The Thrill Is Gone

It wasn’t long before the press found out where she lived. Apparently someone from the American Embassy had let slipped that she volunteered there and lived in the apartment designated for its staff. They casually mentioned it over drinks to a friend to make them jealous, and that friend sold the information to The Sun for a few hundred pounds. Paulina, of course, didn’t know that. She thought they’d somehow managed to stalk her home, that a person had been trailing her all along or that a tracker had been slipped into her overnight bag when they swarmed them outside the hotel. Her mind ran wild with possible explanations, and it would’ve been good for her nerves if she’d known that a fellow American was responsible, she wouldn’t have felt so paranoid, but as it was, she woke on Sunday morning, completely unaware of the American’s actions, and when she went outside for her morning bike ride, she was swarmed by the press.

Her first thought was to run back inside the building. There were five photographers waiting for her, and she wasn’t presentable enough to have her picture taken. She was wearing some bike riding shorts, and an ill fitting plum t-shirt that she didn’t mind sweating in. The pictures they’d take of her would be horrific, but instead of running inside like she wanted, she put on her brave face and made her way down the steps with her bike in tow. The photographers immediately grabbed their cameras and began snapping shots of her, she just kept her eyes fixed ahead, focusing on getting out of there in one piece.

“Paulina! Paulina!” shouted a photographer. “What can you tell us about yourself?” shouted the blond haired man with a receding hairline.

It was hard for her to not snap at them by saying that she enjoyed her privacy or that she’d very much appreciate it if they just fucked off. Her lips curled into a small smile at that thought. She could just imagine the look on their faces if she swore at them, but as tempting as that was she knew to keep her mouth shut. Talking to the press wouldn’t do any good, and it would make them think that they could get her to speak, so she ignored them as best she could. She walked down the steps, and when she reached the sidewalk where they were gathered, she situated herself on the bicycle, and began her morning ride.

They called after her, imploring the young American to answer their questions, but she ignored them and kept peddling. It was during her ride that she began freaking out over how they’d found out where she lived. It was then that she started wondering if anyone had followed her home, if there was a tracking device they’d placed on her. The hour bike ride around London, afforded her the time to fixate on how the photographers had found out where she lived. That was private information, not even the UK Border Agency knew her London address. So how did they? She pondered that all the way home, and when she got back to the apartment complex, red faced and sweaty, she was greeted by even more photographers.

“Fucking hell,” she cursed under her breath.

All she wanted was for them to go away so she could calmly make her way inside the building, but no, there were even more of them than when she’d left, and they were all holding their cameras up, snapping photographs of the exhausted American. She knew she looked a right mess, a few strands of hair had gotten loose, her shirt was soaked with sweat, and she was breathing through her mouth. She was in no condition to have pictures of her, but regardless of that, they took the pictures, not even taking a moment to think about how they would feel if someone shoved a camera in their face after a workout.

Knowing very well, that she had to get inside the building, she began to push through the crowd. They were closer to her than they had been the previous day. Apparently their arms lengths distance was out of respect for Harry, and now that she was alone they were around ten inches away from her. Their presence was overwhelming, they were stifling, and it made her ragged breathing even worse. Thankfully for her, the security that worked the building, stepped outside and demanded that the paparazzi step away from her, the steps that she was standing on were American property, and they were trespassing. Paulina smiled in gratitude at the thirty-something year old men that had come out to her defense. The dark haired man volunteered to carry her bike in, while the other one followed after them, blocking the paparazzi from getting any more shots.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, when they were inside the building. “You’ve no idea how much I appreciate that. Fuck. That was insane out there. Thanks, thank you, really, thank you.” she’s well aware that she sounds like a broken record, but she can’t stop thanking him, her gratitude was immense. “Sorry, I keep thanking you guys, it must be annoying,” with the collar of her t-shirt, she wiped the sweat from her face, “But I really am grateful. Things . . . well, they were getting out of hand.”

“They were,” agreed the man that had brought her bike inside. “One moment it was calm out there, the next they’re going ape-shit.” he paused. “Why are they going ape-shit?”

“You don’t know?” she asked, shocked that someone didn’t know about her relationship, it seemed that everywhere she turned, she either saw her face or heard herself talked about.

“No, but with a crowd like that, you have to be famous,” he spoke. “Are you someone’s kid?”

“Is she someone’s kid?” repeated the other man. “Really, Luke?” he cocked his brow. “Of course she’s someone’s kid, everyone’s someone’s kid.”

“Fuck you; you know what I meant, Greg.” Luke turned to look at her. “You know what I mean, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. I do.” She reassured.

“So are you?” asked Luke.

She shook her head. “No, I'm not any famous persons’ kid.”

“Then who are you?”

“Um, I'm . . .” she noticed a magazine on their desk. “I'm her.” she said, holding up the magazine to her face. “Clearly, I'm not wearing any make up and just got back from exercising, but this is me.”

“And they’re going crazy just cuz you’re dating a Prince?” asked Greg, clearly finding the attention being given to her, over the top. “Seems like there’s a lot of press for something so . . . no offense to you, but it’s trivial,” he said.

“My sentiments exactly,” she spoke, returning the magazine to its rightful place. “I'm sorry for them being here. I know it’s a hassle for everyone that lives in the building.”

They told her not to worry, that the crowd would serve as a distraction for them, and it would. They were used to long, boring hours. Now that there were people that would most likely try to get into their building, they’d actually be occupied. Their conversation ended shortly thereafter, and Paulina made her way back to her apartment, where she showered, changed into a loose fitting t-shirt and wandered around her apartment sans pants. She rummaged up some breakfast for herself, consisting of cereal and a bowl of strawberries, accompanied by her daily coffee. She ate in silence, the television was turned off, and to be honest, she was avoiding television. She hated seeing herself on the screen. It was surreal, and felt wrong. She hadn’t done anything remarkable. It wasn’t like she’d invented penicillin or solved the problems in the Middle East. She was dating someone! That was it! And for that people were acting like she deserved to be famous. It was ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous.

When she finished reading, she washed up and then curled up on the couch with an old copy of Anna Karenina. She planned on spending the rest of the day indulging in it, losing herself in its pages was honestly the most fun she would have at the present, at least until Harry picked her up for dinner with Lord and Lady Fellowes. She read a hundred and forty-seven pages before she was taken out of the world that Tolstoy created, and brought back into reality.

“Who the fuck’s calling?” she exclaimed, annoyed that she’d been taken out of her book. Her face lit up when she read Alfred’s name on the screen. “Alfie?!” she yelled into the phone. “How are you? Did you tell her? You told her right? Of course, you told her! Aye Dios mio, you have to give me all the details, and I mean ALL the details, I don’t want a half assed story. I need to know everything.”

“There won’t be any stories from me, until you tell me yours.” Alfred declared. “What’s this I’ve heard about you and Harry?”

“Oh . . .” her smile vanished. “You saw the papers?”

“Of course, I saw the papers! Don’t reckon there’s anyone in Western Europe that hasn’t.” He had a copy of a magazine with him, having only just purchased it a little while earlier. “Why didn’t you give us a ring, Paulina?”

“Because I didn’t want to intrude on your romantic Scottish getaway,” she said. “And it’s not like you guys could’ve done anything. You know? Shit just blew out of proportion and I'm dealing with it.”

“I still think you should’ve called.”

“And I think I should’ve picked up some crisps at the store, but I didn’t.”

“Did you honestly just compare me to crisps?”

“If it makes you feel any better, they’re fucking delicious crisps.” She smiled, knowing very well that he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “So are you going to tell me what happened in Scotland?”

“Are you talking about my glorious weekend in Scotland with my goddess of a girlfriend?” he was a man besotted, and his words made that perfectly clear to his friend in London.

Paulina didn’t have a verbal reaction; her joy was far too great to be contained by words. Instead she shouted a loud joyful shout that was followed by laughter so great that her body shook as she laughed. She knew it was going to happen. She’d always known, but knowing that they were actually together, that their relationship was a fact was unbelievable. It was like something out of a movie! In fact, she felt exactly like she did whenever the two people she wants to end up together in a movie, actually end up together. They were her real life Elinor and Edward, and she was a delighted Marianne that couldn’t suppress her happiness and warm wishes towards her friends.

When she was able to calm down, she demanded that he tell her everything, and since Alfred wasn’t exactly sure he could do the story justice, he passed the phone to Olivia, who was more than happy to fill in their friend on the weekend’s happenings. Olivia was by nature a cheerful person, but her glee was beyond what it normally was. If Paulina closed her eyes, she could visualize a great big smile on Olivia’s face, and she could see her fidgeting around excitedly, so overcome by her happiness that she couldn’t even sit still. Their joy was infectious, and kept Paulina occupied and grinning for most of the afternoon, but eventually, they had to part ways, Alfred and Olivia had a concert to get to, and Paulina had to start getting ready for dinner with Lord and Lady Fellowes.

Dinner was always a formal event with them, so she opted for a simple red dress in a classic cut. She occupied herself by straightening and then styling her hair into gentle curls that were then firmly held in place with generous amounts of hairspray. It took well over an hour to get her hair just right, but when she was done, she let out a sigh of relief, knowing that she was done up well enough to parade in front of the cameras.

Not long after, Harry arrived at the apartment. There was no longer a massive crowd standing outside, the numbers had dwindled down to two, and the young prince easily made his way into the building. This time he was able to provide documentation to the security. He asked them if they could point him in the right direction to Paulina’s apartment, knowing very well that royalty had to be treated a certain way, one of the guards escorted him to her doorstep, and then left. Harry knocked twice, and after Paulina checked to see who was standing outside, she let him in.

“Someone’s looking very dapper,” she complimented him after having a quick kiss.

He smirked. “Well of course I do, I always look dapper.”

“I think you might be exaggerating, just a bit.” Paulina slipped on her coat and made sure her keys and phone were in her clutch. “Should we get going then or do you want something to drink? Maybe have to use the bathroom?”

“No, I don’t. I'm fine.” He smiled reassuringly. “But we should get going, wouldn’t want more paparazzi to get here.”

“More? I don’t think anymore could fit on the sidewalk. There’s been a massive group outside all day.”

“Well, it’s not massive anymore. There were only two when I came in. I reckon they took a break, but they might come back, because someone’s bound to let slip I'm here.”

Hand in hand, they left the apartment and made their way outside. Sure enough, one more photographer had found their way back to the building, but since there were only three of them, it was still easy to maneuver them to the car. Harry wished that once Paulina was in the car, they’d leave, but instead the cameras grew closer, just a few inches from her window. They had absolutely no respect for personal space or boundaries, and Harry had half a mind to tell them off, but he remembered that he had to prove to his Gran that he was better now that he was with Paulina, so he held his tongue, jumped in the car and sped off.

It wasn’t long before they were standing on Lord and Lady Fellowes’ doorstep. Paulina held a bottle of wine in her hand, Harry had nicked it from the kitchens at Clarence House. It was Lord and Lady Fellowes’ favorite wine, and Harry thought it’d be a nice touch.

“Your Royal Highness,” Edmund bowed to Prince Harry when he opened the door. “Miss Balcázar,” he gave her a short bow, earning a confused look from her. “Please, do come in.” He stepped aside, allowing them to enter the house. “Lord and Lady Fellowes are awaiting you in the parlour. May I take your coat, Miss Balcázar?”

“Yes, thank you, Edmund.”

Edmund helped her slip out of the coat, and after it had been placed in the coat closet, he escorted them to the parlour. He made the traditional introductions, and then stepped aside. Harry was the first to walk in, close behind him, was Paulina, one hand holding onto his, the other onto the wine. Lord and Lady Fellowes immediately stood from their respective seats, a bright smile adorning Lady Fellowes’ face, while Lord Fellowes, though not smiling as brightly as his wife, still had an inviting look to him.

“Well,” Lady Fellowes clapped her hands together. “I daresay the pair of you, are quite talented in keeping a relationship secret. I honestly thought that this romance of yours had only recently started, but then I remembered what Paulina had told me just the other day, and I realized she was speaking entirely of you, my darling boy. Who would have thought that you’ve been together since April!” she went on. “You’ve done a fantastic job of remaining private; I'm surprised you were able to keep it a secret for as long as you were. Oh, where are my manners?” She stepped towards them. “Always a pleasure to see you, Paulina,” this was the first time she’d called Paulina by her first name, it was always Miss Balcázar, but now that the young woman was dating her nephew, she thought it only right that their manner of address reflect that intimacy. “And Harry, you sneaky boy, not telling me you were with her.”

“Thought it’d be a laugh when you actually found about us,” he said after he’d kissed her cheek and hugged. “But I didn’t want you to find out via the press. We had planned on telling you in person. In fact, you were going to be the first we informed.”

“Were we really?” asked Lord Fellowes.

“You were indeed, Sir,” spoke Paulina. “You and Lady Fellowes have been most kind to me, and we wanted to personally inform you of our relationship, but there was an incident, and unfortunately for us, the media was there.”

“It was terribly unfortunate,” agreed Lord Fellowes. “But as Lady Fellowes said, it is remarkable that your relationship was hidden for as long as it was. The wig and sideburns were quite clever, Harry.”

“Thank you, uncle. The disguise served me well. Had the security not torn the wig from my head, I think it would’ve been possible to run out unnoticed, but as it is, he did remove it, and we did have our pictures taken. And have continued to have them taken.” He looked over at Paulina and smiled.

“We have.” She smiled back at him. “I was bombarded this morning when I went out for my morning bike ride.”

“Did you say anything?” inquired Lady Fellowes.

“No, of course not, I went about my business without really acknowledging them much.” Paulina replied.

“Very well done, Paulina,” complimented Lady Fellowes. “That is how you must be from now on, no words must be uttered to the press, and remember, a graceful posture goes a very long way. As does a half smile, I’ll show you how to properly do one after dinner.”

“Thank you, Ma’am; I'm very much looking forward to that. I really do need to learn how to comport in front of the cameras.” Paulina suddenly realized of the wine she held in her hands. “We brought wine, thought you might enjoy it.”

“How very sweet of you, thank you.” Lady Fellowes took the wine, and upon noticing the type, her smile widened further. “This is so thoughtful, it’s our absolute favorite. Look, love, they’ve brought us our favorite wine.”

“Thank you so much. It will go well with dinner,” said Lord Fellowes. “Shall we be on our way, then? We can open the bottle at the table.”

They followed Lord Fellowes into the dining room, where they enjoyed a savory meal of lamb, and conversed freely. This was the first time since Paulina had met Lord Fellowes that he was treating her as an equal. He’d always been polite, pleasant enough, but there’d always been that distinction between them, that reminder that he was of rank and she wasn’t, but as they conversed at the dinner table, he acted as if she were an old friend. And Paulina, though initially taken aback by his change in tone and demeanor, went along with it.

The men and women parted ways, Lady Fellowes and Paulina retired to the sitting room, while Lord Fellowes and Harry retreated to the former’s den. Lady Fellowes took charge of the conversation, inquiring as to how Paulina felt with the media attention she was receiving. She remembered how hard it had been on Diana to cope with the cameras, and genuinely wanted to be of use to the amiable American that her nephew was so keen on. She had a few tips that would help with dealing with the media, and Paulina was more than glad to hear them. This was a learning process for her, and so she gladly listened to the pointers that Lady Fellowes shared with her, and internalized them as best she could.

Meanwhile in the den, Lord Fellowes was informing Harry of the conversation he’d shared with his grandmother.

“Her Majesty is not keen on Miss Balcázar.” Lord Fellowes stated as he poured them each a glass of scotch. “It is, of course, natural for Her Majesty to be weary of her, she is an American after all, but I am doing my best to assure her that Miss Balcázar is a remarkable young woman, one truly worthy of her good grace.”

“You are?” asked Harry, accepting the glass his uncle offered him.

“I am indeed.” Lord Fellowes took a seat in the armchair beside Harry. “Earlier this afternoon, I was called to the palace by Her Majesty. She had been informed of my partiality towards Miss Balcázar, and as such wished to hear my opinion of her. I spoke very highly of Miss Balcázar, as was only right, but Her Majesty is quite firm in her resolve to not warm to her.”

“And all because she’s an American,” muttered Harry before lifting the scotch to his lips. “Don’t you think it absurd?”

“I think that Her Majesty is being cautious. Americans are . . . well, they are quite brash. Not all of them, of course, but those that one meets in politics and business, often are. She wishes to avoid impertinent individuals that may do harm to the crown, but more importantly, she wishes to be rid of those that may do harm to you.”

“Paulina would never do harm.”

“Of course she wouldn’t. She’s a Rhodes Scholar. That alone is enough to vouch for her character and her accomplishments. Not just anyone becomes a Rhodes Scholar. It takes a distinguished sort of person, and I believe that in time Her Majesty will come to appreciate Miss Balcázar, and to acknowledge her merit. Your father, on the other hand, seems very much accepting of her. He kept inquiring about Miss Balcázar. He was very keen to hear about her, and I daresay he was very impressed with the report I gave, he even said that she sounded like a very accomplished young woman.”

“Yes, he expressed his support of our relationship, yesterday. He and Wills are the only ones that sided with me.”

“Camilla didn’t?”

“She wasn’t there.” Harry told him. “It was a very private meeting with only Gran, Grandpa and father and Wills.”

“Well, I am positive that she will also think it fantastic that you be with Miss Balcázar. And for what it is worth, your aunt and I are very keen on Miss Balcázar. Even before we learned of your relationship, we were fond of her, Lady Fellowes, admittedly, more so than I. But I respect her as a Scholar, and think very highly of her. It is for those reasons that I lay my services to you, in whatever capacity your aunt and I may be of use.”

Lord Fellowes did not speak as a Lord who was trying to please the royals. It was a rare moment in which he was nothing more than an uncle wishing to see his nephew happy, and Harry picked up on that. Harry was always weary of his uncle, because he cared more for rank than anything else, but in that moment he saw a considerate man that genuinely wished to do well, and so he warmly thanked him, grateful that he would act on his behalf.