The Thrill Is Gone

They expected her to calm down at some point. After all, it’d be utterly exhausting to throw a fit during the entirety of a three hour drive, but somehow Paulina found the strength to shout and curse, to kick the back of Mason’s seat, and to give them hell. Despite her hands being cuffed together, she made an attempt at opening Kamal’s door. It was a poor attempt. One that was in no way ever destined to work, but that didn’t matter to her, all that mattered was making it clear that she wasn’t going to calm down. They had betrayed her trust, treated her like some thief, and as such, she was going to do everything in her power to make the trip a living hell. And so she lunged at Kamal’s door, opening up her mouth as wide as she could as she attempted to clench her teeth around the handles to jerk the door open. She managed to get her mouth on the handle, but Kamal was much stronger than her, and he wasted no time in putting her back in her rightful seat, and even put on her seatbelt to make sure there would be no further attempts at opening the door. He thought that added restriction would soothe her, but instead she kicked Mason’s seat mercilessly, making the man jerk forwards for the entire ride. Mason tried threatening her, but whenever he started talking, she started screaming at the top of her lungs until he shut up again.

“Let me go!” she cried for the umpteenth time, sending her feet crashing into the back of Mason’s seat. “For fuck’s sake, LET ME GO! This shit’s illegal! Just you wait until I get home, I’ll call my embassy and –”

“Enough!” roared Mason, slamming his foot down on the break.

She was momentarily silenced, the sharp jerk forward forced the air from her lips, but when she regained her breath, she continued to shout. “Fuck you, you pretentious fuck! You act like you’re so fucking important, but guess what? You’re not ROYALTY! You’re just the security! So get the fuck off your make believe throne and LET ME GO!”

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning pale. “Someone muzzle her before I do something I’ll regret.”

“What am I dog?” she cried in indignation. “You’ve already handcuffed me, there’s no way in fucking hell that I’ll let you muzzle me, I’ll bite the fingers off anyone that gets near me!” she threatened, her dark brown eyes burning so dark that they looked like black, bottomless pits.

From his place in his seat, Kamal watched as Mason reached to unbuckle himself. He knew that the older man would do something foolish. He had a temper, and sometimes it got the best of him, but Kamal refused to sit by and watch the man do harm to Paulina, so in an act of defiance, he unbuckled his own seatbelt, and stood protectively in front of Paulina.

“Out of the way!” growled Mason, his face a violent shade of red. “That was an order!” he cried when Kamal didn’t move.

“An order I won’t very well be following!” spat Kamal. “Get back in your seat, Mason. You’ve no business back here.”

“You don’t give the orders around here. I do!”

Kamal stiffened, refusing to back down. “If you don’t get your arse back in that seat, I’ll call Prince Harry and let him know what’s going on with Miss Balcázar.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” There was a flicker of panic in Mason’s eyes, but it was brief, gone before Kamal had a chance to notice it. “Now move.”

“So you can mistreat her some more?” questioned Kamal, gruffly. “You’ve already had her handcuffed. Isn’t that enough for you? Isn’t that enough mistreatment? I believe it is. And I refuse to allow you or James to further mistreat her. She is His Royal Highness’ girlfriend. I am His Royal Highness’ personal security detail. As such, instances arise in which my duty to him demands that I come into conflict with you. This is one of those moments. And I will do well by Prince Harry. I will protect his heart. Now get your arse in that seat and drive!” he ordered, the vein on the side of his neck, throbbing violently. “And if you so much as open your mouth, I’ll let her go, and personally escort her back to Oxford. And I don’t reckon that’s something you want happening.”

There was a part of Mason that thought Kamal was bluffing, that if push came to shove he’d end up following orders like he was meant to, but the more reasonable part of Mason, recognized the resolve in the other man’s eyes, and thought it best not to risk it. So with a look of displeasure fixed firmly on his face, he returned to his seat, buckled himself up, and then got them back on the road to Sandringham.

Now that the vehicle was in motion again, Kamal felt comfortable enough to abandon his place in front of Paulina. He maneuvered himself as best he could, squeezing back into this seat, and when he was secured, he turned to look at her, expecting to see a smile, maybe to hear a few words of thanks, but there was none of that. Her face still held the same hostile look it’d worn all day. It was a look of utter displeasure, the look of a person whom wanted nothing more than to cause some serious damage to others. It was a look that didn’t suit her, didn’t belong on a face that was so accustomed to smiling, and Kamal felt guilty for his part in bringing that look about her face, and in a timid voice, very much unlike himself, he apologized to her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Truly, I am. I’d no idea that . . . that things would turn out like this. We were just meant to fetch you, honest. And I give you my word that on the way back, you won’t have to deal with these two. I’ll take you home myself.” He searched her face for a chance, but found one. “I really am sorry for this. It’s not . . . it’s not right.”

“I don’t blame you.” She said quietly, the harsh look momentarily vanishing from her face. “I blame them.”

And then, just as quickly as the look had vanished, it reappeared, the harshness settling upon her features, stealing their warmth, and she was left with narrowed eyes, accompanied by a scowl. And as she glared into the backseat, she prepared herself to recommence her screaming. There were twenty-seven minutes left until they arrived at Sandringham, and she gave them hell during each and everyone of them. Her screaming didn’t let up, neither did the kicking.

In fact, she was so engrossed in throwing her fit that she didn’t even notice when Sandringham House came into view. The imposing red-brick home where the Queen spent her winters went unnoticed by Paulina, whom only a few days earlier had searched images of the house on Google. Its grandness went undetected by her, and it wasn’t until a few minutes after the vehicle came to a halt that she stopped her screaming and became aware of her surroundings.

“This isn’t Sandringham,” were the first words out of her mouth, they were spoken quietly, cautiously. “Why aren’t we at Sandringham?” she asked, her voice gaining volume with every word she spoke. “You told me you were taking me there and this isn’t –”

“We never said we were going to Sandringham House.” Mason stated, curtly. And despite not being able to see him, Paulina swore he was wearing a smirk. “We simply stated that you were to travel to Sandringham, and that is precisely where we are. This is a cottage for Her Majesty’s own particular use, located on Sandringham Estate.” He paused, taking the key out of the ignition. “It is here where your audience with Her Majesty shall be held. Now, Kamal, I trust you can assist Miss Balcázar outside. On second thought, James, lend Kamal a hand, I believe Miss Balcázar might continue to be difficult.”

Paulina had actually planned on putting up a fight, she imagined herself kicking someone in the face, running off into the distance with the cuffs still on her wrists. She’d imagined a lot, her mind had run crazy with what she’d do once the passenger door opened, but at that moment, all that she’d imagined just wasn’t up to par. She couldn’t putup a fight. No. She’d been doing that the entire drive over. She had to do something else, something better. But what? What could she possibly do? Oh. She wasn’t sure. Her mind frantically worked, trying to think of what to do, discarding idea after idea because it wasn’t good enough, but the one thing she was certain of was that that she couldn’t struggle. She had to lure them into a false sense of security, and that precisely what she did.

When Kamal opened the door, she moved quietly, doing as she was told without protesting. There was no scathing glare on her face, only a harsh look that expressed her discontent. They were surprised by her behavior. She’d spent the three hour and twenty-seven minute drive fighting, and now, well now she was doing as she was told.

Kamal thought her newfound cooperation, odd. He knew the young woman to be fiery, and during an argument she had with Harry, had heard the prince call her stubborn. So why was she giving up? What was she playing at? The others didn’t think too much as to why she’d suddenly decided to stop fighting. They figured she’d just gotten tired. That was it. There was no point pondering over it.

“See Miss Balcázar, isn’t it best when one cooperates?” Mason might have phrased his words as a question, but he expected no reply, he just wanted to remind her that in the end, she had to behave herself, in the end, he would win. “Come then. Let’s get these cuffs off, and get you freshened up.” He was being civil, a reward for her cooperation.

Spit in his face, said a small voice in the back of Paulina’s head, Come on, you know you want to. The voice made her painfully aware of how much saliva was in her mouth, it was pooling at the bottom, growing with each passing second, and it would do quite well on that damn face of his, but then another voice came, it was louder, much stronger than the first, and it urged her to cooperate, to wait just a bit longer, and then, then she’d get to have her moment.

So she lifted her hands up in front of her, careful not to move to quickly for it pained her. The cuffs had dug into her skin. The squirming she’d done might have been annoying for everyone around her, but it had also taken a physical toll on her wrist, which were bright pink and seemed liable to bleed if just a bit more pressure was placed on them.

Mason grabbed her arms, pressing down with more force than he should have, and when he did so, a pained gasp escaped her lips. This gasp when unnoticed by him, with his free hand, he grabbed the small key from his pocket, and then placed it into the lock, turning it slightly, just enough for it to click and restore freedom and mobility to one of her hands.

Since that hand was free, he dropped his hold on it, and took the other into his. He planned on doing just as he had done to the other, placing the key in the lock, opening up the cuffs, but he didn’t get a chance to do so, because just as his hand was settling on her incarcerated wrist, she pulled back her free arm, and sent it hurling at the older mans face, her fist savagely colliding against his right cheek, causing him to drop the keys in surprise.

The others were quick to react. They rushed on Paulina, both planning on getting her under control, though if Kamal was to be honest, he purposely bumped into James to buy Paulina enough time to take another swing at Mason. He couldn’t help but root for the young woman.

“Miss Balcázar!” cried Kamal when he reached her, hooking his arms beneath her armpits to immobilize her. “Control yourself, please!”

She flailed about in his arms, struggling to break free. “Let me go, Kamal! That asshole had it coming! He kidnapped me!”

“Kidnap?” repeated Mason, eyes narrowing in disgust at the term. “Just like an American to exaggerate. We didn’t kidnap you.” He argued. “We simply escorted you to Sandringham.”

“Bullshit! You fucking stuck me in handcuffs and drove me somewhere after I’d explicitly stated that I didn’t want to go. That’s kidnapping! And if you don’t believe me then take a look at my wrists.” She lifted her freed arm, putting on display the irritation that her skin endured in its metal confines. “This is what you put me through! And you’re lucky I'm already involved in a lawsuit or else you bet your ass I’d be taking you to court! And you to!” she told James. “Not Kamal though.”

Unsure of what to say to such a distinction, Kamal simply uttered a courteous, “Thank you, Miss.”

“I know this wasn’t your idea,” she told Kamal in a calm voice, it was a sharp contrast to the tone with which she spoke to the others. “So Mason, are you gonna take these fucking things off me or what?” she asked, gruffly.

Mason’s nose wrinkled at her appalling behavior. “You’ve absolutely no manners.”

“Manners?” she hissed. “You snatch me from my home and yet you have the audacity to say I have no manners?” There it was, she was getting riled up again, the blood began to boil, and something more was to be done.

“As the girlfriend of His Royal Highness, you should always be well mannered, even in difficult situations” Mason declared as he stopped in front of her, his cheek, flushing with color. “It is your duty to him.”

That was it. She couldn’t it taken any more. Her temper, yet again, got the best of her, and even though she was held firmly in place by Kamal, her raging emotions gave her newfound strength, and with everything she had, she sent a swift kick to Mason’s groin, her right foot hitting against him with such an intensity that he quite literally fell over, onto the pavement.

“And that was my duty to myself!” she spat. “You can’t treat people like shit and expect them to be all respectful and well mannered! Fuck that! That’s not how things work, at least not with me. I don’t care who you are or who you work for, that doesn’t mean shit if you’re gonna be an asshole to me. So just know that if you’re gonna keep being a dick, I'm going to keep on being an ill mannered bitch to you. Because that’s what you deserve.” She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes to calm down as best she could. “Kamal?” she spoke to the young man that held her in place. “Take me in, please. I want to get this over with already.”

“But we need to get the cuffs –”

“Leave them on. I don’t feel like wasting time looking for the key. If she has a problem with the handcuffs then that’s on her, it was her security that put them on me.”

“Right then . . . well, in that case, follow me, Miss Balcázar,” he requested. “It won’t be long before you’re in Her Majesty’s present. Would you care to freshen up a bit?” he inquired as he led her onto a cobblestone path which led to the main entrance of the small cottage. “I am quite certain it’d be no trouble at all to procure the visitor’s lavatory for you to tidy up.”

“I'm not tidying up.”

“Really?” he blurted out, eyes widening in shock when he realized how rude he’d sounded.

“Really,” confirmed Paulina. “Can we get on with this? I wanna head home soon.” She paused, suddenly aware of the fact that Mason and James might be the ones to drive her home. “Quick question, you are gonna take me home right? Because I don’t want to be near those assholes ever again in my life!” she didn’t care if she sounded overdramatic, she honestly never wanted to be within a hundred yards of them ever again.

“Yes, of course, Miss. I’ll personally escort you home” Kamal stopped in front of the imposing wooden door, and raised his fist to it to knock thrice. “It’ll only be a moment before we’re let in.”

They stood there in silence. Kamal took the opportunity to run a hand along the front of his suit, he then straightened his tie, and after feeling he was sharply dressed, dropped his arms at his side and proceeded to wait for the door to be opened. Paulina, for her part, did nothing other than fume. She was still pissed off about having been handcuffed and driven there against her will. She was petulant, angry and sulking, and so caught up with her raging emotions that she wasn’t even the slightest bit concerned about meeting the Queen.

Had the circumstances been different, she would’ve been feeling faint and mentally going over how low she ought to curtsy, how wide she should smile, and what compliments to pay the elderly monarch. Had the circumstances been different, she would’ve been dressed in one of those dresses her mom had brought her from America, her hair would’ve been neatly straightened, and she would’ve been eager to please. But the circumstances weren’t different. She’d been taken from her home against her will, she was dressed in a football jersey and jeans that were wrinkled, and her hair was a mess of curls, seemingly more unruly than they usually were. She didn’t care about her appearance. She didn’t care about making a good impression. The only thing she cared about was getting the hell out of there, and going home.

When the door finally opened, the pair founds themselves looking at a man whom appeared to be in his early fifties. He was lean, much leaner than Kamal or the other security details. It was obvious he’d never seen a day of hard physical labor in his life. His business was indoors. It was he that tended to the day to day matters of the cottage, the one whom managed the household, and ran errands for the Queen whenever she was there. He was a bit of a personal assistant to her, the one she entrusted with her beloved little cottage.

And when he opened the door, and found Paulina standing there, he had half a mind to send her away. She looked wild, like one of those young people that go backpacking through the countryside and don’t bathe regularly. At first sight, he honestly didn’t recognize her as the girlfriend of His Royal Highness Prince Harry. It wasn’t until he noticed Kamal standing beside her that things clicked.

“Branson,” Kamal greeted the man with brief nod. “Is Her Majesty in?”

The man’s scrutinizing gaze remained firmly fixed upon Paulina. “Not at the present. Her Majesty stepped out to the main house, though she did leave word to contact her when you returned with the others.” He tore his eyes away from Paulina. “Come to think of it . . . where are the others? Did not Mason and James go as well?”

“They did indeed. Though they thought it best to wait out by the car since it is not them that Her Majesty wishes to have an audience with,” answered Kamal. “Will you not invite us in?”

“What?” Branson had forgotten they were still standing on the doorstep. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Dreadfully sorry . . . where are my manners?” He stepped aside, clearing the path. “Kamal, do enter. Miss Balcázar, do come in. Please do.”

“Thank you,” she spoke, mustering enough politeness to utter the two words.

“Are we to wait here for Her Majesty’s arrival?” inquired Kamal.

“In the corridor?” asked Branson in disbelief. “No, of course not!” he replied before having even given Kamal a chance to respond. “You shall await Her Majesty’s arrival in the parlour. Once she arrives I shall fetch you to the sitting room. Now if you please, do follow me this way.” He led them to a small parlor that was just about the size of Paulina’s apartment. “Might I take your coat?” he asked Paulina once they were within the parlor.

“Yes, thank you.” She shimmied out of it, grimacing slightly when the thick fabric bundled up at her wrist. “Here you go.”

Branson smiled a tight smile, a forced one. “If, while you wait for Her Majesty, you wish to freshen up, simply ring the bell located next to the door and a staff member shall escort you directly to the lavatory or, if you wish to go at this moment, I might take the liberty of escorting you there myself.”

“I'm fine.” She told him, rather curtly, because despite his seemingly polite words, she understood that he was implying that she desperately needed to freshen up. “We’ll just wait here then.”

Branson tilted his slightly, not low enough as he would for a bow, but enough to show respect for his employer’s particular guest, and with that done, he showed himself out the room, and then walked into his small bedroom, tucked away in the back of the cottage. It was there that he phoned the main house, and informed the Queen’s personal attendant, a stout woman named Martha, that the much anticipated Miss Balcázar had finally arrived.

Martha wasted no time in relaying the news to Her Majesty. She rushed through the brightly lit corridors, skillfully weaving through the staff members who hurried along to their respective royal’s room, anxious to get things ready for them to retire to their chambers. In time, she reached the large sitting room where the Queen and her guests sat, some conversed, others played games, but they were all assembled neatly, all carrying themselves in that manner that only royalty truly can.

As politely and discreetly she could, she told the Queen if she might have a word with her. The Queen caught the look in Martha’s eyes, and knowing what was to come, excused herself from her company, and then made her way back to the cottage, quite anxious to finally make the acquaintance of the young woman whom her grandson was besotted with.

“Ma’am, shall I fetch Miss Balcázar now?” inquired Branson, respectfully.

“Yes. You may. Only do remember to bring us a spot of tea, audiences are nothing without tea, as you rightly know.”

“I do indeed, Ma’am. If you shall excuse me, I will fetch the young woman, and give word to Helen to bring the tea.”

Branson excused himself from Her Majesty, and once outside the sitting room, broke into a brisk pace in direction of the kitchen. Having known that the Queen would wish to have tea during the meeting, he had ordered Helen to prepare some, and when he walked in, his fellow staff member was setting the tray, and waiting on the kettle.

“Hurry along now,” he ordered Helen. “And remember, before you’re off, do set two of the smaller plates with the biscuits that Her Majesty is so fond of.”

“And what of the lady?” inquired Helen. “What if they’re not to her liking?”

“That’s hardly our concern.” Branson stated as he fixed his jacket. “The young woman can hardly expect us to cater to her. We are at Her Majesty’s behest. And if I am to be honest, I believe Miss Balcázar shall have whatever is set before her. She’s absolutely wild, she is. You’ll see what I mean when you send in the tea.”

“Wild? How so?” she asked.

“The hair,” he said with a sneer, “Is an utter disaster, a mess of unruly curls. And her attire – ugh! She is dressed for a football match, not an audience with the Queen. And . . .” that he said in a low voice, as if he were telling some great secret. “. . . There are handcuffs present on her wrist. One can only imagine where it was that she was found.”

“God save us from that American!” exclaimed Helen. “Prince Harry is bad enough without her added to the mix.”

“My sentiments exactly, but I'm sure the Queen will sort the American out. She’s not a fan as you well know which makes this meeting truly all the more remarkable. So selfless, she is.”

Helen nodded in agreement. “Always looking out for the best interest of others,” commented Helen. “Well, you ought to hurry along then, and remember to wait for me here. I want to hear what happens while you’re in there.”

Branson promised that he’d wait for her. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and to be quite honest, gossiping with Helen was a favorite hobby of his. It had been for over the two decades they’d been working together. Whenever there was a guest, whenever there was something exciting happening, they’d tell the other what they’d seen or heard, and have a bit to eat. That was tradition.

As Branson rushed to the parlor to fetch Paulina, Kamal asked Paulina for the umpteenth time if she would reconsider the handcuffs. There was no point to still having it locked on one of her wrists. If she’d only give him leave then he’d be able to run outside, get the key, and take it off before she had her audience with the Queen, but Paulina wasn’t having any of that. And despite the discomfort that came from the handcuffs, she was determined to endure it.

“Kamal, please, just let it go already. I don’t feel like taking the cuffs off yet.” Paulina said as she paced around the room. “And don’t worry, I'm not gonna get you in trouble. It’s those other assholes that I'm gonna go after.”

“But Miss –” he began to entreat.

Before he could continue, the door opened, and in walked Branson. “Miss Balcázar,” he spoke. “Her Majesty will see you now.”

“Will she? Well, I guess I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Lord knows she’s the only one that can make people wait. She made me wait for hours, but when waiting for the Queen, four hours is practically nothing at all,” she said, sarcastically. “She’ll see me now,” she muttered angrily. “Maldita mujer (damn woman) . . .”

Neither of the men knew what the foreign words meant, but the tone in which they were delivered made it clear that she was far from pleased with the situation at hand. And even though Kamal knew that Paulina didn’t want to be there, even though he’d watched as she put up a massive fight, he couldn’t help but hope that somewhere, something inside of her would snap and remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand. That something would make her want to act the part of a proper lady.

“Miss Balcázar,” spoke Kamal when she began to move in the door’s direction. “Please . . .” he hesitated for a moment, not wanting to seem out of line. “. . . Please do think of Prince Harry. Please do, Miss.”

This time, the mention of Harry wasn’t enough to soothe her. Far too much had happened. She’d been handcuffed, driven to Sandringham against her will, and on top of all that, the fucking Queen wasn’t even there when she showed up, she had the nerve to make Paulina wait fifteen minutes, and that – oh that was the last straw. At another time, she would’ve thought of Harry. She always thought of Harry and what was best for him, for them, but there were moments when she had to think only of herself, put her wants before his, and that was one of those moment.

She always meant to do well by him, but tonight, it was all about doing well by her own person.