The Thrill Is Gone

After a little over a month of seeing each other, Harry finally invited Paulina out on a proper date, to a dinner at a nice restaurant. They’d been on loads of dates before then, but most of them had been picnics that they went on after long bike rides, others were them just hanging out at her apartment, he would pick up take away from a nearby Chinese or Indian restaurant that she loved, and they would watch a movie and eat, sometimes – well, not sometimes, they’d always end up getting a snog in at some point. When they were in public it was a tame snog. She was careful not to grab at his wig, but when they were in her apartment, she’d tug at his fiery red locks and earn low moans from him. That was probably one of the reasons why he liked being in her flat so much.

In there, he was free. He was free to snog the pretty bird that he was keen on; he was free to be who he was, to laugh loudly, and not think about what people might think of him. That’s not true. He thought about what she’d think about him, about whether she was as keen on him as he was on her. So, since she was so fond of laughing, he’d try to make her do just that. Once he’d gotten her to laugh so hard that mineral water shot out from her nose. That earned him a nasty glare, but it’d been worth it, because once she cleaned herself up, the glare vanished and she started laughing again. All the while muttering about how he was such a jerk. The playful glint in her eyes made it perfectly clear that she didn’t mean that.

She liked him so much that she even let him start leaving things lying around. He had a drawer in her dresser. There wasn’t much in there, only a few shirts and a pair of jeans, but that was where he kept a fresh shirt in case it got late and she told him that it’d be better if he waited until morning to drive back to London. The first time that happened, it was two weeks after their first date at the Manchester v. Arsenal match. It was a little awkward. She’d just sort of blurted it out, and then he’d shot her a questioning look. Wondering if that meant they were going to have sex. She hastily added that he could take the bed. She’d sleep on the couch. It was comfortable. She didn’t really want to sleep on the couch, but her parents had raised her to be a gracious host, which meant that if there was only bed, the guest was the one that had to take it.

Harry protested, claimed that she had to take the bed. What ensued was a mini argument, which ended with her saying that she was a good fucking host and that she’d sleep on the couch. She did end up sleeping on the couch, but he didn’t take the bed. Harry ended up moving the coffee table and sleeping on the ground beside the couch. She chucked a pillow at him, mumbling about how annoying he was. He simply grabbed the pillow and stuffed it beneath the one he was already lying on.

From then on it sort of became tradition for her to sleep on the couch and him to sleep on the ground. The bed lay there unused; a constant reminded that they’d yet to venture into the intimacy that they’d both fantasized about in their private moments. There were a few times when she thought about just going at it, times when his hands were grabbing onto her derrière and she seriously contemplated shimmying out of her jeans. It’d never escalated to that, though, at some point she’d pull away, mutter incoherently and that would be the end of that. Harry wasn’t annoyed about it. Actually, there were a few times when he was annoyed. He hadn’t had sex since he started going out with her, so the lack of shagging was getting to him, and when she grinded into him, while they were making out, he had to actively stop himself from running to the bed with her in his arms.

But other than that, things were going surprisingly well for them. Paulina couldn’t believe that they were still dating. A part of her had honestly thought he was going to get bored, run off and never talk to her again. That was what playboys like him were known for. They drove expensive cars, dated models and socialites, but there he was, in a small studio apartment in Oxford with a plump American that only brushed her hair when it was absolutely necessary that she look presentable. Harry also couldn’t believe how things were going for them. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship. After having been in Afghanistan, all he wanted was a bit of fun, but then she showed up, and although they had yet to label themselves as anything other than just going out. He truly was fond of her.

It was a strange how easily she’d become a fixture in his life, strange how he’d become a fixture in hers, as well as in her apartment. Her apartment no longer seemed to be just her own. It became as much his as it was hers. It was his getaway. Where he ran off to whenever he didn’t have any pressing engagements to tend to. His grandmother was curious as to where Harry was always running off to. There were usually two or three days a week when he couldn’t be found, but since there were no stories regarding him in the press, she decided not to pay it much attention. Whenever he was, he wasn’t getting into trouble. That was all that mattered.

William along with Alistair, were the only ones that knew where Harry was off to. Though the former wasn’t as in the loop as the latter. William only knew, from his brief conversation with Harry, his younger brother fancied that American. It was that knowledge that led him to believe that visiting her in Oxford was where Harry ran off to. Alistair, on the other hand, knew almost everything that happened. It was him who let Harry borrow his car, him that gave Harry pointers, reminded the Prince to take her a little gift, flowers or a sweet, and it was Alistair, who told Harry that he ought to take her out on a proper date, that going on bike rides and having night ins at her apartment were all fine and well, but that he should take her to a nice restaurant and dancing, treat her to a proper date.

Harry was skeptical. He liked the privacy that her apartment afforded them, but he knew that Alistair was right. It wasn’t right for them to be cooped up all the time. Her apartment was lovely and they enjoyed themselves there, but she deserved to be taken out. So he asked her if she would do him the honor of going out with her, and in response, she chuckled softly, and asked where it was that he would be taking her. He said it was a surprise. That she should put on a dress and bring an appetite.

The excitement of not knowing what was going on made Paulina giddy, which led to her walking around with a massive grin on her face, on the days leading up to their date. Olivia knew that smile had to do with Harry. Her friend smiled differently when she thought about Harry. It was a brilliant, yet subdued smile that made her eyes twinkle. It was the sort of smile that someone gave when they were holding a secret, but there was also an intense emotion behind it. And although Paulina had denied it when she’d asked her, Olivia knew that the feelings of like that Paulina had for Harry had evolved into something much stronger.

On the evening of their date, Harry arrived a few minutes earlier, like he always did, and was holding a bouquet of lilies that he’d picked up for her at the local flower shop. Even though he’d been seeing her for a month, and she’d told him what her favorite flowers were, Harry still couldn’t remember that it was sunflowers that she fancied the most. In his mind, sunflowers weren’t proper flowers, so whenever he went to get her a bouquet, he always forgot about them and asked the florist to get him something nice. Paulina always thought it odd that he brought her bouquets of flowers that were nice, but weren’t her favorites, but regardless of them not being sunflowers, she always accepted them with a smile and put them in a vase. He had so much going on that he probably couldn’t remember what her favorite flowers were, it was a minor detail. The important thing was that he remembered that she hated seafood and refused to eat raisins in bread, but liked raisins on their own.

“Thought you might fancy these flowers,” said Harry as he walked into the house.

“I do. They’re beautiful,” she took them from him and placed a quick peck on his lips. “Let me just put these in water and then we can get going.”

Harry closed the door behind him. “No need to rush. The reservation isn’t for another thirty minutes,” he walked towards the kitchen, where she was filling a vase with cool water. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Why thank you, my good sir.” Paulina placed the vase on the small dining table, smiling playfully at him. “You’re looking rather handsome tonight. Have a hot date after we’re done with ours?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he leant against the counter. “Problem is I’ve got to drive all the way back to London.”

“You should’ve just brought her along. Gotten her a hotel room to wait in,” she slipped on her white coat.

“Would’ve done that, but don’t reckon she’s finished putting on her face by now.”

“See that’s the problem with wearing a lot of make up, you feel like you don’t have a face when it’s not on. I don’t have the patience to put a bunch on. Well, that’s a lie. I'm just not very skilled with doing fancy make up.”

“Then it’s quite fortunate a thing that you don’t need any.”

“I don’t?” she smiled coyly.

“Did I say you didn’t need any? I misspoke, meant that you don’t need a lot. Just a bit to cover those bags,” he teased.

“Oi, watch yourself, or else those sideburns are gonna get torn off.”

“My other bird doesn’t talk to me like this. She fancies me too much.”

“Well, she must not know you very well.” Paulina placed her hands on his chest, staring up into his brilliant blue orbs. “Give her a few days, a week or two if she’s daft, and she’ll be threatening to do the same.”

“Will she now?” his eyes darted down to her red lips, the lipstick adorning them inviting him to have a taste, and before she could answer he placed his lips down upon hers, catching her by surprise.

His hands grabbed onto her waist, as hers tightened on the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in closer as she nibbled down on his bottom lip, asking for access into that mouth of his. His lips immediately parted, eagerly welcoming her warm tongue into his cavernous mouth. Their lips moved against one another hungrily. It wasn’t long until she was backed against the nearby fridge and his hand was roaming the leg which had, at some point, perched itself on his waist. Not that he minded. He loved the feel of her soft flesh against his calloused hand. And as her right hand tugged at his fiery red hair, a low growl left his lips, which, instead of being a turn on, ended up causing her to go into a fit of giggles.

“What the fuck was that about?” she said in between giggles.

His ears were bright red. “What was what?” he asked, baffled.

“That growl,” she said, her head resting against the fridge, and leg held firmly in place by Harry. “One moment we’re kissing the next you’re growling.”

“That’s normal!”

She shot him a look that made it clear that that was not normal.

“I'm a man, men growl when they’re . . . aroused.”

It was her turn to blush. Her cheeks turned a shade darker than the blush that she’d applied only an hour earlier, and at that moment, she realized that her leg was still hitched up onto his waist.

“You should keep the arousal to a minimum,” she said, lowering her leg. “We’ve got reservations and I don’t plan on being late.”

“You’re a bloody tease you are.”

“And you get worked up to easily,” she said, walking away with an extra sway in her hip. “So, where are you taking me?”

“To Le Manoir aux Quat’ Saisons,” he told her. “I figured that since we can’t go for a stroll through Paris like you mentioned you wanted to, that we could at least have its cuisine.” He mistook her silence for dissatisfaction. “Or do you not care for French cuisine?” he inquired.

“I absolutely love it.” Paulina replied. “It’s fantastic.”

“Brilliant, then we should probably get going. Don’t want to miss the reservation.”

Shortly thereafter, they left the apartment and boarded the car that would take them to the small hotel where the restaurant was situated. The drive was not a far one, only to the village of Great Milton that was still in Oxfordshire. By the time they arrived at the hotel, the sun had set, and the lights had been turned on at the hotel, giving the hotel that was in actuality a former manor, an otherworldly feel, one that made it seem like a vision out of a novel or a period film.

Paulina was caught off guard by the elegance and simple beauty of the manor, though she worked hard to keep from seeming too astonished by it. She had heard Le Manoir mentioned in passing by Sir John. That was one of his favorite places to eat, where he took his wife on special occasions, and Paulina had thought it a very fine place where reservations had to be made months in advance if one wasn’t a resident. She wondered how Harry had gotten them a table. Had he made the reservation under his given name? Her wondering came to a halt when they pulled up to the valet. Harry, handed the keys off to the young man, as well as a tip, and then went over to her door, where he then opened it and offered her his arm to take.

“Are you chilly?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine, thank you. The wind just nipped at me, but we’ll be inside soon.” She smiled reassuringly. “The grounds are beautiful,” she commented.

“They are quite lovely. Though, I must admit that I quite fancy the botanic gardens at the university a bit more.”

“Think you fancy the fact that we could get in trouble for trespassing.”

“That does add to its charm,” he joked, watching as her face lit up with a smile. “Though the company is what makes it so lovely.”

When he said things like that, her heart raced and she told herself that it was alright that she was falling for him as hard as she was. He clearly liked her; maybe he even liked her a lot. That’s why he went over to her flat as often as he did. That’s why he helped her study and get, her flashcards in order for when she had an exam or speech to revise for. He acted like a boyfriend would act, but he wasn’t her boyfriend. They hadn’t had that talk. Neither had mentioned whether they should turn their dating into something official. She didn’t want to bring it up out of fear of seeming to eager or clingy, and he didn’t want to bring it up, because he was still getting used to his feelings for her.

It might sound juvenile, but he had trouble dealing with the intensity of his emotions for her. There were moments when he got scared about how much he fancied her, and contemplated not talking to her anymore, thinking that if he were to just end things, he wouldn’t be able to get hurt in the future. Because from what he’d seen, when people left themselves open to truly love, there was the very real possibility that they might get hurt. His mother had been victim of that. She’d been absolutely smitten with his father, at least in the beginning she had, and then she’d gotten her heart broken, in a very public manner. He didn’t want that. That was one of the reasons why he was so guarded, but this strange American had unknowingly endeared herself to him, to the point where he was turning down invitations to go out with his mates, just so he could spend time with her.

“Good evening Sir, Miss. It’s a lovely night out, isn’t it?” spoke the hostess, a woman in her late twenties who wore a bright, welcoming smile.

“It is quite lovely,” replied Paulina. “We were just commenting on how beautiful the grounds look at this hour.”

“The grounds are always much lovelier at night than in the day, though finding ones way around them at this hour is a bit trickier.” There was a pause for short, polite laughter. “Might I ask under what name your reservation is under?”

“Alistair Mayhew,” spoke Harry.

She looked for his name, and sure enough, there was his reservation. “Right this way Mr. Mayhew, and Miss –”

“Balcázar,” answered Paulina.

“Well, right this way Mr. Mayhew, Miss Balcázar. Ian here will show you to your table.”

Ian was a man of about nineteen. He looked nervous, as if this was his very first night actually on the floor with guests. He kept glancing over to the side, towards the spot where an elderly man stood dressed in a fine suit. Each glance was met with a reassuring bow of the head, a bow that seemed to say it was alright, everyone gets nervous on their first time out on the floor. Ian, finding his nerves somewhat calmed, struck pleasant conversation with his two guests, because hospitality and friendliness are all a part of the fine dining experience. No one wants to eat at a restaurant where the servers seem cross. The other guests may have airs about themselves, but the staff must be, at all times, charming.

“Mr. Mayhew, Miss Balcázar, I am Ian, and I will be your server this evening. On the menu, you will find the list of the nine course dinner experience, and on another side, our a la carte menu.” He took in a deep breath. “If either of you have specific dietary requirements, do not be afraid to make them known to be and I shall pass them onto the kitchen, where they will be delighted to make the necessary adjustments. Would you care for a bottle of wine? A drink to start off the evening?” he asked, politely.

“Paulina, would you care for a particular wine?” inquired Harry.

“I don’t have the wine list,” she said. “Believe it’s tucked beneath your menu.”

“Oh, right, that was daft of me.”

“That’s okay, but as for the wine, as long as it’s not merlot, it’s fine.”

“Does the lady not care for red wine?” asked Ian.

“Not at all,” she answered.

“We have quite an extensive selection of white wine. The Sauvignon Blanc that we carry is widely ordered and praised by patrons. It’s very dry, crisp, and elegant.”

“That sounds delicious. Is a bottle of that okay?” she asked Harry.

“Yes, of course, bring us one and have another at the ready,” Harry told Ian. “Just a moment, Paulin would you want something else to drink? Juice, a soft drink?” he asked.

“Mineral water would be great,” she said.

“A mineral water for the lady, and a tisane, for me, thank you.”

“Look at you, Mr. Mayhew, taking charge,” she commented as she sat across from him, her dark curls framing her face.

“Had a feeling you’d tease me about this.” He moved his chair forwards, so that he could no longer move any closer without tipping the table over.

“I'm not teasing you about it. I was simply making an observation,” she said, very matter-of-factly. “Hmm, what to have?” she thought aloud, giving the menu a look over.

“Aren’t you going to experience the nine course dinner?” he hadn’t touched his own menu. “I did tell you to bring an appetite.”

“You did,” she lowered her menu, so that she could see him. “But I don’t think I'm hungry enough for nine courses.”

“It only sounds like a lot, because it’s nine.” He realized how daft his comment sounded and quickly corrected himself. “What I meant to say was, the portions at these restaurants aren’t hearty portions. They’re actually quite small. That’s why I always drop by a take away place for an after dinner, meal.”

She ended up getting the nine course meal, making sure to tell the waiter that she was allergic to seafood. Ian made sure to jot that down on his pad, and shortly after returned with their first course, essence of tomato. It didn’t look appetizing, not in the least, but she put on a brave smile, reminding herself that just because it looked odd, that didn’t mean it taste good. With that thought, she put the first spoonful of it into her mouth and was pleasantly surprised by the burst of flavors and textures that took place.

The rest of the dinner was as delicious and surprising as that first plate had been. Each course brought with it something new. There were a few that she wasn’t keen on after the first try, but a few more spoonfuls served to unlock the complexity of the flavors, and there wasn’t one that she didn’t fall in love with. Her favorite dish was a raspberry and strawberry soup with basil and mint. When Harry explained what it was, she wasn’t quite sure that it’d be any good. She’d never had a soup that was anything like it, but it was fruity, sweet and refreshing. It was a dish worthy of such an establishment.

“I need to learn how to make that soup. It was absolutely delicious. The complexity and simplicity of the flavors were just . . . well, you know.”

Harry sat back in his chair, his stomach protruding much further than it had when they’d walked in. He’d finished everything on every single one of his plates, while Paulina, not wanting to get full before she reached the end of the nine courses, ate enough to truly appreciate the plate, but not enough to stuff her face.

“If you learn to make that soup, I’ll never leave your flat. Not that I leave it often as it is. You spoil me with the tortillas and salsas, and all that. This belly’s a testament to that.” He patted his belly, grinning all the while.

“It’s not my fault that you have a dozen tortillas whenever you sit down to eat.”

“The only reason ya don’t have as many as me is because you’ve had them your whole life. I'm making up on lost time.”

“Of course you are,” she lifted the glass containing her mineral water and smiled into it. “Shit,” she cursed softly when she glanced behind Harry and saw Lord Fellowes walk into the restaurant.

“What happened? You alright?” asked Harry, words dripping with concern.

“Your uncle just walked in,” she said in a low voice. “And –” she glanced towards the older man’s direction, wanting to see where he was led to, big mistake. Lord Fellowes caught her gaze and bowed his head in his direction, whispering a few words to his wife before walking towards them. “He’s coming over here.”

“Bloody hell,” cursed Harry. “What should we do? Leave?”

“Can’t leave,” she told him. “That’ll make me look bad with the Rhode Trustees – just . . . just don’t say anything. Okay? Be aloof and shy, and don’t say anything, let me figure something out.”

He stared at her, hesitantly.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I – yeah, I do.”

“Then it’ll all be okay.” Paulina took a deep breath, preparing herself to stand now that Lord Fellowes was just a few steps away. “Lord Fellowes, it’s such a pleasure to see you outside the university. On a date with Lady Fellowes?” she inquired, now standing.

“Indeed, I am. It is tradition for us to have a night to ourselves every weekend.” His eyes shifted over to Harry. “And who might this be? Must confess I think I might be acquainted with him. That profile of his, I’ve seen it before.”

“I'm afraid you haven’t, Sir.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Well, Sir, this is – uh, this is my boyfriend, Ignacio. He’s not from here. He’s from Mexico and he . . . well, he came out to visit for our anniversary.”

“That explains the choice of restaurant.” Lord Fellowes observed “Well, introductions must be made Miss Balcázar. I wish to know who has won over the heart of such a promising individual.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” replied Lord Fellowes.

“Ignacio does not speak English, only Spanish. Do you by chance speak Spanish?” she hoped he didn’t. It’d be a disaster if he did.

“Regretfully, I do not.” Lord Fellowes, not one to linger on his shortcomings, quickly changed the conversation. “I believe it is time I return to Lady Fellowes. Please, do enjoy your celebration, I will see you on Monday for the meeting and, please offer Ignacio, my sincerest hope that he enjoy his time in Oxford and that he venture to Rhodes House, Sir John speaks Spanish. They could have a lively conversation.”

“I will, and thank you, Sir. I hope your evening with Lady Fellowes is nothing short of spectacular.”

With a slight bow of the head and a curtsy, they went their separate ways.

“You were brilliant,” whispered Harry, reaching out across the table to take her hand in his.

“Was I? I thought for sure he was gonna rip the wig off your head.”

“With the way you maneuvered things, he didn’t think twice about my face.”

“Thank goodness,” she said. “I would’ve lost it if he ruined this date.”

“Would you?”

“Mhm, it’s been amazing so far and if he ruined it, I would’ve put some stool softener in his coffee.”

Harry laughed, but didn’t comment on the stool softener comment. “And this night’s not over yet.”

“It’s not?”

“Not even close. I’ve got a few other things planned. Would you like to get started on them?”

“What kind of question is that?” she laughed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get out of here. I miss staring at that ginger hair of yours.”