The Thrill Is Gone

“Harry, be reasonable!” cried the Queen. “There are several engagements that necessitate your attention this week. They cannot simply be thrown to the wind, because you have suddenly seen fit to travel across the Atlantic.”

“Oh, come on, Gran.” Harry said, rather forcefully. “We both know that this isn’t some spur of the moment decision I’ve made. I’ve been thinking over this for quite some time now, and I know I’ve got to travel to Harvard.”

“But this week?” she stressed.

“Yes.” He said, nodding feverishly. “I would’ve gone this last week, but I had to wrap up my training in the mornings, and then in the evenings, you had me running around from one engagement to the next. And you know what? I was fine with that, really, I was, because I understand that I had to pay my respects to the important officials that helped me with the training, but I’m not about to waste this week. I refuse to.”

“But you must be sensible, Harry.” She reached over, placing a gloved hand atop his. “It is necessary that you attend these functions, and more so, it is imperative that you be here for your wings ceremony on Friday.”

“It is precisely due to my ceremony that I must go to America.”

“Whatever for?”

“To fetch Paulina, of course.” Harry stated. “I’ve got to fly out there and make things right. Me and her, we’ve got to mend things so we can get back to where we were in March, when things were better. So I’m sorry, Gran, but I won’t be at the functions this week. I’ll be back by Thursday, to see to the preparations for the ceremony, but not before then, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be back before then.”

“What am I to do then?” she asked. “Have calls made to see which other royals are available to look after your engagements?”

“There’s no need for that.” Harry assured her. “I’ve already made a few calls. If you’ll allow it, my engagements for Monday and Tuesday, will be seen by William; Wednesday’s by Zara, and Thursday’s by Beatrice. They’ve already agreed to it, you only need to give the word.”

“You are quite serious about this, aren’t you? You are determined to travel to America?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve never been more determined to do anything.”

“But what if it is all for not?” she asked, softly, with the tenderness of a grandmother. “What if she is determined to not have you back?”

“Then I will regret her for the rest of my life,” he said, the mere thought of that outcome was enough to make his features hardened. He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t lose her. He needed her like the air in his lungs. “But it won’t come to that. I know it won’t. We’re better than this, me and her. We’ll sort things out, but you’ve got to let me go, because I . . . I have to make things better.”

“Well, I suppose it only right that you go to her. Only Harry . . .” she paused, thinking as to whether or not it was her place to say such a thing.

“Only what?” he asked, arching his brow, slightly.

“Do not make an attempt at anything grand.” The Queen advised. “This is not the moment for flowers or gifts or anything of that sort. This is a moment for you to speak from the heart. That is all that is necessary.”

“But I thought flowers and gifts were always good.”

“Not always,” she said, softly. “There are times when the right words mean more than any diamond or rose ever could. Now go, do what you must, and I do hope that when you return, she will be accompanying you.”

“Thank you, Gran.” Harry abandoned his seat on the couch, and walked over to her so that he could hug her. It wasn’t the standard hug he was used to giving her, the one that was polite and warm enough, the hug he gave her was as affectionately warm as the ones Paulina had often given him. When he pulled away, he smiled brightly at his Gran, and for a moment, he didn’t look so heartbroken anymore, for a moment his joy had been restored for him. “I’ll bring her home, Gran. I promise.”

That said, he quickly left the sitting room and then ran through the corridors of Balmoral Castle, he didn’t stop running until he made it to the outside area, where Alistair and Kamal awaited him. Harry had initially considered having Kamal reassigned to another royal, but ultimately decided against it, because he could feel that Kamal was honest in his words, he could feel that he hadn’t done anything to hurt Paulina. So he decided to keep Kamal as his security detail, and when Harry announced that he was to travel to America to try to win Paulina back, Kamal volunteered to accompany him.

The moment that Harry exited the castle, was the moment that Kamal started the engine. As soon as Harry was inside, Kamal drove them to the nearest airport, where the three of them caught the first flight out to America. They were to land in Boston at seven that evening, and during the flight over, Kamal and Alistair made the necessary arrangements for their stay. They, thanks in part to the airline attendants being so attentive, were able to secure themselves a vehicle with the company that had seen to them the last time they were in the area, and secured two hotel rooms. They had initially thought it odd that Harry would request that they secure him a room as well, they’d expected him to spend the night with Paulina, but apparently Harry was afraid that she might not let him stay, so he got himself a room, just in case.

When they landed in Boston, the airport security was on hand to see to them, just in case photographers had shown up, but due to the unexpectedness of Harry’s visit, there were no photographers outside waiting for him, and he was able to slip out quite unnoticed. He remained relatively unrecognized throughout their entire ordeal in public. No one caught wind, no one tweeted that they’d seen the prince out and about, he was given the element of surprise, and he was grateful for it. He wanted to keep it that way so that he’d be able to surprise Paulina when he arrived at her doorstep. Throughout the entire drive to her house, he thought up possible scenarios play out, words he might use, he was hard at work, thinking of how to present himself, but it was all for nothing, because when he arrived, she wasn’t home.

He stood in front of her door, knocking for the better part of five minutes, it wasn’t until he remembered that she’d given him a key that he let himself in. He called out her name softly, thinking that perhaps she was fast asleep, catching up on the rest she’d surely missed throughout finals week, but she wasn’t there. The apartment was completely empty, and so Harry passed the time by walking around, and he was surprised to see that she’d taken down the painting he’d made for her. It had once been placed right above her desk so she could see it whenever she was typing her papers or doing the readings, but in a fit of anger, she decided to hide it, and that broke his heart. He’d thought that she was going to keep it hanging up, he’d thought that the painting and the necklace he’d given her, were always going to be fixtures in her life, but she’d taken down the painting and when he stepped into her bedroom, he saw that she’d taken off the necklace as well.

“Why would you take it off?” he asked as if she were there to respond. “This is meant to be around your neck always. This damn thing was supposed to be with you when I can’t be. So why would ya take it off? Were you really so cross with me?” He paused, waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come. “You were. Oh, for fuck’s sake, I know you were. I was a right twat, my love. A proper git. I should’ve never said what I said, but we’ll make things better. We both will, because this is on both of us, we’ve been idiots lately so we’ve got to make it better, we’ve got to.”

He took the necklace in his hand, and then laid down on her empty bed, burying his face into her pillow so that he could inhale that warm, comforting scent that smelled so strongly of home to him. He took deep breath, after deep breath, imagining all those nights he’d shared a bed with her, and the mere thought of those better days was enough to do him in. He burst into tears, sobbing wildly into her pillow as he clutched it tightly. He’d never thought someone would have so much power over him, someone that would be able to have such a profound influence on his mood. Whenever he broke up with Chelsy, he was always a little annoyed, but he’d never actually cried over it. He’d cared deeply for Chelsy, but he’d never loved her, and as a result he never sulked when they broke up, he never cried, but with Paulina things were different, with her, there was a profound bond between them, there was love.

And the fact that they’d both neglected their love, that they hadn’t given it the importance that they should’ve, pissed him off. If they’d just put a little more effort into things, if he’d just flown for those open weekends instead of staying back in London with his mates, if she just flew out twice a month instead of just the one, they would’ve been in a better place, everything would’ve been better.

Harry lay there crying until his moment of despair passed him. He’d been afraid that the fact that she took off her necklace and took down the painting, meant that she was truly over him, that he would never be given a chance again, but in his heart, he knew that she would hear him out. She had too. If she was willing to endure the press that followed her around all day, if she’d endured his grandmother’s security details kidnapping her, then she surely loved him enough to take on whatever was thrown at their relationship, even if what was being thrown was himself. He was going to make amends, he was going to apologize for everything he’d said to her, everything he’d done, and in turn, he knew that she would apologize for her faults as well. All they had to do was keep their wits about them, because if their tempers ran off with them and they grew too passionate, then they’d be unreasonable little shits that would only make things worse, but Harry was determined to be mature about things, and if he didn’t scream or say anything too daft, then she wouldn’t either. Of that, he was certain.

When Harry’s despair finally passed, he left her bed and made his way to the living room where he took a seat on the old arm chair that Luis had bought Paulina for her first apartment in Stanford. It was a sturdy armchair, one in which Harry and Paulina had spent an intimate night on, and as he sat there, his mind went back to that night, they’d both been so mad, so passionate and in love, and he hoped that they’d be able to get their relationship back to that point. He knew that they weren’t always going to be so passionate and insanely in love with one another, it was only natural for passions to burn down a little as people get older, but he knew that no matter what his heart would always be hers, and if, when they got old, they only had sex a couple times a week, instead of a couple times a day, then he’d be fine with that, because he just wanted her, even if being with her only meant lying beside her in bed.

All he wanted out of life was to have her in it, and he spent the following three hours, trying to figure out how to initiate conversation with her, how to talk, and most importantly, how to convey the sincerity of his love for her, and how to make her truly believe that he was sorry for having ever said that she would fuck a Kennedy to be famous. In those three hours, he came up with some rather good statements to make, but when she showed up, when the basement suite door opened and she stepped inside, he forgot everything that he’d been brainstorming throughout the last week.

“Alone again . . .” she muttered to herself.

There was a sadness in her voice that he’d never heard before, a quiet despair, and the moment she spoke, his heart went out to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until her voice regained its usual cheer. He just wanted her to be happy again, for them to be happy.

“Not alone,” he blurted out. “Perhaps, you’d prefer to be, but you’re not.”

Immediately, her hand flew to the light switch, and in only a split second, the once dark basement suite was fully illuminated. He saw her standing just a few feet away from him, and when his eyes settled on her face, the air rushed from his lungs as if someone had shoved him to the ground and laid a great weight on his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, the drastic transformation that had taken place since the last time he saw her only a month earlier. Her face wasn’t as round, her cheeks not as full, they were sunken in a bit, and he could see her cheekbones, he’d never been able to see them before. Her cheeks had always been so full, so rosy, but the young woman that stood before him didn’t have that look to her. She wasn’t a youth in bloom; an English rose like his father had once referred to her as appearing like. She was a defeated woman, whose eyes spoke of her sorrows, and he couldn’t begin to believe the change that had occurred. She was at least a dress size slimmer than the last time they’d been together, perhaps even a bit more. He knew for a fact that the stress had gotten to her. When other people broke up or got stressed out, they ate more, they indulged themselves a bit, but not her, her body would forget that she was hungry, it would ignore that most basic of yearnings, and he had the proof of that standing in front of them, staring back at him with dark eyes that seemed torn between being pleased at his presence and being offended by it.

“Say something, please.” He implored, his voice hoarse from all the crying.

“I . . . I . . .” she couldn’t find the words to say, she couldn’t make sense of her thoughts. “I have to go, sorry.”

“You don’t have to, not really.” He spoke up, his gaze firmly fixed on her. “And you know you don’t, Paulin. You just bloody got in so there’s nowhere you’ve got to be running off to at these hours. The only reason you felt the need to go was because you don’t want to be near me, and I understand that, believe me, I do. What with everything I’ve said and done, I understand that I’m the last person you want to see, but please . . .” his voice cracked “. . . please stay, because I need to see you. I need you to do me the honor of hearing me out.”

“But why do you want to see me?” she questioned, still standing in the doorway. “Why do you want to talk to someone that you think so low of?” there was a bitterness in her voice, a quiet anger that lingered beneath the surface.

“I don’t think low of you.”

“You do,” she stated. “You accuse me of wanting to fuck a Kennedy so that I could get ahead in life.”

He winced at the memory of his words. “I did do that,” he conceded. “But I didn’t mean it. I was talking out of anger, I was. Though, come to think of it, I reckon it wasn’t just anger, it was more along the lines of petty jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” She shook her head. “Why would you be jealous of him?”

“Because you were laughing with him,” said Harry, not caring if he sounded daft. “Those pictures the press ran, the ones with you sitting right next to him, laughing and talking – well, I bloody hated them. You were out enjoying yourself with those blokes, while you were cross with me, and I hated that. Goddamn it. I hated that. I hated that you were alright with them. That you looked so bloody at ease and comfortable. And I thought . . . well, I thought that maybe, since I’d gone around dancing with other bards and had some on my lap, that to spite me, you’d run and do me worse with that bloke.”

“I would’ve never done that.”

“I know ya wouldn’t have.” He slowly began to step towards her. “Honest, I do, but . . . well, I wasn’t thinking right when I said that. I was an absolute prat that let his insecurities get the best of him. I was afraid that you might fancy him.”

“But I don’t!” she protested, finding it absurd that Harry had been genuinely afraid that she’d go behind his back to start something with Francis.

“I know,” he whispered, voice pained. “But he’s a decent looking bloke, some might even say handsome, and . . . well, he’s got those connections. Don’t yell!” he implored when he saw her part her lips. “Please don’t yell, let me just get out what I’ve got to get out. I’m not trying to say that you’d go off with him just because he’s a Kennedy. What I’m trying to say is that he’s a decent looking bloke that lives relatively close and who seems to be passionate about the same things you are. And I thought . . . I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d like him better than me, because he’d understand those things that you’re always going on about. I honestly don’t know what you’re going on most of the time. Whenever you talk about politics and policy, I tune out. It’s like when my father and Gran have a go at that, I don’t understand. And I try to, I really do, but it’s fucking boring to me and I can’t hold that sort of conversation with you, but he can, he knows all about that, and I was afraid that you’d like him better than me because he seems more suited for you.”

“Just because we have similar opinions that doesn’t mean that I’m gonna like him. Honestly Harry, I don’t like every person that I can discuss policy with or share a laugh.” She wanted to say that it was idiotic for him to assume she would, but she kept that comment back, not wanting to escalate into a full on argument so early on. “And more importantly, I wasn’t flirting with Francis. I like to think that was made perfectly obvious by the pictures that the tabloids ran. I wasn’t all up on him. I wasn’t touching him or making eyes. I wasn’t doing anything wrong! I was just having dinner with him and his brothers. That’s it. The only reason you got so worked up about me having dinner with the Kennedy’s was because you felt guilty for having run around London with all those skanks.”

He was quiet for a moment, his mind processing what she said, and then, in a steady voice, he said, “You’re right.”

“What?” she whispered in disbelief.

“You’re right.” He repeated. “I t was guilt. I wanted us both to be wrong so that you wouldn’t be able to make a big deal out of the tit incident.”

“Are you serious, right now?” she questioned, eyeing him strangely.

“Yeah, I did.”

“But you weren’t supposed to admit to it,” she said more to herself than to him. “You were supposed to yell. You always yell and so do I.”

“Not tonight.” Harry stopped right in front of her. “I didn’t come all this way to have a shouting match. I came to sort things out, and if sorting things out means that I’ve got to own up to my faults, then so be it.” He took in a deep breath. “I was jealous of that bloke, because I was afraid that you’d be so fed up with having to deal with my shit that you’d go for someone that wasn’t so difficult. That’s why I was afraid. It was guilt, it was jealousy, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I put you through. I had my head in my ass all bloody month, I know I have, but I’m here now. I’ve come to my senses and I want to make it right.” He reached out for her hands, but she pulled away. “Please, let me make things right.”

“I don’t know if we can.”

“We can,” he said, determinedly. “I know we can.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“But I am.” Harry stated. “And I know you can as well. You were kidnapped because of me, you endured being handcuffed and threatened with a muzzle and on top of all that you were insulted by my Gran who sought to bribe you.”

“How do you know that? I didn’t tell you about the bribe.”

“My Gran told me.” Harry informed Paulina. “I confronted her about it. She didn’t want to say anything, not at first, but I forced it out of her.”

“What did you do?”

“I might have broken a priceless vase.” He said, smiling slightly. “Not that it matters though, she has plenty of those around the castle, what mattered was finding out what went on, and that was precisely what I did. And I’m sorry for what you endured. Had I known, I would’ve . . .”

“I didn’t want you to know.” Paulina said in a soft voice. “I never meant for you to, but I was just so pissed off by the fact that you were acting like I never endured anything for you or made sacrifices, and it just sort of flew out. I never wanted to cause any problems between you and your grandmother.”

“Whatever problems that existed have already been taken care of.” Harry assured. “I’ve not forgiven her for what she did, but she’s come a long way since then. She adores you, Paulin. When she found out what happened, she was bloody well furious at me. Kept going on about how I lost the most important person in my life. And you know what? I agree with her. I made a mess of things, acted in ways I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry, but I want to make things right, because I can’t imagine life without you.”

“Then why were you with those women?” she snapped, eyes flooding with tears. “If you can’t live without me, then why were they sitting on your lap? I mean, I understand you dancing with them, Harry. I really do. I get that I’m not there, and that you want to dance, so its fine for you to grind on them on the dance floor, but it is not okay to have them sit on your lap and have their tits in your face.”

“I know it’s not.”

“Then why did you have those tits in your face? Why put yourself in that position? Because no matter what, I was going to see that picture at some point,” she told him, voice cracking. “I was going to see you with your arm wrapped around her hip and with her tits dangling right in front of your face.” There was a moment in which her emotions overwhelmed her, a moment in which she had to cover her mouth to keep herself from crying, and it was then that Harry reached out for her, but she held her hand out in front of her and shook her head. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want you to touch me right now, because I’m afraid that if you hug me, that’ll be it . . . I’ll cave, because I really want to. I really want to believe that everything’s just gonna be better, but I can’t forget how I felt when I saw that picture. You looked so happy to have her there, like you were the luckiest guy on earth, and maybe you are happier when you’re acting single, maybe in the long run that’s better for you, because as much as you say you need me, I can’t help but think that maybe you don’t.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” he bellowed, his temper flaring. “When I say I need you, it’s because I bloody well need you. It’s because when I’m not with you, I feel like a part of me is missing, like someone’s run off with my heart, because that’s what you are. And I’m sorry for the tits, I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I’m happier without you, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. Goddamn it, can’t you see that you’re the only one I’ve ever loved? The only one I will ever love.”

“But you –”

“I’m a stubborn ass that sometimes loses his temper and doesn’t think things through all the way, but so are you.” Harry reached out for her, and that time, she didn’t pull away. “And that’s what makes this so hard sometimes. We’re both so bloody stubborn and when our tempers get the best of us, we don’t think right, but we can work on that. I know we can.”

She was panicked, staring into his eyes with a look of utter terror. “I don’t want you to hurt me again,” she said, surprising herself by her choice of words. “When we got together the first time, you promised you’d never screw me over, but you did. And I’m afraid that you might do it again.”

“I might,” said Harry. “I might not.”

“What kind of a response is that?”

“It’s an honest one.” His gaze scorched through her being, disarming her. “I’ll do my best to never hurt you. I swear it, but I know there’ll be times when I’ll make a mess of things. But I will never fuck things up like this again. I promise you. All I need is another chance.”

Paulina closed her eyes, unable to keep his gaze. “I’m not transferring to Oxford,” she whispered. “I want to make that clear, because I know how much that bothers you. And I’m sorry about it, but this is something I have to do for me.”

“And that’s fine.” Harry assured.

“Is it? Or are you going to throw it in my face in a few months when things aren’t fine? Are you going to remind me about how accommodating Kate is?”

“I won’t.” He lifted his right hand and gently cupped the side of her face. “Look at me,” he implored. “Please, look at me.” He waited until her dark eyes opened, until they were staring back at his own. “I promise that I will never bring that up again. I don’t want you to be more like Kate. I know that sometimes I say I do, just because it’d make things easier for me, but I love you as you are, stubbornness and all. And if you give me the opportunity, I will not only love you, but I will make you feel my love. I will be true, and we will be better. Only do give me another go, because I’m going mad without you.”

“I’m going mad without you to,” she whispered, the tears finally spilling over. “And I’m sorry for breaking up with you. I didn’t want to do it, but I was just so pissed off because I didn’t feel like you loved me anymore. I thought you’d gotten bored of me.”

“Oi!” exclaimed Harry, as he cupped her face in his hands. “I could never grow bored of you. You are more exciting and brilliant than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” she said.

“Really,” he confirmed. “I’d rather be with you than anyone else.”

“So would I,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry for being so stubborn sometimes, I’m sorry for fucking up.”

“S’alright.” He smiled, and it was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen in all her life. “We’ll both make an effort to not fuck up so much in the future.” He paused. “So does this mean that you’re giving me another go?”

“I am.” It felt good to say those words, as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. “But I want to talk things through a little more, maybe come up with ways we can see each other more often or something.”

“There’ll be time for that,” promised Harry. “But I reckon, what I want more than anything right now, is to kiss my girlfriend.”

“Then kiss me, güerito,” she smiled despite her tears. “And make it a proper snog.”