The Thrill Is Gone

“She’s not accepted any of the flowers. Can you believe that? I’ve been sending her the best bloody arrangements, but she’s not kept a single one!” complained Harry, his face adorned with a look of hopelessness. “You’d think after a week of this, she would’ve kept at least one, just to humor me. But no! She’s not kept any and I'm . . . I don’t know what to bloody do anymore. I’ve read those novels, I’ve written notes, I’ve sent flowers, and none of it’s worked! Nothing’s happened!”

“It’s a bit early to despair, Harry. It’s only been a week,” reminded William as he stared out the window that overlooked the gardens.

“Only a week?” he cried. “Don’t you know I’ve never wait this long. Even when the birds were acting all hard to get, they’d shag me after a few days, but –”

“Need I remind you, you’re not trying to simply get shagged,” interjected William. “Last I checked you were trying to win her over again, to have a proper relationship. She’s not some bird that you sleep with and never see again, so don’t think that what applies to them, applies to her.”

“I'm exhausted though! I'm not one for this wooing. You’ve no idea how hard it is to write those letters. I can’t say what I mean right away, I’ve got to use loads of flowery language before I can say what I want to say. And I don’t even know if she’s reading those letters!”

“I thought you said she’d kept the letters.” William redirected his gaze to his brother.

Harry sighed. “That’s what Alistair says. But if she hasn’t kept the flowers why would she keep the letters?”

“That’s simple really; you’ve not sent her, her favorite flowers. If I were her, I reckon I’d do the same. And I'm sure she’s read the letters.”

“How can you be sure?”

“No one can resist a letter. Its human nature for us to want to read whatever it is someone has written us.” William smiled reassuringly. “I'm certain she’s enjoyed the messages you’ve sent, and I bet she loved the locket.”

“What if she thinks it’s creepy?”

“She’s a romantic that loves Jane Austen, I'm sure she thought it was absolutely lovely of you.”

“I just wish she’d let me see her. I wouldn’t even stay long, just a few minutes, but she won’t let me. I had Alistair ask if I could pop by for a visit, but she said no. Can you believe that? She said no!”

“Of course she’s going to say no. That’s how it is. When you mess up, they get mad and make you pay for it. I remember once I said something to Kate that upset her. It wasn’t even anything that bad, but she didn’t talk to me for nearly two weeks.”

“How’d you fix that?”

“I did what you’re doing. I sent flowers, jotted down a few notes, and when that got me nowhere, I followed her to Paris. She was going on holiday with a few mates. She’d asked me, before the fight of course, if I wanted to accompany her, but you know how I feel about Paris. I’d rather not go unless it’s absolutely necessary, so I told her I’d pass. But when we were fighting I realized that I had to go there in order to try to win her back, and I showed up with a massive bouquet of white lilies. She was quite beside herself, hadn’t expected to see me there. As you know, we reconciled.”

“What do you mean when it got you nowhere? You told me this Austen thing was gonna work!”

“Did I? Hmm, don’t remember having said that.”

“You said it would work!” bellowed Harry, growing particularly red in the face. “You said she’d take it as a sign of my being committed.”

“And she will.” He paused. “She does, but it’s not enough. The flowers and letters serve to let her know you still think about her and that’ll give you time to plan something else.”

“So you’re saying I’ve got to do something big? Something that’ll just make her love me again?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but I don’t think following her on a holiday will suffice. You made a proper mess of things, harry. You’re going to have to make it so she knows you thought of her in every detail.”

“Ugh. Why’s this so bloody complicated?”

“Wouldn’t have been so complicated if ya hadn’t run off at the mouth.”

Harry shot William a dirty look.

“It’s not like I'm lying,” mumbled William, returning his gaze to the gardens. He decided to change the topic. “It’s a lovely day out. Miriam and Devon seem to be taking full advantage of it. They’ve got a few flowers out for Gran’s approval. Ah. You’d think they’d know better than to stick sunflowers into the bunch. Every year they tried to get them cleared for the garden and every year Gran tells them they’re not right.”

“Wait. What’d you just say?”

“That Gran’s going to do the approving of flowers today.”

“No. Not that. What you said before, about Miriam and Devon trying to get approval for –”

“Sunflowers,” answered William before Harry had finished speaking.

“That’s it!” Harry leapt to his feet.

William tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What’s it?”

“Sunflowers!” he exclaimed. “Those are her favorites! She was always goin on about them. Blimey! Can’t believe I didn’t remember them, honestly I must be daft to have forgotten. Don’t say a word!”

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” lied William.

“I saw that bloody smirk creeping onto that face of yours, but no matter. Not even your smirking self’s going to dampen my mood! Sunflowers!” he grinned. “I'm gonna to send loads of sunflowers to her. Make her apartment look like a field, I will.” An idea suddenly struck him. “On second thought, I’d hold off on that.”

“Why?”

“So she keeps thinking I don’t remember, and then when I do the surprise I’ll have loads of sunflowers, and she’ll be just all . . . she’ll think it’s rad.”

“Rad?” asked William, confused by the word. “What’s that?”

“It’s like brilliant.”

He nodded in understanding. “So have you any idea of how you’re going to make her think its rad.”

“Not a clue, but I’ll figure something out. I’ll search Mexican romance on the internet. Wait. Think I’ll search something else, Mexican romance sounds like it could lead to porn. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I might get sidetracked, you know how it is,” mumbled Harry. “Point is I’ll do a search. There’s bound to be something tolerably manageable on there.”

Harry spent the rest of his day scouring the internet for ideas. He searched different phrases and key words, but nothing jumped out at home. It wasn’t until well after midnight that he stumbled across a web page that interested him. Granted, it was entirely in Spanish, but there was a video that captured his attention. There was a young man accompanied by a group of mariachis, and he sang to a young woman who was looking down at them from a balcony. At first her face wore a scowl, as if she were bothered by the very sight of him, but then, when the mariachi emerged and he began to sing, her scowl turned into a loving smile. And by the end of the song, she ran downstairs and kissed the man passionately on the lips. Harry might not have understood a word that was uttered, but that didn’t matter. He loved the outcome. He wanted it for himself.

Determined to make that video into his reality, he began searching for mariachis in England. He spent hours going from page to page, listening to the sample tracks, and scrutinizing the get ups, but none of mariachis in London seem perfect enough for the occasion. They left a lot to be desired. So he tried searching for mariachis in Spain. When he didn’t find any he liked. He moved onto the rest of Europe, thinking that perhaps a mariachi had made its way into the mainland, but although there were a few groups scattered across the continent, none of them were right. Harry had an idea of what it was going to be like and it had to be done as he had imagined or else there would be no point in doing it. She wouldn’t forgive him; at least that’s what he thought.

Since his searches in Europe came up fruitless, he thought about hiring a mariachi from Los Angeles, but decided that since he was going to have to pay for transportation, he might as well hire a proper mariachi from Mexico, so he searched for professional ones, and just as the sun began to rise he stumbled across the page for Mariachi Nuevo Tecalitlán, and after watching several videos, he knew he had to have them. Their appearance was brilliant, as was their sound. And shortly after deciding he needed them, he ran off to tell William the good news. Well, not just to tell him the good news, but also to ask him for his help.

“Wills . . . Wills, you awake?” he whispered as he hovered above his brother’s bed.

“Go away,” mumbled William, face buried in his pillow.

“Wake up ya lazy sod, I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Too early . . .”

“No it’s not; it’s barely . . . bloody hell it is early.” Harry cursed inwardly for having stayed up all night. “Doesn’t matter what time it is, just hear me out.

“Ugh. Fine,” he grumbled, lifting his face from the pillow to see his brother. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I know what Imma do.”

“About what?” he asked.

“What do ya mean about what? About Paulina!” he exclaimed.

“Ah, right, right. So what is it?”

“I'm gonna serenade her, get a proper mariachi and do it right.”

“Wait. What?”

“I'm gonna get a mariachi. You know that band thing Mexican’s seem so keen on. I’ll have ‘em put on a show and I’ll put sunflowers everywhere so we’ll be surrounded.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re going to get a mariachi and perform with them in a makeshift field of sunflowers?”

Harry nodded excitedly. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“Haven’t ya forgotten something?”

“Don’t reckon I have. Hmm . . .”

“You can’t sing worth a damn.” William sat up. “No offense to you, but you’ve, got one of the worst singing voices I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s not the point! The point is that I’ll do this grand gesture and she’ll be moved and touched and . . . bloody hell . . .”

William shot him a questioning look.

“Hmm, well I might’ve forgotten something.” He let out a sigh. “I can’t speak Spanish. How am I meant to sing in it, if I can’t speak it?”

“Dunno. Suppose you could take lessons for it. Just learn the song.”

The smile returned to Harry’s face. “See this is why you’re gonna be king one day.”

“The masses will flock to me for relationship advice. Oh joy.” William slumped against his pillow. “That it then?” he asked, sleepily.

“Hah. No. I need your help with booking the mariachi and all that. I don’t want to have my name used, but I don’t know how to go about it. Do you think using Alistair would be wise? I’ve never booked talent before so I'm not sure how to go about it.”

“Can’t we talk about this in a few hours?”

“You’re the one that said to do something big, so you have to help me. It’s your duty.”

“It’s late in Mexico,” reminded William. “We’ll not get anything done at this hour. So why don’t you try to get some sleep and we’ll talk about this over breakfast,” he proposed. “We’ll have it in here. Okay?”

Harry let out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”

“Good.” William nestled into the blankets. “Now go away. I’ve had enough of your gingery face.”

“Love you too, Wills.”

Harry tried to do as he was told, really, he did, but the excitement kept him up. He squirmed around the bed, trying different positions to try to get him to sleep, but it didn’t mater if he was on his back, his belly, or his side, he couldn’t drift off. His mind was preoccupied in visualizing the moment in which Paulina would step onto the small balcony, and see, him standing there with the mariachi. She was going to absolutely love it. He knew she was. It was exactly the sort of thing that a romantic would truly appreciate.

He lay in bed until William sent him a text saying that breakfast was ready. Harry didn’t bother changing into proper clothes. He wandered down the corridors in his boxers and her faded Rolling Stone’s shirt.

“Did ya manage to get any sleep?” asked William when Harry walked into the room.

“Tried, but didn’t have any luck.” Harry took a seat at the table. “I’d ask how you slept, but I already know it was well. I wasn’t even gone and you were already snoring. How Kate stands that is beyond me. Reckon I’d plug your nose.”

“Snoring is loads better than squirming about. You’re a horrible sleeper, always fidgeting around.”

“It’s not that bad.”

William gave him a look that made it perfectly clear it was. “So now that I'm awake, we can talk plans for your serenade. Let me have a look at those papers you brought.” He took them from Harry. “Hmm, this quite a large ensemble . . . Are you sure you need so many people? I think a smaller group might do just as well.”

“If I'm gonna do this right, then I’m gonna have a big ensemble. I mean, what would the point be of doing a grand romantic gesture if I'm goin’ to scale it down?”

“Suppose you’re right.” William took a sip of his tea. “They seem very well recommended. Their biography is quite impressive.”

Harry nodded in agreement as he took a bite of bacon.

“When Alistair gets in, have him come to my chambers. I’ll sort out all the details and then have him give out his contact information.”

“But I haven’t put the money in his account. I don’t even know how much they’ll charge.”

“Not to worry. I’ll ask them to wait two hours to charge it. That way we can make the necessary transactions and . . . oh, well I suppose we’ll have to book their flight as well. That shouldn’t take long.”

“Can’t we just give them the money to book the flights and say you’ve only got this to work with?”

“That might do well.” William added eggs onto his plate. “I’ll look at what the prices are for flights. Then give them a little more to buy all the tickets they’ll need. We’ll have to keep them overnight as well. I believe that they’ll fly out at night, get here in the morning, rehearse with you, then go the hotel, then the next day will be the performance and another night at the hotel, then first thing in the morning they’ll fly out to Mexico, then again they could fly out right after the performance. No. That wouldn’t be fair. They’d have to rush and it’d be a pain. Two nights at a hotel, plane tickets, booking fare for two nights. That’s going to be quite the expense.”

“Like money’s really an issue,” said Harry. “And anyways if I don’t have enough I can always take yours.”

“And who says I’ll let you?”

“This was all your idea. Do something romantic, you said. Well I'm doing the romance, now it’s just got to be paid for.” Harry chuckled. “You reckon I’ll be able to do it while her family’s still here? Think it’d make quite an impression on them.”

“How long are they meant to stay?”

“Week and a half,” he replied. “They got here last Saturday, so they’re meant to return on Wednesday night. Think we can make it work?”

“That’s four days from now. There’s no way that’ll happen.”

Harry frowned.

“These things take time,” reminded William. “You don’t just phone someone and have them, fly right over. On second thought, we can, but since you don’t want people to know who you are and what you’re doing, then you don’t have that privilege.”

“How long do you think it’s gonna be then.”

“A week, perhaps two . . .” He braced himself for Harry’s outburst.

And sure enough, Harry cried, “Two bloody weeks?! I can’t. That’s fucking absurd. I can’t wait to damn weeks. That’s too long. I can’t wait that . . .”

His wait ended up being just short of the two week mark. The mariachi arrived at the airport on Thursday morning, and after settling into a hotel a few miles off from Alistair’s home and taking a much needed nap, they were picked up in a large van and driven over to Alistair’s house to rehearse with Harry. Harry had been practicing like mad with the Spanish tutor he’d hired for himself. He, of course, had made the young man sign a gag order stating that he would never speak a word of his time with the young prince. He couldn’t risk the press finding out that Harry was practicing singing in Spanish. They’d run mad with the story, and follow him even more so than usual, and that would just be a giant mess. So he took steps to ensure that wouldn’t happen and feeling comfortable in knowing that he was safe, he spent two hours everyday with a young man that worked at the Mexican Embassy. The young man, whose name was Enrique, thought it strange that Prince Harry wanted to learn how to sing Volver, Volver but he didn’t question it. If he wanted to learn it and he was willing to pay, then Enrique was going to teach him.

By the time Friday night came around, Harry felt confident enough to put on his little performance for her. He wasn’t nervous about the fact that he had a massive accent when he sang. What mattered was that he had the words memorized and that she’d hear him sing. She’d be touched by the effort, and if she wasn’t . . . well, he didn’t want to think about that possibility. She was going to love it, and she was going to let him love her.

And as Harry nervously rehearsed the song during the drive to Oxford, Paulina picked up her coffee mug from the kitchen counter and made her way over to the couch. Her plans for Friday night had initially been more exciting than staying in and watching Disney films. She was supposed to go out drinking with Graham, Lesedi, Terry and Callum, but after the guys stuffed their faces at a buffet, they grew ill, and decided that it’d be a better idea to drink when their stomachs weren’t rebelling against them.

She was fine with the change of plans. The last week and a half had been spent going around to different destinations with her family, so spending the night in and just lounging around in pajamas was a true treat. She’d hooked up her laptop to the television, making the watching of Mulan a much more enjoyable experience. It was a personal favorite, not to mention she absolutely adored the soundtrack and knew every word by heart, which had annoyed her brothers growing up.

“Let’s get down to business to defeat the Huns. Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons?” she sang loudly and terribly off key. “You’re the –”

Just as she had picked up the remote from the nearby table to use as her makeshift microphone, she heard someone shout her name. Her brow immediately furrowed in confusion. Had she heart right or was it just a figment of her imagination? Thinking that perhaps the voice came from her intercom, she muted the film and moved towards the mounted intercom.

“Hello?” she spoke. “Did someone out there just call for a Paulina?”

There was no response from the intercom, but a shout traveled through the open balcony door.

“Those assholes probably got drunk,” she told herself. “Fucking idiots are gonna be puking and shitting like crazy.” Her jacket was grabbed off the rack and was quickly slipped on. “If they think I'm gonna – ah fuck, I owe it to them to take care of them.” She opened the sliding glass door, an involuntary shudder passing through her when the cold night air nipped at her cheeks. “You guys are fucking . . .” she trailed off when she saw Harry standing outside her window. “What are you doing here?” she asked him, there was no malice in her voice. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I'm not.” His nerves made his voice sound higher than normal.

“Then what are you doing here? I told Alistair to –”

“I know. Alistair told me what you said, but . . .”

“But what?” she asked.

“Just wait and see. Yeah?” he smiled at her, begging with his eyes for her to just stay put.

“What’s gotten into . . .”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish her sentence, instead he shouted for Alistair to get the lights and when the clear Christmas lights were turned on, the garden was transformed into a mini field of sunflowers and the mariachi that was waiting in the shadows began to play.

She didn’t react immediately she was way too in shock to anything other than just stare wide eyed at the scene before her. That was not . . . there was no fucking way that she had expected that from Harry. He’d spent weeks sending her the wrong flowers and now there was a field of sunflowers in the garden are of her apartment complex, but not only that there was a mariachi and they were playing Volver, Volver. She couldn’t process that. Her mind just shut off, because it couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

Harry had hoped that she’d smile or laugh or . . . well he would’ve honestly preferred anything over her looking like she’d just taken ecstasy or mushrooms, but he didn’t let her reaction get to him. He had to focus, and when it came time for him to start singing, he took in a deep breath and began belting out the lyrics as if his very life depended on it.

“Este amor apasionado, anda todo alborotado, por volver. Voy camino a la locura y aunque todo me tortura, se querer. Nos dejamos hace tiempo pero me llego el momento de perder. Tu tenias mucha razón, le hago caso al corazón y me muero por volver. "Y volver, volver, volver a tus brazos otra vez, llegare hasta donde estés yo se perder, yo se perder, quiero volver, volver, volver." (This passionate love is beside itself, to return. I'm on the road to madness and although everything tortures me, I know how to love. We parted ways some time ago, but this is my time to lose it. You had every reason. I listen to my heart and I'm dying to return. And to come back, come back to your arms again. I’ll go wherever you are. I know how to lose; I know how to lose, but I long to return, to return, to return).”

It was when he began to sing that her heart took over. Her mind was busy trying to process the fact that he was serenading her in Spanish, and her heart was absolutely beside itself with joy. He was singing to her, he was singing one of her favorite songs, and as he sang, she felt her anger towards him slip away. She wasn’t just some shag. She wasn’t some bird that he didn’t care about. He loved her. He had to love her if he went through all that trouble. And at that moment, she couldn’t even remember that picture with Chelsy. She didn’t even remember that Chelsy existed.

It was just her and Harry.

Without even thinking she walked until her body was pressed up against the railings. Her eves never left his out of fear that if they broke eye contact, even for a second; she would discover that it was nothing more than an alcohol induced hallucination.

“Paulina!” he shouted her name when they finished the song. “Te amo (I love you)!”

“Y-you love me?” she stuttered, her face lighting up.

Harry nodded, breaking into a brilliant smile. “I do. I love you.”

“You love me,” she repeated, this time a statement instead of a question. “You love me?” it returned to a question, her brow furrowed in confusion and before she could say anything else, she disappeared inside her apartment.

He was baffled by her behavior, but that was soon replaced by distress. She wasn’t supposed to run inside her apartment. She was supposed to have told him that she loved him and that she forgave him. That’s what he’d been imagining every single day leading up to that moment, but no, she hadn’t confessed her love. She took off running. Apparently, he’d fucked up so bad that not even a mariachi could help him.

“Harry,” whispered Alistair.

“I don’t understand. This was supposed to work.” He looked over at Alistair with hurt filled eyes “Why didn’t this work?”

“There’s no telling why it didn’t work. Perhaps this just wasn’t meant to be.”

“But I love her.”

“I know, Harry, I know.” Alistair was at a loss of how to comfort him, but he knew that Harry couldn’t stay in Oxford any longer. “I think it best if we leave.”

“Leave?” questioned Harry, softly.

Alistair nodded. “It might be best.”

“Yes, it would,” agreed Harry, his voice distant.

Paulina ran down the flights of stairs, her socks growing filthier with each step she took, but she didn’t care if her socks ended up a muddy mess that she’d have to scrub by hand. She just wanted to kiss Harry, she just wanted to hold him and be held, and kiss him and laugh and tell him that she felt the same way! So she ran down the stairs, down the corridor and then burst out the front door and took a sharp right to get to the garden area, but just as she was getting there, she saw Harry walking away. It suddenly hit her that she hadn’t said anything, that for all he knew she didn’t want anything to do with him. She cursed inwardly for having been so foolish, and then shouted his name with everything she had.

“HENRY!” she bellowed as she ran towards him. “WAIT!”

He stopped walking, unsure if he’d heard right, but when he heard her call his name a second time, he knew she was there. He quickly turned around, his face regaining its warmth at the sight of her running towards him. He parted his lips to speak, but she didn’t give him the chance. Instead she pounced on him, her legs wrapped around his midsection and her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him in so that no space, no matter how small existed between them. He stumbled about a bit, but he quickly recovered his footing, and then, without warning she pressed her lips passionately against his. Their lips instantly parted and their tongues gladly welcomed their reunion. It had been to long since they’d last savored that intoxicating taste that always managed to leave them breathless. They kissed, and savored, and sighed, and pulled away only when their lungs threatened to give out on them.

“I love you,” she told him, breathlessly. “I love you so much you damn ginger.”

Harry beamed at her. “Bloody hell, you’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” He kissed her lips lovingly. “Does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” he asked.

“On one condition,” she said.

“Name it.”

“Don’t you ever put me through any of that again,” as she spoke, her smile vanished and a serious look took its place.

“I promise I won’t.”

Her smile returned, only that time it wasn’t just a smile, it was the embodiment of all the joy in the world, all the love. It was the sort of smile that made him forget his own name, and as he stared at her, as he admired the curve of her lips, he knew that in his life, he’d never been happier than he was at that moment.