The Thrill Is Gone

Outside the hotel, a crowd of photographers had gathered to await the departure of Prince Harry and his new American girlfriend. It had taken the tabloids four hours of going through society pages, but they eventually stumbled across the pictures of her at the Prime Minister’s dinner. At first they weren’t sure if it was her, the difference in hair and makeup had them second guessing themselves, but when they held up the picture from the club, next to the picture of her at the dinner, and saw the similarities in facial structure and features, they knew that the American was named Paulina Aureliana Balcázar. Almost immediately they started looking her up on the internet, hoping to find a Facebook filled with pictures they could use for their publications, but by the time they’d discovered her identity, her Facebook had been taken down, and her friends had removed all the pictures of her from the website. The only information they were able to find on her was the information listed on The Rhodes Scholar website. From there, they learned of her impeccable academic record, the volunteer work she had undertaken, and the sports she participated in. There was enough information to print a small biography, but there was no contact information listed for her, that was protected.

The tabloids planned on getting more information regarding her, to contact her family in America, and find out where she lived, but for the time being, they focused on making a small article with her public information, and to snap more pictures of her alongside Prince Harry. That was why each of the major tabloid magazines had sent a photographer along with a reporter, and that was why she and Harry were hiding inside their hotel room. They’d woken at five in the morning, thinking that at such an early hour, they’d be able to sneak out unnoticed, but at that hour, there were already five photographers, and not wanting to have to deal with them so early, they decided to wait in their hotel room, thinking that they would eventually give up and pack up, but it was currently eleven in the morning, and even more photographers had arrived.

“This is fucking insane,” spoke Paulina as she observed the photographers from their window. “How are there that many people waiting for us? I mean – what the fuck? There are way more important things happening in your country. For starters, it’s helping out the US in their wars in the Middle East, and instead of properly covering what’s going on over there, the media’s here, waiting to see your girlfriend. Where are their priorities?!” she huffed.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t laugh!” she exclaimed, chucking her jacket at him. “I'm being serious over here.”

“I know you are, Paulin, but the thing is, most people don’t find politics as entertaining as you. They care about celebrities and even more about royalty, so that’s why we’ve got a fleet outside waiting for us.” He abandoned the bed and walked over to her, pressing his bare chest against her back. “Don’t worry though, I sent Alistair a message not too long ago, asked him to please come so he could help escort us out.”

“I don’t want to bother him.”

“In this case, we have to.” he rested his chin on her shoulder. “He’s good at maneuvering through crowds. There’s no one like Alistair to push the press away, which is exactly what we need for you. He’ll get you in the car no problem.”

“What about you?”

“I may not bloody like having my picture taken, but I'm used to it. Right now all I care about is making sure you’re safe. Don’t want any of these bastards doing anything to hurt you.” He paused before adding, “Sometimes they can get handsy, Chels used to . . .” he cursed inwardly for having brought her up. “. . . I’ve been told by a former girlfriend that they violated her personal space, so I just want to make sure you’re alright, especially since you can’t be punching people anymore.”

She chuckled softly. “That’d make this all easier. I could just punch them into submission.”

“Haha, yeah, but I reckon that wouldn’t go over well with my Gran.”

“I guess not.” She sighed. “Do you . . . have they called you yet?”

“They have,” he told her. “I answered one call, from Wills. Told him to tell them to just bugger off, that I’d go over at dinner to discuss whatever it is they want to discuss.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. If you have to go then –”

“I'm not goin’ anywhere.” He declared, letting his arms drop from her waist so he could move to face her. “They’re just gonna tell me off a bit, that’s all. What matters right now, is us. We need to think about what we do from here. I figure we should have lunch in public. Just so they know you weren’t just some bird I shagged, wouldn’t want your parents reading a tabloid saying we just shagged and went our separate ways.”

“That wouldn’t matter. They know we’re together.”

“I know, but I don’t want your dad worrying because other people think that’s all this is. We’ll have lunch, be seen holding hands, and then . . . well, I don’t know. Suppose we’ll figure out what we do, while we’re having lunch.”

“We could go back to my place.” She offered. “Or we can go to your aunt and uncles. We need to fill them in, especially since they’ve been so nice to me.”

“That’s right.” Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. “But I don’t think we should do that today. I’ll ask them if we can have dinner with them tomorrow. That alright?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. If anything it works out better, since I didn’t bring any dressy clothes, thought we were gonna be inconspicuous, so I brought normal clothes.”

“Inconspicuous,” repeated Harry. “If only we could be.” He let out a weary sigh. “I really am sorry about last night. Don’t know what got into me, I just lost it when he started running his mouth. Had me seeing red, he did. And I couldn’t help but have a go at him.”

“That’s alright.” She placed her hand on his chest. “If you hadn’t gotten into the fight, then I probably would’ve. He was being a dick, and definitely deserved a few punches.”

“He did,” agreed harry. “But bloody hell, have those punches cost us. Now we can’t even go outside without a swarm of photographers following us around. I’ve got a nagging feeling we won’t be able to have our picnics anymore.”

“Don’t be daft. Of course we’ll still go on our picnics. They’re tradition!” she smacked his chest, playfully. “What I'm worried about is your family.”

“No offense, but yours is scarier.”

“Not even!”

“Mine may have a title, but I was honestly terrified by your dad and Rafa. For a moment I honestly they were going to somehow magically appear in the hotel room and give me a sound kick in the arse.”

“They weren’t that bad.”

“Your dad looked like he wanted to kill me!”

“He always looks really serious, that’s just the way he is.”

“I know what looking serious is like, but what your dad was doing wasn’t looking serious, that was the look of a man who was contemplating hiring a hit man.”

“Oh hush up. You’re just being overdramatic.” She said as she walked towards the bed. “My dad was just upset. I warned you that he might be like that.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t reckon he actually would. I thought you were exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating, really?”

“Well yeah.”

Paulina plopped onto the bed. “I'm his only daughter and I also happen to be the baby in the family so that just adds to how much they fuss over me, but I have to admit that things went better than I thought they would. I know it may not have seemed like it, but my dad likes you. You beating up that guy really made him respect you.”

“It did, didn’t it?” Harry smiled, quite pleased with himself, and lay down beside her. “He seemed really pleased with me, and even said that I defended your honor like a proper man. That’s big in your family isn’t it?”

“What is?” she asked.

“Honor,” he replied. “Well, not just honor, respect as well.”

She nodded. “My parents really engrained that in us. We have to respect our elders, respect our family, and be mindful and respectful of others, unless they’re fucking assholes, of course. Even polite people have their limits. Like one time, this guy said something bad about my dad, he mocked his thick accent, and said some pretty nasty things about his being Hispanic , and out of nowhere, my mom just took a swing at him, got him right in the nose.”

“You’re joking!”

“I'm seriously serious, she fucking did that. It was crazy, because my mom, well she has her moments and can get pretty worked up, but she’s not that physical, so when she punched that guy, it was just mind blowing. He should’ve known better than to run his mouth, because when Balcázar’s get offended, we fucking throw down.”

“Yes, you do,” agreed Harry.

“What do you know of me throwing down?”

“Well, I know of you ignoring me and making me miserable.” Harry replied.

“Don’t say that like you didn’t deserve it, you know you deserved it.”

“Not saying I didn’t, I know I did, I was a bloody prat, but it was still a pain. No one had ever treated me like that.”

“That’s because no one’s as rad as me.” She smirked and flicked his nose. “But anyways, being pissed off was definitely worth it. We’re here now; better than before, now we’re even public. Hurrah,” her cheer wasn’t cheerful; it was said in a tired manner that made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t particularly thrilled about being thrust into the limelight.

“That’s the absolute worst cheering, I’ve ever heard. I don’t think it could’ve been any worse. In fact, I reckon the dead would’ve probably put more effort into it.”

“It that so?” she cocked her brow.

“Yes, it is, but don’t worry, I reckon I can liven you up.”

“And how do you suppose – HARRY!” she exclaimed when he pounced upon her, straddling her hips as he proceeded to nuzzle her neck and tickle. “I'm gonna pee!” she cried out, laughter ringing through the room.

In that moment, she forgot about the photographers waiting outside for them, she forgot about his title, their responsibilities. In that moment, she was just a young woman that was absolutely smitten with a man that made her feel the happiest and most alive she’d ever felt in her life. Whenever it was just them, all was right with the world. At least it was in their minds.

Eventually, Harry stopped tickling her and sat up, staring down at her messy dark curls that were fanned out on the bed, and her rosy cheeks. She was looking up at him with such tender affection, that he couldn’t help but be delighted with the state of them, but then the television program started talking about the young prince and his girlfriend, and all he could do was hope that through this new chapter in their relationship, she’d be able to keep smiling and that she’d always look at him the way she did at that moment.

“We’re on the teli.” Harry rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed.

Paulina crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Hmm, well I guess I'm thankful it’s at least a decent picture. They didn’t take it at a weird angle so we came out looking pretty good.”

“I thought you said we were proper messes.” Harry craned his neck to look at her. “That’s what ya said last night.”

“Yes, but last night, I was emotionally unstable and hating on everything,” she reminded. “But now I can at least appreciate that I had a good outfit on, and that my makeup didn’t melt off during the dancing. Though my lipstick was smeared on your lips,” she said, noticing just how red Harry’s lips were in the image.

“Wasn’t that blood? I could’ve sworn that was my blood.”

“It wasn’t.” She told him. “The only place you were bleeding was your right cheek because he scratched you up with the rings he was wearing.”

“Oh yeah, forgotten that.” His hand instinctively went to his cheek, gently cupping it. “Honestly didn’t think he’d have so many rings on. Blokes don’t wear rings, not really, but he was like a bird, he was. Reckon he had at least three rings on, and they had quite massive stones.” He dropped his hand from his face. “Not that they helped him much. Sure he scratched me up a bit, but I did him worse than he did me, and I wasn’t even wearing any rings.”

“You were just being a badass,” she said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I'm gonna go check on the photographers.”

“They’re still gonna be there,” said Harry, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“I know, but I just want to see if there are more of them. Personally, I'm hoping the numbers have gone down; maybe some went out to lunch or to grab something to – nope, there’s more.” She was just about to go back to the bed, when she saw a familiar car pull up, and when its driver stepped out, a relieved smile played across her lips. “Alistair’s here!”

“Is he?” Harry tore his eyes off the screen. “Suppose we should get ready to leave then, make sure we haven’t left anything behind or else it’ll end up on e-bay.”

“I doubt people would pay for my used toothbrush.”

“You’d be surprised by what people will pay for.” He stood up and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. “Did you by chance bring sunglasses?”

Sunglasses . . . how could she have forgotten her sunglasses? She always packed them whenever she went out with Harry, but of course, the one day she actually needs them, she forgot them at her apartment.

“Shit, I forget to bring them.”

“S’alright, you can borrow mine.” He grabbed his overnight bag and searched for their case. “Here you are.”

“But what about you?” she asked.

“I'm used to the photographers,” he said, nonchalantly. “The flash isn’t much of a bother, but you’re barely getting into this, so it’s best to take precautions. Don’t give me that look, just take them. Please.”

“If I break them, it’s on you.” She said as she took the sunglasses. “Thanks though.”

Not long after, there was a knock at the door. It was accompanied by Alistair’s deep voice, and almost immediately, Paulina took into a sprint towards it.

“Alistair!” she exclaimed, wrapping him into a tight hug. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to see you.” She said when they pulled apart.

“It is a true pleasure to see you as well, Miss Balcázar,” he spoke politely shutting the door behind him. “I trust I find you both in good health.”

“You do,” she said. “Though Henry’s a bit scratched up.”

“It’ll heal on its own,” said Harry when he noticed Alistair looking at him with genuine concern. “Thank you for coming as quickly as you did. We weren’t expecting you until later.”

“I’ve actually been waiting for your call, Sir.” Alistair spoke. “When the news broke, I assumed that my services would at some point be necessitated, and as such, I took the liberty of procuring a hat for Miss Balcázar. I'm not certain if it is to your liking, but I believed you might appreciate the privacy it can provide.”

“Alistair, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself.”

“It was no trouble at all, Miss. I am simply glad to be of service.” He took out a hat from the box he was carrying; it was a simple floppy hat in a dark shade of burgundy. “Here you are, Miss.”

“It’s beautiful!” Paulina wasn’t saying it just to be polite. She truly was fond of it. “Thank you so much, Alistair. I love it.” She brushed her hair out of her face and slipped it on. “How does it look?”

“It looks great,” said Harry. “But you’re missing something.”

She cocked her brow.

“The sunglasses,” he reminded.

“Oh right.” Paulina quickly put them on and turned to see herself in the mirror. “This is definitely how I’m gonna, be seen in pubic from now on.”

“You’ll be a right pain for the photographers,” chuckled Harry.

“Fuck it.” She shrugged. “I'm not here to entertain them. If they want pictures of me, their asses are gonna have to work for it.”

“Well said.” Harry looked over at Alistair whom was looking down at his watch. “I think we should get our bags, and go. It’ll be fine. You know? Just stay behind me and it’ll be fine. Okay?”

Paulina nodded and went to grab her bag, but Alistair got it for her. “You don’t have to carry it for me, really. It’s not even heavy.”

“It’s no problem, Miss.”

“But you have to be security, you shouldn’t be weighed down by this,” she said, not wanting to burden Alistair with her personal belongings.

“You’re going to keep insisting that you carry it, until he gives it to you, aren’t you?” asked Harry, slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder.

“That’s exactly what I'm going to do.”

“Alistair, please give her the bag.”

Alistair reluctantly did so. “So you know Miss, I’ll be covering you from behind. His Royal Highness will lead the front and I’ll make sure no one swarms you.”

“S-swarm me?” she stuttered, suddenly realizing how much of a hassle it was going to be to get through the crowd. “They might swarm me?”

“They won’t.” Harry declared. “Alistair will keep them from you, and I’ll clear the path. Don’t worry, this’ll be fine. I know its nerve wracking, but believe us when we say you won’t be bothered. I won’t let anyone lay a finger on you.” He took her hand in his, lacing his fingers with hers. “Let’s go, love.”

They didn’t say much after that. They walked along the corridor in silence, each preparing for the crowd that awaited them. Harry, despite having grown up in such conditions, hated having himself made a spectacle of. Just once, he wished he could have a normal relationship, to not have to put the people he cares for through such trouble, but he was a Prince, and as such, he had to endure and hope that those closest to him would love him enough to do the same. Alistair was stretching as he walked; he was used to the pressure and just needed to make sure his body was ready for the pushing and shoving that would ensue.

And Paulina, well she was busy telling herself how amazing she was. It was childish, she knew it was, but facing a crowd of photographers was enough to bring down her confidence. Her smile faltered, her heart raced, and she wanted nothing more than to sneak out of the back, but she knew that wasn’t an option. She had to face the public, and when she faced them, she wanted to have her shoulders pushed back, head held high, and to radiate confidence, because despite the fact that she was going to be shielding her face with sunglasses and a hat, she didn’t want to come across as meek.

“Ready?” asked Harry, when they stopped in front of the main hotel entrance.

She wasn’t ready, and she very much doubted that she ever would be. There was a sea of photographers just a few yards away, she could see them through the doors, their cameras hanging from their necks and eyes hungrily glued to the door. She wasn’t ready for that. How could anyone be? But despite her reservations, she put on her best half smile, so as not to seem to pleased with the attention yet also to not appear hostile, and pushed her shoulders back. She’d always known that she’d have to make some sacrifices to be Harry’s girlfriend, she’d been conscious of it, and now it was time to start making them.

Her body took on the graceful posture that Lady Fellowes had taught her, and then, when she felt brave enough, she said, “I'm ready.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

A reassuring squeeze was given to her hand, and then Harry looked over to the middle aged porter whom was patiently standing by the door, awaiting an order. In a firm voice, Harry asked the porter to please open the door so they could make their exit. The porter gladly obliged the Prince, and in a matter of seconds the door was opened, the lone barrier between them and the press was removed, leaving them exposed. There was a brief moment in which everyone just stood still, the photographers were registering the fact that it was their Prince with his girlfriend, and Paulina was taking in the crowd that stood before. The moment quickly passed, Harry tightened his hold on her hand and began walking, his head held high as he attempted to maneuver them through the people that were now beginning to swarm them. The photographers gave them enough space to move, but it wasn’t much space to truly speak of, only an arms length.

“Paulina!” cried a short haired photographer. “Paulina, how long have you been seeing Prince Harry?” they asked. “Oh come on love, don’t be tight lipped, give us an answer!”

The other photographers followed suit, they screamed her name, asking questions that they must have surely known would receive no answers. It was overwhelming, worst than she could’ve ever imagined it would be like. She didn’t just have to deal with the flashing cameras; she had to deal with their shouting, their shoving. It was a fucking nightmare, and she couldn’t even yell at them to fuck off and leave her alone. She had to be poised. She had to be graceful. She had to be a better version of herself, because her mind was frustrated and telling her to shove people away so they’d leave her alone, but her heart told her to remain calm, this was a sacrifice she had to make, and it’d be worth it.

One of the photographers grew frustrated by her lack of response, and literally, shoved a camera in her face. He hoped to provoke a reaction from the young American, but the only reaction he got was Alistair’s, whom shoved the man away, sending him stumbling into a nearby group.

“It’s alright, Miss.” Alistair spoke when he saw Paulina tense. “The vehicle’s within view. It won’t be too long now.”

When they reached the vehicle, Harry threw open the door and ushered Paulin inside, wanting to make sure that she was out of view and could breathe in peace. He followed her inside, and not long after, Alistair pulled away from the hotel. Paulina sat with her head between her legs, taking in deep, slow breaths to calm her nerves. Her experience with the press had barely lasted two minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Paulina wasn’t claustrophobic, but when they were in that crowd, she felt herself short of breath and swore that she was going to be crushed by everyone trying to get a picture.

“Want some water?” asked Harry from beside her. “It’ll do you good.”

“No thank you,” she mumbled. “I just need to breathe.” She stayed like that for a few minutes, and when she felt calm enough, she sat up. “That was fucking insane.”

“You’re not gonna run off now, are you?” asked Harry, jokingly, though his eyes showed that he was afraid she might be so put off with the media that she’d end things with him.

She turned to look at him. “Tempting as it is, I won’t. I love your gingery face too much.” She scrunched her nose at him. “And you don’t have to worry, I'm adaptable, so I’ll get used to photographers, it’s only a matter of time before this becomes normal. You know?”

“Sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I'm good, Harry. I was freaking out because . . . well, I’d never been in a position like this, but I feel better now. And I made it out in one piece so that’s a good sign.”

“Sir?” spoke Alistair from the front.

“Yes Alistair?” Harry replied.

“There’s a call coming in from Her Majesty, shall I put her through?” inquired Alistair.

“Has she contacted you before?”

“Yes, just as I was about to leave for the hotel, she called to see if I knew where you were. I informed Her Majesty that I was on my way to the hotel where you spent the night.”

Harry knew Alistair would get in trouble if he didn’t pick up a call from the Queen. “Paulin, you alright with my taking this call?” he asked, not wanting to be rude.

“Yes, of course.” Paulina reassured.

“Alright, put her through Alistair.”

Alistair pressed the talk button on his cell phone and the Queen’s voice came blaring from the car’s speakers.

“Henry Charles Albert David!” she bellowed. “How dare you not answer any of my calls?”

“Good morning to you as well, Gran,” replied Harry.

“Good morning? Good morning?!” she shouted. “How can it possibly be a good morning when you managed to get yourself into a highly publicized fight in a nightclub? How can it be a good morning when you were seen running out of the location with an American tart?”

Paulina’s face colored in indignation, but she said nothing, instead she bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from speaking.

“She is not an American tart!” snapped Harry. “There is no finer woman than her in all of England, and I must insist that you show her the respect she deserves as my girlfriend and as an outstanding member of society.”

“Your girlfriend?” she gasped.

“Yes, Ma’am, my girlfriend!” he declared.

“Alistair!” she cried.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Alistair was ready to carry out whatever order she uttered.

“Please be so kind as to escort my grandson directly to the palace.” The Queen ordered.

“I will not –” Harry began to protest.

“You will do as you are told!” she declared. “Now if you will excuse me, I have files to go over.”

“Wait!” shouted Harry, but it was too late, she’d already hung up. “Fucking hell!” he yelled. “Always getting bloody worked up . . . there’s no peace with her, not when one’s stepped out of line, even if it’s only a bit. She gets all high and bloody mighty and . . .” he remembered that Paulina was sitting beside him. “I am so sorry you had to hear that. I – why is your lip bleeding?” he asked.

“I had to bite down on it, to not tell your grandma off.” She said in a low voice. “I mean where does she get off calling me a tart? I'm not a tart! I'm not even close to being a fucking tart! I can count everyone I’ve ever been with on one fucking hand, and still have two fingers left over! And even if I fucked around, I wouldn’t be a tart, because I'm fucking amazing, and respectful, and put together!”

“You’re not a tart, and I know you’re not, but she . . . she’s used to my being with tarts so she, well, she just assumed. Don’t worry though, I’ll have this all sorted out. I won’t have you being called a tart. I won’t stand for it.” He placed his hand atop hers. “Look, we’re gonna have to reschedule our lunch. It’s imperative that I'm there for the scolding she wants to give me, because I need to set her right about a few things. Is that fine?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Brilliant.” He smiled. “In that case, Alistair and I will drop you off at your flat, and then we’ll go to the palace.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” asked Harry.

“Because then the press that’s following us will know where I live and I want to keep that a secret as long as I can. Why don’t you guys drive into an alley, I’ll get out and get a cab.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe,” commented Harry.

“It’s the middle of the day. I’ll be okay.” Paulina reassured. “Can we please just do that? The cab driver won’t recognize me; no one’s heard my voice so he can’t, especially not with the hat and sunglasses.”

“Alright then, but text me when you get in. Yeah?” he wanted to make sure she got home safe.

“I will.”

A few blocks down the road, Alistair pulled into a deserted alleyway and Paulina stepped out. He then backed out and continued on his way to the palace, where his passenger would surely be told off by the Queen. Harry knew he was going to get scolded, but he also knew that the moment his Gran found out why he’d gotten into the fight, she would think better of him. She had to.

“There you are!” exclaimed the Queen when Harry walked into the sitting room. “What kept you?”

“I had to drop my girlfriend off at her flat.” He replied, coolly. “Also had to apologize to her for your having called her a tart,” he added.

Her face colored, but she said nothing about the tart incident. “You keep referring to this American as your girlfriend. Why?”

“Because she is,” he took a seat beside William.

“And you didn’t believe it prudent to inform us of your relationship?” she questioned.

“He informed me, Gran.” William spoke.

“You knew? Why did you not tell me if you knew?”

“I did not think it my place.” William explained. “I thought that Harry would inform you if the relationship grew more serious.”

“Which it has,” interjected Harry. “We had planned on making our relationship public at some point in the coming weeks, but as you well know, an unfortunate incident –”

“An unfortunate incident?” repeated the Queen. “Is that what you’re calling your drunken brawl?”

“I wasn’t drunk.” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Then why the violence, Harry?” asked Prince Charles.

“The man that I got into the altercation with had behaved inappropriately towards Paulina. He had flirted and when she did not respond to his advances, he spanked her. I felt it my duty as her boyfriend to defend her honor, and I did so. Because despite Gran’s beliefs, Paulina is not a tart,” he declared. “She’s –”

“American,” the Queen interrupted him.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“Of course it is!” she yelled. “When has an American ever been good for this family? Do you not remember what happened with the last American that became involved with this family?”

“Don’t you dare compare Paulina to Wallace,” Harry was growing increasingly defensive, his cheeks were beginning to redden.

“Harry, do not speak to your grandmother in that manner.” Prince Philip spoke.

“How can I not when she’s comparing my girlfriend to Wallace? They have nothing in common other than the fact that they’re American. That’s it. And you know what? Wallace isn’t as bad as everyone makes her out to be, if it hadn’t been for her, Gran wouldn’t be Queen and we wouldn’t be here.”

“Harry!” cried Charles.

“What? It’s the truth. How are you going to scream at me for saying the truth? Had that woman not come along, Gran wouldn’t be Queen. We’d be lesser royals, but here we are, because of her. But I'm not here to talk about her. I'm here to talk about Paulina. She’s intelligent, compassionate, hardworking, and . . .”

“Catholic,” declared the Queen.

“How do you know she’s Catholic?” questioned Harry.

“I had a file made on her. As soon as the press leaked her name, I charged someone with gathering information regarding her. She’s American of Mexican and Hungarian descent. Her mother’s family emigrated from Hungary to Mexico during WWII, her mother was born in Mexico, and her father’s family is Mexican. Her parents immigrated to the United States, along with their eldest son Raphael, and became citizens in the eighties. She is the youngest of four children, the only girl. She was Valedictorian at her high school graduation, graduated in the top 5% of her class at Stanford, and is now studying at Oxford on scholarship.”

“If you know all that, how can you possibly be against my being with her?” Harry was at a complete loss. “Just look at her accomplishments, if anyone is to be against this relationship, it should be her parents. She is more impressive than I.”

“It is not a matter of whether or not she is impressive. It’s a matter of her not being right for you.”

“I happen to disagree with you on that. I think she’s perfect for me. She makes me want to be a better man. It’s because of her that I haven’t pulled any stupid stunts lately, except for last night of course but that was a question of honor. It’s because of her that I’ve started reading up more on politics. She is brilliant, and I don’t deserve her, I know that, but I'm striving to be worthy. You’ve all noticed that. Father,” he turned to Charles, “Just the other day, I heard you talking with Wills about how much better I’ve been since I returned from Lesotho, how much I'm acting the part of a proper prince. And just so you know, it’s because of her. She’s why I'm not annoyed with my royal duties. She’s why I'm happy. I know it sounds childish to say, but ever since she got in the picture, life is better. And I'm not gonna stop seeing her because Gran doesn’t think she’s right for me.”

“She may be right for you, but she is not right for the crown!” the Queen stood up. “She is American. Do you understand that? American!” she spat. “Our governments may be close, but you can be well assured that the people won’t want their Prince dating an American. And not just an American, but a Catholic,” she stressed.

“What’s wrong with her being Catholic? She’s not even an overly religious Catholic. She’s mildly religious. She’s so mildly religious, that some people think she’s an atheist because she loves the gays and believes in contraception. She’s modern. She’s accepting. She’s the type of Catholic that doesn’t care if a person is Anglican, Muslim or Jewish or Atheist or anything else!” he cried. “And shouldn’t we want that? Shouldn’t you want me to be with someone who’s accepting, educated, and well spoken? And more than that, she loves me. Not for the title, but for me. She was more than happy being a secret of mine. The limelight isn’t she craves, she’s down to earth, yet refined, and loving, and fierce and amazing.”

“Then you will be with her,” spoke Charles, moved by the tender affection with which his son spoke.

“Pardon?” asked the Queen, unsure that she’d heard right.

“I consent to my son being in a relationship with Miss Paulina.” He declared in a firm voice. “There has been a change in him, it has been gradual, and has been underway since I believe mid April. And I am very much pleased with the manner in which he is comporting himself. There have been no more drunken scandals, no poor taste in costumes, and he has not been in any fights with photographers. He has been acting in the manner that we have all desired him to act, and if Miss Paulina is the cause of that, then I am indebted to her. And since I am indebted to her, then I think it only right that her relationship with my son continue, because I see nothing wrong with her being a Catholic American.”

“Do you mean it?” asked Harry, his face brightening with joy.

“I do. And I look forward to the day in which I will be able to make her acquaintance.”