The Thrill Is Gone

The smile vanished from her face when she saw the envelope. She’d been so caught up in the fact that she’d been accepted at Harvard, that she completely forgot about Oxford. In her mind, as horrible as it sounded, Oxford was no longer of any consequence. She’d achieved what she’d always dreamt of achieving, and she would attend Harvard in the fall, she would walk those prestigious halls and lose sleep over the work assigned, she would walk in the footsteps of her idols, that was what she planned on doing, that’s what she thought of as she finished up her shower, but then she walked out. And despite the fact that Harry said nothing, she noticed the unopened package in his hands, and as soon as her eyes landed on the Oxford insignia, her smile vanished.

She’d gotten in.

Only this time, she wasn’t joyful and triumphant, this time tears didn’t spring from her eyes, this time she felt as if someone had just punched her in the gut, robbed her of breath, and sent her hurling towards the ground, that’s what she felt that time around, and for the life of her she couldn’t make sense of what was going on. She’d gotten in. How’d she manage that? They were meant to reject her. She hadn’t even sent the letter of recommendation from Lord Fellowes, she’d used the ones from Gloria Allred and her old professor from Stanford, she hadn’t pulled out all the stops for that application, she hadn’t obsessed over it to the degree that she did the ones from America. So how’d she get in? How the hell did she manage that? She wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t want to. It would’ve been easier if she hadn’t been accepted, so much easier, because when she wouldn’t have felt guilty, she wouldn’t have been feeling conflicted.

“Is it from Rhodes?” Harry asked, completely ignorant of the fact that his girlfriend had applied to the law program at Oxford. “Paulina, love, you alright?” he pressed, unnerved by her silence.

Unable to speak, she opted to nod.

“This from Rhodes then?” he inquired, softly. “From the Trustees?” he said.

It was at that moment that she realized she could lie. He didn’t know about her application to Oxford, he wasn’t familiar with the manner in which universities functioned, Harry was completely ignorant of all that, and she could use it to her advantage. She could tell him it was a package from the Trust, something regarding her graduation that been sent through the admissions office. He wouldn’t know she was lying. For all he knew, the admissions office did handle graduations, and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t trust her and go behind her back to investigate whether or not she was telling the truth. She could lie. Just a utter a few untrue words, and save herself the headache of having to figure out what exactly she wanted to do, but the problem was she couldn’t lie to him. Not about that.

As much as she wanted to avoid the drama that would surely occur once she told him she’d been accepted, she couldn’t bring herself to lie, because if she was him, she would’ve wanted to know the truth. So mustering all her strength she could, she carefully opened the package, and took out the acceptance letter. There was warm language on it, just like there’d been on the Harvard letter, they spoke of being delighted to offer her admission, and of the large applications they had chosen from, they told her the words that should’ve brought joy to her heart, but instead brought dread. And when she finished reading them, she took in a deep breath, and readied herself to say what she had to.

“It’s not from the Trust.” Her hands trembled as she held the letter out for Harry. “It’s from . . . just, uh, just read it. Yeah? Just read it.”

Curious as to what had her acting so strangely, he took the letter from her. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was reading, the heading was from Oxford’s Admissions Office, and there wasn’t really anything that jumped out at him at first glance, but then he read the first sentence, and as soon as he did, he felt his heart leap out of her chest.

“Oxford?” he whispered in astonishment.

He couldn’t believe it. After having told him that she wasn’t going to apply to the law program, she’d gone ahead and done it. And best of all, she’d been accepted! That was the solution to their problems. She’d get her degree at Oxford. There was no longer a need for her to go off to America. She could stay there with him. They could be together without stressing over how to go about making a long distance relationship work.

“You applied.” he paused. “I can’t believe you went ahead with it. What with your going on about how you wouldn’t, but you did. Bloody hell, you did. That was brilliant! Fucking brilliant . . .” he glanced back down at the letter, his lips curling into a smile as he reread the words. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” she told him a half truth. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get in, so I didn’t want to tell you in case I didn’t. That way it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“But you did get in.”

She wanted to smile, to look as excited as him, but try as she did, she couldn’t force a smile onto her face, not even a little one. Her features displayed the concern she felt, the fear at the uncertainty of the future. She wasn’t sure as to what to do anymore. Most of her wanted to run off to Harvard. Being accepted there had been her life’s work. It was the reward for all the late nights of studying, the days of isolation, and stress she’d endured. Harvard was her reward, and only a few minutes ago, she had been trying to figure out how to tell her parents the big news, and thinking about what time she could head over to church. She’d gone the previous day to give thanks for her birthday, but now she had to go again to give thanks for having been accepted at Harvard. At least that’s what she’d planned to do before she found out about Oxford.

Now all she wanted was to grab a bottle of wine and do a bit of sulking. She wanted to get drunk while she attempted to figure out where exactly she was to submit her statement of intent to register, which was due on May 1st. The deadline might have been well over a month away, but the days would pass quickly, it wouldn’t be long before she had to give her official decision.

“You don’t look pleased.” Harry commented, noticing her concerned expression. “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing’s the matter.”

He didn’t believe her. Not one bit. “You sure, you’re alright? You honestly don’t look all that well.” He inspected her face closely, taking note of the two lines that had appeared between her eyebrows, and the look of utter disbelief in her dark brown orbs. “Fancy some water? Maybe something a big stronger?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I'm fine, really. I'm just sort of still processing all this. One moment, Harvard says yes, and then Oxford comes and says the same thing. And I can’t really believe . . . I mean it’s a lot to take in.”

“It is.” He agreed, taking her hands in his. “But it’s also fucking rad.” He hoped to make her smile, and for a brief moment, she did just that. “This’ll be alright. You know? It’ll all work out in the end. Oxford might not be Harvard, but it’s every bit as prestigious.”

“Wait.” She pulled away. “I never said I was going to Oxford.”

“So you mean to go off to Harvard then?”

“I don’t know,” she looked away, settling her gaze behind him, on a Pink Floyd poster. “I don’t know what I'm doing. I don’t fucking know where I'm gonna go. I'm . . . I don’t know.” She let out a weary sigh. “But that’ll get figured out later on. I don’t want to think about it right now. It’s technically still my birthday. Well, my birthday weekend. So I don’t want to stress myself out by thinking about it. So let’s ignore that. Yeah?” she stared up at him, expectantly. “Let’s just enjoy today.”

“Yeah, alright,” he smiled, despite the fact that he was tempted to press the subject further. “Just go get dressed then. I reckon your parents will have a fit if they see you out in your robe. On second thought, they’d have themselves their fit, and then your mum would fly out and stay here until end of term.” He said, knowingly. “Would they really do that, though? They’re always threatening with that. But would they?”

“She would,” said Paulina, blushing slightly. “There was an incident up north, while I was at Stanford, well, it wasn’t really much of an incident, it was something stupid, but um, my dad drove her up there, and she stayed in the apartment with me for a good two weeks.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself, he burst into laughter. “No!” he exclaimed in between the laughs.

“It’s not funny,” she muttered. “And all it was was that one of my stupid cousins – this bitch I can’t even stand – told my mom that she saw a picture of me at a party. And then she showed her the damn picture, and I wasn’t even holding any drink or anything, but I was at a gay club, so it was a little outrageous, and I was barely eighteen so she went up there.”

“That’s mental.”

“And so fucking embarrassing, she even tried going to classes with me, but I managed to at least get her to stay at the apartment while I was off. Anyways, I'm gonna go get dressed. Give me a few minutes and then we can head out.”

Quickly as she could, she threw together an outfit. It wasn’t the type she wore out whenever they went on a date or went into society together, it was something simple, casual and very much her, a pair of worn in jeans, a Radiohead t-shirt, and a burgundy coat to keep her warm. She then went on to put on a bit of make up, not much since she’d have a proper go at it later when she got ready for the party, but enough to feel comfortable with photographs being taken of her. Her dark curls were left wild and unruly, that was how she best liked them, and Harry preferred them that way as well.

When she finished getting ready, the pair made their way outside, where the press had been camped out since seven in the morning, awaiting their appearance. They were all anxious to shout questions at them, to ask why it was that the prince hadn’t gone out with her and her friends the night before. Had there been a fight? Perhaps, a miscommunication of sorts? They were curious to find out exactly what had happened, and despite knowing very well that the odds of them actually getting a response were slim, they were still eager to ask.

And when the young couple exited the building, they were instantly swarmed. The press surrounded them, the reporter asked questions, shouting to be heard over one another, and the photographers snapped away pictures, even though most of them would later be deleted. They pestered them all the way to the car, and even after Paulina had buckled her seatbelt, and Harry had climbed into the driver’s seat, the press was still outside, trying to get a word, trying to snap a good shot that could end up on the cover of a tabloid. They followed them to no end, it wasn’t until they started driving that they had a moment’s peace, but even that didn’t last long.

They were followed to the restaurant. The press was good enough to leave a considerable distance between their vehicles and that of the prince, but they still followed them, and when they went in to have breakfast, they crowded on the sidewalk, and spent well over an hour and a half waiting for them to come back outside.

Paulina couldn’t believe how much effort they put into stalking them. Her and Harry weren’t as interesting as everyone made them out to be. In private, they were passionate and fiery, and yes, sometimes they got into fights, but in public, they were much more subdued. She was a scholar that tutored others in Spanish and did some volunteer work, and Harry was off at training, that was the state of their lives at the present. They weren’t the sort that stumbled out of a clubs on a nightly basis or got into fights in the middle of the street. Those were the sort of people that Paulina could understand the press following around, but the craziest thing they had done was make out in the car, but that didn’t even last a minute.

But despite that, they were followed. The press followed them from the restaurant to the local Catholic Church, where Paulina stopped by to light a candle and give her thanks, and then they followed them back to the apartment building, and were once again, forced to wait outside.

Within the apartment, Paulina and Harry busied themselves by tidying up. He cleaned up the mess he’d made, while she gave the bathroom a good scrub, and then cleaned the rest of the apartment. It took a little over an hour to get the apartment ready for the party later on, but despite having finished cleaning, she wasn’t done getting ready. She was going to make some food, not any real heavy dishes, but stuff for her friends and their guests to snack on. She hated showing up to places where all there was to eat was chips and other junk food, so she made them tortillas, and rice, and some beans, and some meat, which, come to think of it, were rather heavy dishes, but because it wasn’t such a wide selection, she thought she was doing the minimum. Because whenever her family threw a party in Azusa, there were always at least three different kinds of meats to pick from, as well as other dishes. That was just the way it was in the Balcázar family.

“What time are they meant to get here?” asked Harry as he buttoned up his shirt.

“At ten,” answered Paulina, without looking away from the mirror. She was working on her eyeliner. “Olivia and Alfred will get here a little bit before, but I think most of them will either get here at ten or after. That reminds me, did I tell you some of the guys are bringing girls over?”

Harry pulled a face that it made it clear he wasn’t keen on that. “Do they have to?”

“Well, yeah.” She put down the eyeliner. “Come on Harry, if you were single and going to a party, wouldn’t you want to have some girls around to dance with? You know you would, because friends are fun and all, but sometimes, there has to be some eye candy. Don’t worry though. The ladies are also Rhodes Scholars, so they won’t do anything stupid, and I also explained to them that I have a strict no phone or camera policy, I'm inspecting people and putting their belongings away in my room and they’ll get them back when they leave.”

“Are you joking?” he couldn’t believe she was going that far.

She shook her head, “Nope. I know it sounds a bit much, but I don’t want pictures of us being complete drunks, circulating the internet. Even last night, when we left the club, I was wearing sunglasses and was pretty in control, Alfred and Callum made sure I looked somewhat sober. But yeah, no outside cameras or phones, the only camera that’s gonna be out will be mine. I'm gonna want to document a little, but not a lot, because compromising pictures have a way of getting out there.”

“I know. You’re always going on about that to me.”

“Because you’re always being pervy and asking for some,” she said, a coy smile tugging at her lips.

“Can’t be helped though, can it?” With a little smirk playing across his lips, he walked up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close until her back was pressed against his chest, until his warm breath danced upon her skin, setting the very core of her on fire. “I’d have to be daft not to want to have a look at you before I fell asleep,” he lowered his nose to her neck, and took in a deep breath, relishing in the soft scent of her perfume.

“Y-you have pictures of me.” She stuttered, growing flustered, and increasingly aware of how long it’d been since they were last together. “Look at those.”

“Oh, I do,” he said in a low, husky voice. “Every. Single. Night.”

She felt herself become undone, and if it hadn’t been for her phone going off, she would’ve forgotten all about finishing her make up, and instead, would’ve pounced on harry and knocked him onto the bed. But as it was, her phone did go off, and despite not wanting to pull away from him, she eventually found the will to do so, and walked over to the living room where her phone rested on the coffee table.

She expected to see one of her friend’s names flashing on the screen, but it wasn’t them, it was her parent’s Vonage phone number. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t called to tell them the news. She’d been so caught up in the fact that Oxford also accepted her and running around getting the apartment ready that she had completely forgotten to call them. She toyed with the thought of holding off on the news until Monday, and then she could say that she’d called them straight away, but she decided against that. They didn’t know that she’d gotten the mail hours earlier, for all they knew, she’d just wandered down to the lobby to pick it up, and it was with that in mind that she answered the phone, and after getting the usual questions out of the way, she told them the news.

It took a moment for it to sink in, but as soon as her mom processed it, she started to shout joyfully and cry, and she cried and she cried, and then she remembered that Paulina was still on the line, and she congratulated her. She couldn’t believe that she’d been accepted. She’d been afraid that her daughter would get another rejection letter like she had the first time around, but she’d been accepted. Her hard work had paid off, and she was more than happy to hear Paulina go on about what was happening, and Paulina was glad to tell her mom all the specifics, though she was careful to speak in Spanish so Harry wouldn’t understand. Once, she’d mentioned Oxford, but she hadn’t told her mom that she’d gotten in, she only mentioned to hopefully confuse Harry into think she’d told her mom about it.

She knew at some point or another, she’d have to tell her parents that she’d applied to Oxford and had been accepted, but for the present, she wanted to avoid that conversation. In fact, she was thinking that maybe . . . just maybe she might be able to avoid that conversation altogether, that is, unless she decided to go there, in which case, she’d spring it on them and endure the telling off that would surely ensue. She could already imagine what her mom would say to guilt her into reconsidering her decision.

The conversation lasted a good twenty minutes. It would’ve gone on longer, except Paulina told her mom that she really had to get going, that she had plans with Harry for the evening. Her mom didn’t want to hang up, there was so much left to discuss, but she knew that her daughter didn’t really get to spend all that much time with her boyfriend, so she congratulated her one more time, gave her a blessing, and then hung up, leaving Paulina free to return her attention to Harry.

“Sorry about that.” She set the phone down on the table. “She just got really excited, and wanted to keep talking. You know how she is, well, you’ve heard how she is, but you’ll know how she is soon enough, when you run off to California with me.”

“Are you sure they won’t mind though? Having a stranger in their home for a month?”

“Not at all,” She reassured, returning to the mirror next to her bed. “My mom’s excited to finally meet you. She’s already planning where you’re going to stay. Apparently, you’ll be in Rafa’s old room.”

“That near yours?” he asked, a cheeky smile on his lips.

“Right next to mine, actually,” she replied as she picked up the eyeliner. “But I won’t be sleeping there.”

“What? Where’s your arse goin’ to sleep then?”

“In my parent’s room,” she told him, a light blush spreading across her cheeks.

“You can’t be serious.” He was going to laugh. He was honestly going to laugh. That was all just a bunch of nonsense. “You are joking, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Wish I was,” she mumbled, embarrassedly. “But they . . . well, they’re just very much traditional Catholic Mexicans, and while they have become more liberal, what with being accepting of my brother being gay and letting me travel to study, they still have some ways of thinking that are kind of conservative, and one of them is that if you’re gonna be staying with us, then I have to stay in their room so nothing happens, which is ridiculous, because obviously something’s happened, but that’s just the way they are. And because I'm the youngest and the only daughter, I’ve got to humor them, even if I just want to laugh at how lame it all is.”

“It is massively lame.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe they’ll have you in their room. Will you have to share the bed then?” he teased. “Sleep right in the middle, like a toddler?”

“Not even. They might be a little paranoid, but not that paranoid.” She set to work on finishing up her make up. “There’s a couch in their room, it pulls out into a bed. They got it for when my niece and nephew stay at the house and want to sleep in the room, so I’ll be on that. It’s comfy, so I’ll be fine.”

“I still can’t believe you won’t be allowed to sleep in your bloody room. That’s mental.”

“It’ll be alright though. I'm just glad I’ll finally be able to see them. It’s been way too long since I saw my dad, and my niece and nephew, and everyone. It’s gonna be fucking rad! And they’re gonna love you.”

“Some of them will, but I reckon your dad won’t.”

“He’ll grow to.” She stated. “He just needs to get to know you, is all.”

“You reckon if I learn some Spanish, he’ll be keener?”

She pursed her lips together, thinking it over. “Well, that helped Thomas, but you’ve got enough on your plate with training, güerito. You don’t need to learn Spanish to impress him. He’s fluent in English, he may not express himself as easily as he does in Spanish, but he understands it completely and speaks it well, so don’t worry about it. Just be respectful and that’ll be enough.” She finished with her eyeliner and set it down. “You’ll be brilliant.” She told him, turning around to gaze upon his face. “Really, you will, and my mom will love you, and my dad will respect you. And Rafa will probably be a little bitchy, because that’s how he is, but the others will like you, and that’ll be great.”

“You know, everything would be a lot easier if you didn’t have so many siblings. It’s intimidating really.”

“Intimidating?” She nearly laughed. “You’re hilarious, güerito.” She placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth and then turned around to finish up her make up.

“I'm not joking about. They truly are intimidating. Especially your dad, he’s just got a look to him that doesn’t sit well.”

“Like I said, he’ll grow to love you. He’ll just need some time.” She turned to him. “And I'm done. Now we can relax a bit before everyone arrives.”

“Since you’re done, can I give you something? I meant to give it to you earlier, but we’ve just been running around all day, and I forgot, but I figured its best to give it to you before they get here.” He walked over to the bookcase, behind it, he’d hidden the painting.

“What do you have there?” asked Paulina, curiously.

“Can’t tell you, that’d defeat the purpose of the wrapping,” he told her as he walked back to the bedroom area “Happy Birthday, love,” he said with a smile. “I know I can be a bit daft, and difficult, but I very much love you. And I'm glad to be here. I'm glad to be able to be your boyfriend and all that. So happy birthday,” he held the large present out to her. “I hope you like it.”

“I'm sure I will, thank you, güerito.” She took it from him, but not before placing a kiss on his lips.

She placed the gift atop her bed, and then carefully, began to unwrap it. She had a feeling it might be a framed picture of them, there was definitely a frame involved, that was the only thing that could suit the size, but it wasn’t a framed picture, it wasn’t a photograph. It was a painting, a hand painted replica of Vincent van Gogh, Sunflowers.

“Henry, it’s beautiful.” She lifted it, and studied it closely.

“Do ya think?” he beamed with pride. “I did it myself. I remember how much you love van Gogh and sunflowers, it only seemed right I –”

“You painted this?” she lowered the painting a bit, just enough to see his face.

He nodded. “It was a bit of a challenge since I haven’t really done much of that style, but I made it. If ya look closely, right there, ya can see I signed it.”

Sure enough, there were a few scribbled words. For Paulina, love Henry. They were barely visible, one had to look closely, but there they were.

“Henry,” she said his name with such tenderness that he swore his heart was going to give out. “Henry, you . . . how can you be such a massive prat and still be the sweetest man I know?” The corners of her eyes pricked with tears. “Yesterday I thought you didn’t care enough about me, and now, now you give me this? You daft man, I love you. Thank you so much, it’s absolutely perfect!” she set the painting down and then lifted her face towards him, getting on her tiptoes to reach his lips, and then placed a soft kiss upon them. “Thank you so much, güerito. I love it and I love you. Can you help me put it up?”

“Right now?” he asked a dreamy look upon his face.

“Yeah, I want everyone to see it when they get here. I want to put it right over the television, since that’s the focal point of the apartment.”

It wasn’t long before Harry had put up the painting. And shortly after that, the first guests of the night arrived. Sure enough, Olivia and Alfred were the first to arrive. They’d brought along with them a bottle of wine and a bottle of Irish whiskey. They both commented on the painting, and Olivia couldn’t help but stare at Paulina with a massive grin on her face.

Despite having met Harry several times before, Olivia was still nervous about being in his company. She’d yet to actually believe that she was on a first name basis with him. Alfred was a lot cooler about it. He acted towards Harry, the way he’d acted to him before they’d found out about his title. And Harry appreciated that of him. Alfred wasn’t the sort that looked at him in awe or disbelief, he saw him as just a bloke and despite being rather reserved, Harry enjoyed being in his presence.

It was just them for about half an hour, and then Alistair showed up. He was nervous about being there, having thought it odd that she’d invited him to her birthday party, considering he was technically the help, but she’d invited him with such warmth and had even gone so far as to refer to him as her friend, that he couldn’t stay away from the festivities. So despite feeling old and a bit out of place, Alistair showed up with a bottle of wine and a gift of books that he thought she might enjoy.

Paulina was touched by his gift, and after pulling him into a tight hug, she led him towards her friends and introduced them. He’d met Alfred and Olivia in passing before, but it had been at a club, and they’d been far to engrossed in one another to notice anyone else.

By 10:37, everyone who’d been invited had shown up. They’d followed Paulina’s instructions, having left behind their cameras, and having handed their cell phones to her upon arrival. She apologized to them for the inconvenience, but they understood why it was Paulina was so concerned over her and Harry’s privacy. They were a very high profile couple, and the time they could get away from the cameras were very precious to them, and they didn’t want to risk it by having people take pictures of them that they wouldn’t like.

The ladies that the guys had brought over with them, were respectful of the prince, they curtsied, which he immediately told them was unnecessary in private, and then left him alone. They weren’t throwing themselves at him like others tended to do at clubs. They knew who’s he was, and respected themselves to much to throw themselves at someone who was so clearly taken with another.

Callum had invited two of his fellow female scholars to come with him. Paulina had asked him to, since she wanted the possibility of Alistair maybe letting loose. He was a single guy whom dated, but hadn’t been in a serious relationship since he was in his early twenties, so she thought a fling or hook up might do him well. And unsurprisingly, more than one young woman was interested in Alistair. There was always at least one or two of them conversing with him. They smiled, they laughed, and they didn’t care so much that he was Harry’s security detail, they just cared that he had a handsome face and a smile that sent their hearts fluttering.

The guys weren’t all that thrilled by the attention that was being taken from them, but despite the fact that a few of their guests had gone off to Alistair, they enjoyed themselves. The food was delicious, the playlist had a nice variety to it, and the drinks seemed never-ending.

The festivities went well into the morning. There were a few people who left at around three, but most didn’t leave until four or five in the morning. Alistair ended up leaving with one of the guests, and thanked Paulina most warmly for having invited him.

All in all, it was a success. It was exactly how she’d wanted to spend her birthday, and although she wouldn’t admit it to Harry, having him there with her and her friends, made up for his having missed her birthday. She was glad to have him there, glad that he stood at her side as she blew out the candles on the cake the lads had gotten her.

It was a great party, and as she danced and drank among her friends, she completely forgot about the fact that she had a decision to make, a huge decision that would impact the rest of her life. She forgot all about Harvard and Oxford until the fallowing evening, when Harry left to get back to his training. And as soon as he left, the thoughts bombarded her. She tried to make sense of it, even venturing so far as to do list out the pros and cons of each, but she couldn’t quite figure out.

Harvard was the dream school. She’d been utterly devastated when they denied her admission to their undergraduate program. In fact, she’d cried for three days over it, unable to believe that she hadn’t gotten in. But this time she had. This time they accepted her. And she wanted desperately to attend, to walk the halls, and get her education there, but Harvard lacked one thing that was very important to her. It lacked Harry.

Oxford, on the other hand, had Harry. It was a prestigious institution that was every bit as respectable as Harvard. The sort of people that graduated from there were the ones that went off to do great things in their chosen professions, but Paulina knew it wouldn’t look well for her to have gotten educated there. She could be a Rhodes Scholar, that was fine, it was an educational accomplishment that would be boasted, but if she got her law degree from there, it could be taken as a sign that she didn’t believe American educational institutions were up to her standards. It would seem unpatriotic. And being a first generation American with a prince for her boyfriend, her future critics already had enough to call her unpatriotic.

It was a mess of a situation.

Her head and her heart couldn’t agree on what to do.

Her heart cried for Oxford. “It’ll be fine,” it argued. “It’s just as good as Harvard. And you’ll get to have Harry. Isn’t that what matters? Isn’t that what you want? You love him. Don’t be a fool. Don’t risk your happily ever after.”

But her mind was quick to fight. “You’ve spent a lifetime striving towards Harvard.” It reminded. “It’s your dream school, what you’ve sacrificed so much for. Is he worth not fulfilling your dreams? Is he worth wasting all those years you put into it? And what if the relationship fails? What if he breaks up with you and you’re left without him, studying at Oxford?”

They both made compelling arguments. They both had her torn, split completely down the middle in opinion, and she wrestled with the thoughts entirely on her own for a week and a half. She was torn between Harvard and Oxford, torn between listening to her passionate heart or sensible mind. She was entirely on her own, until she couldn’t take it any more and called Luis, not caring if he was at work. She needed to talk to him. She needed the guidance that only he could give her.

“Pick up . . . pick up . . . pick up . . .” she muttered to herself as the phone rang. “Please pick up Luis, please, please pick –”

“Chunky butt?” spoke Luis into his phone. “Is everything –?” He didn’t get to finish asking if everything was alright, she cut him off before he could.

“Luis!” she cried in relief. “Aye Dios mio, I'm so sorry for bothering you, I know you’re at work, but I just . . . I really need to talk to you, and whenever you get home you’re always so tired, and I understand cuz you’re a doctor and all that, it’s really fucking stressful, but I really just need my brother right now, because I don’t know what to do anymore.” It was then that she began sobbing. “I'm . . . well, I just don’t fucking know what to do anymore. And I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, but I can’t! And I can’t talk to anyone about it, because they just . . . I don’t trust them enough to talk to them about it, and I know that’s fucked up because I should trust them, but I just – I need your help. Luis, I really need your help.”

“Breathe Paulin, just close your eyes, and take some deep breaths. Try to calm yourself a little. Okay? You won’t be doing yourself any favors if you have a panic attack, just try to calm yourself. Breathe with me, yeah? 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . you feeling better?” he paused, waiting for her response. “Alright, keep it up, okay? Just keep breathing. And I'm here for you. Don’t worry about calling me at work; you know if you ever need me, I'm here. And I'm on my lunch right now, so its fine; we’ve got plenty of time, Paulin. I'm here for you. Just breathe.” Terrified of what had happened, he quickly searched her name on Google, checking to see if anything bad had happened to her, and was relieved to see that there were no new stories about her. “You think you can talk now?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled into the phone, wiping away her tears.

“Alright, good,” he paused, waiting for her to say something, but all he heard was her gentle weeping. “Paulin, what’s going on over there? Are you . . .” he hesitated to ask, but with her strange behavior, he thought it the only possible explanation. “ . . . Paulin, are you pregnant?”

“No!” she yelled instantly. “Fuck no! I'm not. Believe me, I got my period when I was meant to and . . . I'm not pregnant.”

“Oh thank God,” he sighed in relief. “For a moment, I thought you were, but you’re not so we can breathe easy about that.” He took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If it’s not that, Paulin, then what is it? Are you feeling homesick, maybe? I know it’s been a long time since you’ve seen any family, but we all love you and we’re all really stoked to fly out for your graduation.”

“It’s not that,” she sniffled. “It’s . . . look Luis, I haven’t been completely honest with you about law school.”

“Oh. Does this, uh, mean you didn’t get into Harvard?”

“No. I got in! That’s true. I wouldn’t have lied to you all about that. I got in and everything, but I also, fuck, okay, here it goes, I applied to Oxford. And before you say anything, just know that I didn’t think I’d get in. It was just a way for me to feel that I was making an effort to stay closer to Harry, and I really honestly didn’t think they’d accept me and at the time I didn’t even have the money to be able to afford it so it was just a spur of the moment sort of thing, but the thing is, they accepted me.”

“No fucking way.”

“That’s what I said!” she cried. “But they accepted me, and now . . . well, now I . . .”

“You don’t know where to go.” He said, knowingly.

She nodded, “Exactly. And I’ve been trying to make sense of what to do. I’ve spent the last week and a half going crazy over it, trying to figure out where to go, what to do, but I can’t. I'm torn, Luis. I don’t. I don’t know. And I'm just so stressed out and frustrated, and I’ve been feeling so alone, because I haven’t really talked this over with anyone.”

“Not even Harry?” asked Luis.

“No. I mean, he knows that I got in. He was here when the letter arrived. Actually, he’s the one that saw it before me, so he knows, and I can’t talk to him about it, because he wants me to go to Oxford. He’s made no attempts at hiding his preference for it, so I can’t really discuss it with him. And I can’t talk to my friends here because they’d want me to stay here as well. And I can’t talk to mom and dad and the others, because I know they’d tell me that I'm being crazy. But you, I know you’ll be objective about it. You’ve always given me the best advice, and I just . . . I really need your advice right now, Luis.”

“I’ll try to help you, Paulin. But you do know that in the end, you’re gonna have to make this decision for yourself, right?”

“I do.”

“Okay then . . . well, I want you to tell me exactly what your thoughts are for both schools. Just let me have it. Don’t hold back at all.”

“You sure?” she whispered.

“Of course, chunky butt,” he said, and despite the distance, she swore she could see him smile as he said that. “How else am I gonna give advice if I don’t know how you feel? So go on, let me know.”

She took in a deep breath, and after rallying her courage, she told him everything. Every last bit of information, every last thought that she’d wanted to tell him over the last six months, but hadn’t been able to, was told in the span of ten minutes. And as she rambled on about how she was afraid of the strain of being in a long relationship and what going to a foreign law school could mean her future political career, Luis listened dutifully. He paid attention to her every word, having to decipher quite a few of them, because when she started crying, they ended up getting jumbled together, but he listened, he heard her concerns, and at the end of it, he took a moment to process everything he’d just heard, to really dive into it, and form an objective opinion that would help him give her a bit of advice.

“What it comes down to,” he said, after a brief silence, “Is whether or not you want to work towards becoming a Senator or a Duchess. That’s not to say you can’t become a duchess if you go to Harvard. You can. There won’t be anything in the way of that. All that’ll matter is if you and Harry, later on, decide that you want to get married. But, in my opinion, I don’t think you’d be able to hold office as a United States Senator if you go to Oxford. You know how it is in this country, those that go overseas to be educated or have foreign leanings are often targeted by Fox News, and with the amount of followers they have it’ll be detrimental. Don’t you remember how Gingrich criticized Senator Kerry for speaking French? They acted as if it were unpatriotic to be multilingual. That’s the state of the country we live in. Then again, I could be wrong. Maybe the time you’re able to campaign, things will be different, but you have to decide what you want to pursue more vigorously. Then again, as horrible as this sounds, you might not be a Senator at all, you might just hold office in the House of Representatives, and Oxford won’t have mattered.”

“That’s not funny,” she muttered.

“I know, I know. I hoped it’d be, but it failed. But like I said, you have to decide, Paulin.”

“What if I fuck up? What if I choose wrong?”

“You won’t. I know you won’t. You’ll do what’s best for you. So don’t think about what the family wants or what Harry wants or what anyone else wants. Think about you. And then act on that.”