch and screw the effort you put into getting us in?”

“Something along those lines would’ve been quite alright,” Alfred sat back on the couch, covering his eyes with his right arm.

“Don’t be such a child, Alfred.” Olivia spoke. “Paulina was just being polite, is all.”

“I was,” Paulina agreed.

“Do you even want to go?” he asked.

“Fuck no,” Paulina stared up at the ceiling. “I was looking forward to sleeping, watching some movies and eating.”

“Then how are we going to get out of this?” inquired Olivia. “Charlotte seemed quite adamant about your being there.”

“Don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe I’ll pretend to be sick. Yeah. I can act like I’ve been puking all afternoon and you can fuss over me. That should get us out of it.”

As brilliant as that plan sounded, it wasn’t enough to convince Charlotte that Paulina was so sick that she couldn’t possibly go out. Instead, Charlotte opened her medicine cabinet and took a few herbal medications that she swore would work and let Paulina drink. Paulina cursed inwardly at Charlotte’s persistence. She knew it had something to do with Charlotte’s strained relationship with Alfred, and after pretending to take the medicine, she ran off to Alfred’s room, where Olivia was busy ironing what she was going to wear for the night. Alfred was busy in the shower, in an attempt to cool down and wake himself up.

One by one, they each got ready for their night out. And by the time they were all done up, they were in a better mood than when they’d started. Showering for a second time that day, proved to have curative properties and putting on nice clothes and making themselves look ready for a night on the town, improved their outlooks. They figured there was no point in wasting anymore time sulking. They were going to an opening of a club, not to a funeral, and although they would arrive with Charlotte, they weren’t going to spend the entire night at her side. Knowing her, she was going to run off with someone within the first ten minutes and leave them alone, which they were more than fine with.

Without Charlotte around, they’d be able to enjoy themselves without fear that a drunken argument between her and Alfred would break out. On one occasion, Paulina had witnessed such an argument, and though it didn’t get physical, it was terrifying to see the peaceful Alfred so enraged. He shouted things at Charlotte that no brother should ever say to a sister, and in return, Charlotte mocked him, cursed at him and was every bit as spiteful as he was to her.

The three of them finished getting ready, long before Charlotte did, and to pass the time, they rummaged in the kitchen, eating the leftovers of the meal that Paulina had whipped up for them. They hadn’t eaten much at dinner, not wanting to fill their stomachs with to much food, but since they didn’t have anything better to do, eating was their current task. They ate until Charlotte waltzed out of her bedroom, looking ready for a photo shoot or music video. She wore a tight red mini dress that clung to her figure. It barely covered her bottom and her breast looked liable to topple out at any moment. Alfred had half a mind to tell her to change, but knew better than to do it. They’d just end up wasting everyone’s time by fighting.

“Ready to go then?” she asked as she tucked a piece of her recently dyed, blonde hair behind her ear.

“We’ve been ready.” Alfred replied, he grabbed his jacket off the counter and slipped it on, checking to make sure that his wallet, mobile, and keys were safely inside.

“Well then lets go,” and after grabbing her keys from the entryway table and stuffing them in her small clutch purse, Charlotte walked out.

Olivia and Paulina exchanged looks before following Charlotte out. They lingered outside the door, waiting for Alfred to lock up and once he had, they walked with him to the elevator. The elevator ride was silent and incredibly uncomfortable. The pair was waiting for Alfred to say something. He had that look on his face that made it perfectly clear that something was on his mind. Much to their surprise, Alfred didn’t say anything during the elevator ride and he didn’t say anything regarding the outfit, during the ride over to the club.

When they reached their destination, there were photographers outside and a very glitzy red carpet. Neither of them had thought that it was going to be that big of an opening. Truth be told, they didn’t really know what they’d expected, but that was most certainly not it. And as they pulled up to the front in the chauffeured automobile that Charlotte had procured, Paulina grew incredibly nervous. She was beginning to think this was a bad idea. They didn’t belong at some high end club like this. They were the ones that laughed at people that spent an absurd amount of time getting ready, just so they’d look as if they were about to have a photo shoot or a wedding to tend to. They complained about how expensive drinks were at places like those, but now they were there, waiting their turn to walk the carpet.

“This is brilliant,” Olivia eventually spoke, picking up on Paulina’s nervousness and Alfred’s dread. “We’ll have a proper celebrity treatment tonight. So glad I decided to put this dress on. Imagine if they’d snapped pictures of me in that peach number? Oh no. I'm quite glad I decided to wear this, quite glad indeed. And you lot –”

“What of us?” he inquired softly, an amused smile beginning to force away his look of dread.

“Well, you lot look rather dashing this evening. Wait. No, not rather dashing, incredibly dashing.” Olivia’s eyes flickered to the door that was being opened. “Let’s go. I believe it’s time we get smashed for the second night in a row.”

And with that said, she climbed out behind Charlotte and smoothed out her dress. She waited beside the door for Alfred and Paulina to clamor out. When they did, he offered an arm to each of them and they began to walk down the carpet. The photographers that were commissioned to take pictures of all the guests, snapped photos, while the paparazzi that were waiting for the celebrities, took this as a moment to relax. They eventually made their way to the entrance where a bouncer stood beside a man that was undoubtedly dressed in Helmut Lang.

“Evening Miss. I’ll be needing your name and identification,” he told Charlotte.

Charlotte pulled out her ID card. “There you are. It’s Charlotte Elizabeth Ferrars.”

“Right,” he glanced over at the card and then highlighted her name on his document. “Go on ahead, Miss. Enjoy your stay.” He looked over at Paulina, his smile still firmly in place. “Evening Miss,” he repeated. “I’ll need your name and identification.”

“Is a California driver’s license, alright?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Paulina handed him her driver’s license.

“And I assume that the gentleman and lady are your two guests?” he inquired after having found her name.

“Yes, they are, do you need their IDs as well?” she took her card back from him and stuck it in her jacket pocket.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss. Enjoy your evenings and we hoped this will be a regular fixture in your nightlife’s.” with that, he redirected his attention to the next people in line.

The club was everything they expected it would be. There was a massive dance floor straight in the middle, where attractive twenty-something year olds were grinding against each other and drinking. There were tables and booths, all along the slide, black couches near the far back where a few chose to lounge comfortably instead of move. And there, beside the couches, was the massive bar that was so grand – so utterly inviting, that Paulina’s mouth began to water almost instantaneously. That place was brilliant. There was no denying that, and although they initially didn’t feel as if they belonged there, they soon grew comfortable in the space. Their comfort was, of course, aided by the free champagne that they ran off with.

The three of them moved around the dance floor, together. They danced to the pop songs that were at the top of the charts and to the techno songs that were, on occasion, snuck in. All the while, they smiled brightly and laughed. Oh. How they laughed. But eventually, as the night wore on, Paulina decided that it was time to find someone of her own to dance with. So with a quick word goodbye, she left Olivia and Alfred to themselves, and maneuvered her way over to the bar, where she then ordered herself a tequila sunrise.

It was there, as she waited for the drink to be mixed that she met Wyatt. He was rather handsome, with his dark blonde hair that was combed back in a messy pompadour and light stubble decorate his face, giving his appearance an edge. From the moment he spoke to her, she decided that he was the one she was going to spend the night dancing with and if he proved to be a good time, then, she might even make out with him, just for a bit of fun. She had, after all, not had sex for close to six months and making out was a perfectly reasonable way of subduing her urges.

“I'm sorry, were you talking to me?” he spoke from beside her, his body pressed against the bar.

“Huh? No.” Paulina replied.

“Well, then please start,” he shot her a debonair smile. “Or do you not approve of what you see?”

Paulina held back a smile. “Not really sure what I'm staring at, and I'm not sure if I’d talk to someone wearing a plum blazer,” she said.

“You’re mistaken, love. It’s not plum, its merlot. At least that’s what the tag on it said, though I'm not really sure, designers are always changing the names of things to mess with our heads.”

“They must have a laugh over that.”

“They must,” he agreed.

“Miss, here’s your tequila sunrise,” spoke the bartender. “That’ll be € 10.5.”

Paulina made a move to pull out her money, but Wyatt had already paid.

“I’ll have one of those as well,” he told the bartender, whom then nodded and set to work. “Here you are.”

“Smooth, very smooth,” she took the drink from him. “I take it this is how you usually pick up women.”

“Hmm, not usually,” he said as he waited for his drink. “Normally, I just walk up to them while they’re dancing and take it from there, but I saw you, making your way over and thought that dress looked ravishing on you.”

Paulina smiled into her drink. “Cheeky bastard,” she told him.

“Not cheeky, never cheeky. I'm simply vocalizing my admiration. Ah, there you are,” he handed the money over to the bartender. “Keep the change. Thank you. Where were we?”

“Well, I was calling you a cheeky bastard and you were telling me that you were just vocalizing your admiration.”

“Oh, right, right.” Wyatt smiled at her. “You know, if you come join me at my table, I’ll keep telling you how lovely you look. Might get a bit frisky, but I'm sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“Frisky?” she pursed her lips together. “Don’t know how I feel about frisky.”

“Hmm . . . How about I stand awkwardly beside you all night? That any better?” he joked.

“I'm sure we can find a happy medium.” Paulina stepped away from the bar. “So, where’s this table of yours?”

He led her to a deserted table located beside the couches. His name was on display in a glass container that rested atop the dark wood table. Wyatt Matthews. The name suited him, she thought. They sat at the table for awhile, flirting rather shamelessly. And then, after they’d finished their drinks, they decided it was time they head out to the dance floor. The music was not one that either was particularly fond of, but they moved amongst the crowd, their bodies mere inches apart. Slowly, their bodies began to move closer together, until finally, he could see the beads of sweet forming along her exposed back. His breathing hitched as he felt her derrière lightly brush against him.

Without thinking, his hands went to her hips, pressing her against him so that no space existed, his hands remained firmly in place throughout the next few songs, and then, feeling absolutely certain that she’d be the one he’d end up spending his night with, his right hand began to travel down her thighs, until reaching the bottom of her grey dress that rested just above her knees. It lingered there, before slightly lifting the fabric, and then, when he was halfway up her thighs, he pressed tightly on it, as if to say, let’s get out of here.

“What the fuck?!” hissed Paulina when she felt his hand on her bare flesh. She stepped away, eyes narrowed and hands fixing her dress.

Wyatt shot her a confused look. “What’s wrong with you?”

“With me?” she yelled. “You’re the one that was trying to grab at my bits in the middle of a dance floor!”

“So?”

“SO?!” she shrieked, her eyes wide in indignation.

“Wasn’t that were this was going? I mean, I bought you a bloody drink!”

“Just because you bought me a drink, doesn’t mean you get to feel me up! You’re one of those pricks that thinks that just because they buy a girl a drink and dance with her, that they get to do whatever the fuck they want. But you know what? You can’t just assume shit! So fuck off!”

“Why are you being such a bitch for? You should be glad I was even aiming at having a go with you. You’re a fucking whale and –”

That was it, the last straw. Paulina was very well aware of what she was doing. She wasn’t going to say that she hadn’t thought it out. She had, the moment he’d insulted her weight, she’d imagined herself punching him straight in the face and breaking that nose of his. And as soon as she finished imagining that glorious scenarios, she pulled her hand straight back and let him have it.

“Try to find someone to fuck you, now! You jerk!” she stormed off, her head held high in the air as the onlookers shot her questioning glances. “No one calls me fat,” she muttered angrily to herself, eyes stinging with tears that she refused to shed. “Gonna get myself a fucking drink . . .”

Paulina was at the bar when a burly man dressed in a fine black suit stepped in front of her. He looked like he used to be in the armed forces, the way her carried himself told her that and as he towered over her, she couldn’t help but think that he worked as security for the club and was going to throw her out.

“Excuse me, Miss, would you please follow me?” he said.

“Are you gonna throw me out? All I did was punch that fucking prick! He felt me up. I'm not even exaggerating. He got all touchy in the middle of the dance floor and I wasn’t just going to stand there and take. Would you have stood there? You don’t look like someone who would’ve just stood there. So can’t you just let me off? It’s my birthday! Well, not really. Yesterday was my birthday. But I'm celebrating today . . . please don’t kick me out.”

“Miss, please, calm down. I am not here to forcefully eject you from the club. I have orders to escort you to a different area. So, if you would please follow me.”

“What area?”

“The upstairs, Miss.” He motioned to the top, to the second level that she hadn’t even noticed. There were tables there, soft lights that seem to give those in the space, an ethereal glow. “I assure you that you will be safe.”

“Alright,” she eventually said. “But just so you know, I have pepper spray.”

“Of course you do. This way, now,” he led her to a side door that required him to put in a passcode.

The door then allowed itself to be opened and they entered a small entryway, to their right were stairs and to their left, another door. He led her up the stairs, offering her a helping hand if she so needed it. Paulina refused, claiming that she’d be alright. She wasn’t sure what was going on or where he was taking her, but she was glad to not have that overly digitalized music bombarding her ears. They eventually reached the top of the staircase where another door awaited them. He, again, putt in a passcode and held the door open for her to step in.

“Your highness,” he then spoke from his place in the doorway. “The young lady has arrived.”

“Your highness?” she mumbled to herself, confused as to what was going on.

It was then that she noticed the lone figure in the room. He stood in front of the glass wall that enclosed the entire space from the peering eyes of the outside world. “Thank you, Alistair.”

“Will that be all, Sir?” he asked politely.

“Yes, of course. If I need you, I’ll send a message.”

“I’ll take my leave then. Sir, Miss,” he bowed politely and then stepped out the door, making sure it closed behind him.

Paulina stayed by the door, unsure of what was going on. “Your highness.” She called to him.

“Harry seems a better way for you to refer to me as.” He turned around, a friendly smile playing at his lips. “Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” Paulina smiled. “But it’s against protocol, isn’t it?”

“Most of the things we’ve done have been against protocol.” Harry laughed a loud booming laugh that set her at ease.

“So, Harry, what am I doing here?” she stepped towards him.

“Keeping me company, of course,” he replied.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” he poured them both a glass of champagne. “You’re going to entertain me, by telling me all about that punch you delivered to that bloke down there.”

“You saw that?”

“Can see everything from up here,” he replied. “It’s perfect for looking about, think that’s why Ryles had it made. So that he could lurk without being bothered. I suppose he’s not the sort of owner that wants people throwing themselves at him. At least not often, because he’s down there tonight, with a model he’s been shagging.” He handed her a glass. “But that’s enough about that. What happened down there?” he asked, in what seemed a genuinely concerned tone.

“Wasn’t anything serious,” she took the glass and took a seat in an obliging arm chair he motioned to.

“From up here, it seemed pretty serious.”

“How’d you recognize me, anyways?” she asked, curious to know. “I'm sure everyone looks the same from up here, especially since the lightings shit.”

“It was the mane that made me think it was you and then when you punched him, I was certain.” Harry took a drink from his glass. “Do you make it a habit of going around punching people? Because I'm beginning to think it’s a hobby of yours.”

“It’s not a habit.”

“Then why the punch?” he asked.

“Because he was acting like an asshole and needed to be put in his place.” Paulina answered. “He bought me one lousy drink and thought that meant he could grope me. And when I said he couldn’t, he called me a whale. And I wasn’t having that. No. No. No.”

“I'm sure he didn’t mean that.”

“I think he did. He looked pretty serious about thinking that the drink meant sex.”

“Not talking about that,” he sat back in his chair. “I meant the whale comment; you don’t look like a whale. You look quite stunning this evening.”

A faint blush spread across her cheeks, she was glad that the lights in the room weren’t brightly lit. “Thanks, you look pretty. No – not pretty! Handsome, very masculine,” she quickly corrected. “So you’re friends with the owner?” she asked, hoping to divert the attention from her awkward reaction.

“Ah. Yes, old family friends. I’ve known him since we were children. His mum got on well with mine, and well, we’ve always been rather close. That’s why I'm here, instead of at home, like I so desperately wanted to be. But his club was opening and the best for a club or restaurant to have is a royal at the unveiling.”

“I think David Beckham might be better.” Paulina joked.

“Afraid he’s in America though.”

“Pity,” she smiled into her glass.

“So what brings you here? Didn’t think you the sort that moved around in these places,” he commented.

“I'm not, not really, but my friend’s sister got us on the list as a birthday present to me so we had to come.”

“It’s your birthday?”

“Well, it was yesterday, but I was in Bath so I didn’t get a London celebration, and I was meant to get that tonight, but then that prick sort of ruined it. But . . . but I'm sitting across you now, so I think it’s just gotten a lot better than I’d thought.”

“I do make everything better. It’s this smile.” He smiled brightly, his eyes closing from its magnitude.

Paulina tilted her head back, allowing a soft laugh to rush forth from her lips.

“Why ya laughing?” he said, feigning hurt. “I'm perfectly serious.”

“Right, right,” she said.

“See, you’re all giggly now. That was my doing, you know.”

It had been, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “It’s not nice to steal the champagne’s credit, you know. You’ve got to let it have its fair share of the spotlight.”

“Oh. It will. But its spotlight when people start clamoring into the back of taxi’s with strangers they won’t fancy in the morning.” Harry set his glass down on the table. “Since it’s your birthday, I think its only right we toast to it. Tell me, what’s your drink of choice? Or should I bring that bloke round and have you punch him until he tells me?”

“That’d be amazing. You can have Alistair hold him back while I have a go.”

“And what’ll I be doing?”

“Watching, of course,” she sat forwards in her seat. “You can sit right there, very regal looking, and then when you get tired, you can clap, and we’ll finish. It’ll be very Roman emperor-esque.”

“Romans would’ve burned me at the stake.” Harry joked.

“That’s your fault for being ginger.” Paulina teased, jokingly. “But in all seriousness . . .”

“In all seriousness?” he gasped. “Oh no, we can’t talk in all seriousness. We’ll grow dull and old, and that’s not how a birthday should be spent. Talk to me of drinks, of silly things and trivial matters.”

“Hah. It’s my birthday and you’re bossing me around on it! I don’t even want to imagine what you must be like on yours.”

“I'm a perfectly behaved gentleman, thank you very much.” He paused before adding, “And then I leave the palace and have my fun as a scoundrel.”

“Of course you do.”

Harry smiled. “So what’ll we be having?”

“Tequila sunrises,” she answered. “Should we go now?”

“In that crowd?” he shook his head. “You’re mad. We’ll be swarmed. I’ll be pestered to no end and that’ll be the end of this celebration. No, Alistair will go fetch the drinks.”

Alistair did indeed fetch the drinks, and by two that morning, Paulina was sitting beside Harry on a leather couch, his arm was wrapped around her shoulder and she was drunkenly laughing into his crisp white shirt. What they were laughing about, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn’t help feeling completely and utterly pleased.

“Fuck!” she slurred. “I’ve got lipstick on your shirt. Let me get some water, I’ll clean it off. Where the water? I thought we had water. Ah. There it is.”

“Isn’t that the vodka?” Harry hiccupped.

“Is it?” she put it to her nose. “I think – I think it’ll still clean it though.”

“S’alright. It’ll work.”

“Okay,” she grabbed a napkin off the table and soaked it in vodka and then rubbed it against the fabric. “This doesn’t want to come out. What’s your shirt made of?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve not been shopping for myself in ages.”

“So who buys your clothes?”

“Nan, mostly, and Will, yeah, them two. They look after me, ya know.”

“That’s so nice of them.” she looked up from his shirt, looking into his eyes that were just as bloodshot as hers.

“You’ve got nice eyes, ya know.”

“They’re just brown.”

“Well, I think they’re lovely.” There was a sloppy, drunken grin on his face. “And you’re lovely. I liked being with you that day. That’s . . . that’s why I asked Alistair to go get you.”