But Most of All

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Tom as he followed Harry into the Range Rover. “I don’t know how my brother manages with that lot. No offense to the children – they’re brilliant, they are, but to deal with them at all hours of the day is mental. Don’t ya think, mate?” He didn’t give him time to reply. “I mean, you’ve got to make sure they’re getting on well and on top of that, ya can’t bloody go out and have a laugh whenever you feel like it, because you’ve children and a wife waiting on you. I couldn’t do it! Not yet, at least. Give it another decade or so, and I might be up for it, but not now – definitely not now.”

“Same here, mate.” That was a damn lie. He was ready, he’d been ready for ages, but the person he wanted to settle down with, wanted nothing to do with him.

“Pleased to hear it,” said Tom. “Otherwise I’d be on my own, and we both know I’m rubbish when it’s just me. I need a mate to take on the birds with, and as of late the numbers have been dwindling.”

“Everyone’s settling down.” Harry stated. “Even Jake’s gotten engaged.”

“Couldn’t believe that when I heard,” Tom commented. “I thought for sure Jake would be the last one. His arse was always going on about how he’d never marry, but now the wanker’s gotten himself engaged. S’alright though. Better him than you. I don’t reckon I’d know what to do with myself without my fellow ginger.”

“For starters you’d have to pay for your bloody drinks.”

“And we both know I’m not fond of doing that.” Tom grinned.

“You’re a wanker, Skippy.” Harry chuckled.

“There are worse things one could be.” He said, very matter-of-factly. “And just so you know, I’m cross with you.”

“Are ya now?”

Tom nodded as he said, “You called me a wanker, you git.”

“But your arse just said there are worse things one can be.”

“That doesn’t bloody mean I want to be called a wanker.”

“Come on there, Skippy. Don’t be cross. If you are, then I suppose I’ll have to give Bridge a ring and tell her not to bring round her mate.”

“Well I’m not that cross.” Tom smiled sheepishly.

“But I’ve offended you!”

“S’alright. I’ll manage.” Tom assured him. “Now what’s she like?”

“Don’t know, really.” Harry replied. “Although I don’t reckon that matters. If she’s mates with Bridge, she’s bound to be fit.”

“That is true. The birds she brings around have never disappointed.”

And Tom wasn’t disappointed. Bridget’s friend was a German model that worked at the same agency as her, she was a few years older, but was barely making her way in fashion. She had previously worked as an actress, but having found little success, turned to modeling. In the last year, her career had taken off. She’d walked the runways in Paris and Milan, and was branching out to the UK before the agency felt it was time for her to travel to New York. It was an exciting time for her, and when Bridget invited her out with Harry and his friend, she jumped at the opportunity. Being photographed with Prince Harry would do wonders for her career, it would elevate her social standing, and if that meant flirting with his goofy unattractive friend, then so be it.

Tom had been around birds long enough to know when they actually liked him and when they were just after his connections. So he almost immediately knew that the German was only there to be photographed and have her name mentioned in the same blurb as Harry’s. That annoyed him a bit, but then (like he did so many times before) he decided to take advantage of the situation. If she was going to fake interest in him then so be it, but he’d make the most of it, which was why he went in for a kiss and when that was reciprocated, things escalated to a full on make out session, which in time, led to a tryst in the loo.

At the end of that, the model felt confident that she’d be able to prolong her exposure to Harry a bit longer, perhaps she’d be able to attach herself to Tom and raise her profile that way, but since Tom knew what she was after, he decided to cut things short. No one was going to use him to raise their standing. He’d had that done several times in the past, and he wasn’t the least bit keen on going through that drama again, so he turned to Harry and told him that it was time he be getting on. Tom figured Harry would stay out longer, he’d probably go back to Bridget’s, but oddly enough Harry announced he’d be leaving as well.

“What do ya mean we’re leaving?” Bridget pouted.

“We’re not leaving.” Harry clarified. “I am.”

“But –” she protested.

“Stay out as long as ya like.” Harry told her. “No one’s telling you to leave.”

“But you just said –”

“That I’m leaving.” He once more cut her off. “At no point did I say you were.”

“I thought you’d come round to mine though.” She told him. “Wasn’t that the idea? I mean we’ve not been alone in ages. Not since before I left for Prague.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So have I!’ she argued. “But whenever you’ve invited me out, I’ve always been there! Didn’t matter what I was doing or who I was with, if ya want me, I’m always there. So why haven’t you made an effort for me? It’s not right that I’m the one waiting about!”

“Bridget.” He said her name sternly.

“Don’t Bridget, me!” she exclaimed. “It’s the bloody truth!”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” she scoffed. “The truth’s never irrelevant!”

“Are you really doing this right now?” He’d had enough. “Are you actually throwing a tantrum in public? For fuck’s sakes Bridget! I’ve got to get home. I’ve a bloody event tomorrow.”

“That never stopped you before.”

“Well it is now.” Harry stood up. “I’ll give you a ring when I’ve a chance.”

“Why are you being like this?” she asked, standing alongside him. “Did I do something wrong? I apologize if I did. I didn’t mean to.”

She was looking at him with those big blue eyes, silently pleading for him to reconsider, but he couldn’t. He liked her well enough – honest he did, but ever since September, he couldn’t bring himself to be with her. He invited her out, snogged her and even got sucked off fairly regularly by her, but he didn’t shag her anymore. Try as he did, he couldn’t bring himself too. There was a barrier that kept him from doing so. He knew what it was, but didn’t dare actually admit it. To do so would’ve been pathetic. So he kept inviting her out, he kept trying to get himself into the mood, but there was always a point in the night when he looked over at her and realized just how little genuine affection he had for her. He liked her, because she was accommodating and a fantastic shag, but he didn’t love her. She was just a stand in.

“You’ve not done anything wrong.”

“Then why don’t you want to come round?” she pressed for an answer. “Ya couldn’t get enough of me before, and now . . . now ya can’t be bothered! So why are you being like this? Why are you –?” And then it suddenly dawned on her. There was only one logical explanation as to why he was acting the way he was. “Who is she?”

“What?”

“Who is she?” bellowed Bridget.

“What nonsense is this?” Harry scoffed.

“Answer the damn question!” she demanded. “Who is she? What slag are you shagging? Because you must be shagging someone! You’ve not touched me since I left for Prague!”

“That’s enough Bridget.” He was dangerously close to losing his temper. “Mind yourself, we’re in public.”

“I don’t fucking care if we’re in public!” The alcohol and her emotions had taken over. “It’s been two months since we’ve shagged, and I very much doubt you’re the sort of bloke that can go that long without a go. So who’s the slag? Who are you cheating on me with?”

“Cheating?” he repeated. “How can I be cheating on you if you’re not my girlfriend?”

“We’ve been at this for nearly a year.” Bridget’s nostrils flared in anger. “You’ve met my mates. You’ve met my family!”

“But you’ve not met mine.” Harry countered. “Haven’t you ever wondered why that is? Didn’t you wonder why I didn’t introduce you to Wills and Kate, when they were at the same bar as us? Surely you must have.”

“You said –”

“I didn’t say anything,” he told her. “You pointed out that they were there, I glanced over, smiled, and then went right back to my drink.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, determined to prove that she was in fact his girlfriend. “We’ve been traveling, you’ve invited me to galas, I’ve been to events with you – I’m your girlfriend!”

“You’re just a bird I shag.” Harry didn’t care if he came across as callous. “And I like you well enough. We have fun, you and I. But don’t make us out to be more than we actually are. We shag. That’s it.”

“Fucking wanker!” she cried out in humiliation.

And desperate to humiliate him as much as he had her, she grabbed an apple martini off the table and threw it in his face. She saw his jaw clench and his eyes flash with anger, but oddly enough, he didn’t respond. He simply walked off. He didn’t even leave in a hurry, which would’ve been the smart thing to do since everyone in the club was staring at him. They were shocked by the altercation, and there were even some that had recorded it, and who recorded him as he walked away, but regardless of that, he moved at a normal pace, as if everything was alright. It wasn’t until he was safe aboard the Range Rover that he went off.

“That’s it!” he bellowed as he punched the back of the driver’s seat. “I don’t bloody care how fit they are. I’ve had it with teenagers!”

Tom didn’t say anything. Neither did Alistair or Kamal. They all just sort of sat there in silence, giving Harry the privacy to throw his tantrum. They’d known from the start that things with Bridget would never be serious. He might’ve been with her longer than he had the others, but that didn’t mean anything – not really. It wasn’t her company or conversation that kept him around. It was the fact that he was tired of the endless one night stands, and figured that having one bird to mess about with was more efficient, but he didn’t love her. He tried to force himself to from time to time, just as he had with all the others, but love never grew. She was just a stand in that his heart refused to acknowledge. She was just some bird that he messed about with and now she wasn’t even that. He’d have to find another to pass the time with.

It wasn’t until they almost reached Tom’s flat that Harry finished his tantrum. He was a little embarrassed by it. He was a grown man, far passed the age of tantrums, but the incident had left him mortified. No one had ever thrown a drink at him in public, that sort of thing had only occurred a handful of times behind closed doors, but never in public. Now everyone would be talking about it. The damn tabloids, the entertainment programs, the blogs! They’d have eye witness accounts and shit quality video of it actually happening, and he would have to issue a statement and get told off by his Gran and father for being so foolish.

“Sorry about that back there.” Harry apologized to Tom. “If I’d known she’d act like that, I’d never have invited her out with us.”

“S’alright mate.” Tom assured. “Night wasn’t a complete disaster. That bird she brought round was fun enough.”

“Ya had a go, didn’t you?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” Tom stated. “Luckily for you, I’m no gentleman. She fucking sucked me off in the loo and then turned around so I could have a go at her.”

“Pleased to hear it, Skippy!” said Harry. “I’m pleased one of us enjoyed themselves.” He paused a moment before asking, “How were the tits on her?”

“Minimal,” replied Tom. “Although I didn’t mind to be honest, would’ve been ungrateful of me. Ya know?”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Anyways, thanks for those tits mate. Wish ya would’ve had some in your face as well, but some nights are better than others.” He patted Harry on the shoulder. “Tomorrow though, we’ll get you some lovely ones.”

“How about Friday instead?”

“Friday it is then.” Tom grinned. “And just so your odds are even better, I’ll make an earnest effort to tone down my handsomeness.”

“Always so terribly considerate,” Harry couldn’t help but smile as he spoke.

“And on that compliment, I bid you goodnight.”

“We at your flat already?” asked Harry.

“Afraid so,” replied Tom as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Thanks for the night out, mate. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow to plan out Friday. Sorry it didn’t go so well for you though.”

“It’s fine. She was on her way out anyway.”

As soon as Tom was safely inside the flat, Alistair sped off. The security details expected it to be a quiet drive back to Clarence House. After the night Harry had had, it was only right that he sulk a bit in the backseat, but he didn’t.

“I’m a fool.” He told them. “I ought to know better than to involve myself with birds that young, but I dunno . . . I suppose I can’t help it. I’m a royal bachelor; it’s my duty to shag beautiful models and socialites. If I didn’t, I’d be letting down the title.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “Don’t mind me. I’m just running at the mouth. Why don’t you turn on the radio? Tune it to BBC 4. I reckon they’ll be re-airing the drama they had earlier today.”

Alistair did tune the station to BBC4, but there was no original in house drama, there was breaking news.

“The attacker has been identified by law enforcement officials as Aden Cooper, a twenty year old Southern California native. Cooper has been charged with first-degree attempted murder by the Los Angeles District Attorney. His arraignment is scheduled for the following morning on November 3, 2016 at nine o’clock pacific standard time.” Harry listened to the news, but didn’t understand why the BBC had suspended their programming to report on it. Was it an actor that had been attacked, a singer, or perhaps some other high profile celebrity? That was the only reason he could think of, the only reason why the BBC would pay it so much importance. He paid close attention to what was said, expecting to hear that some celebrity had been hurt by a stalker, but unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case. “As of yet, there is no official word from the Balcázar campaign regarding their candidate’s current condition. We can only report that Miss Balcázar was seen entering the hospital on her own. That, of course, is according to firsthand accounts of witnesses in the emergency room area. This is a developing story, as it progresses we shall –”

Harry didn’t hear the rest. The news disoriented him, left him feeling as though the wind had been knocked right out of him. He tried to breathe – honest he did, but he was left gasping in the backseat. All he could manage were shallow breaths that made it impossible to get his breathing on track. It got so bad that Alistair had to pull over on the street and climb into the backseat.

“Sir,” he said as he unbuckled Harry’s seatbelt. “Sir, focus on the sound of my voice. Don’t mind the news. Focus on my voice.” As he spoke he undid for buttons on Harry’s shirt. “You have to breathe with me. Go on, take a deep breath. Like this. Let the air fill your lungs. Let them comfort – now, exhale. Get it all out. Doesn’t belong in there anymore, you’ve taken what you need. Now let’s take in another breath. Let’s hold it a bit longer, shall we?”

“Fuck off, Alistair!” Harry bellowed when he finally caught his breath. “I’ve no time for breathing. Not when they’ve just gone and reported that someone’s . . .” he couldn’t even say it. It physically pained him to think that someone had tried to kill her. “Where’s my mobile?” he suddenly cried out. “I need my bloody mobile!”

“Sir, I do not think it prudent that you –” Alistair began.

“My mobile!” he yelled at Alistair. “Where the fuck is it? Don’t just stand there staring at me, get me my mobile! I’ve got to check things, make sure what they’re saying is real, because it can’t be. It can’t! Why would anyone want to hurt her? She’s not done a thing! She’s only running for office is all, that’s it! And last I check that’s not reason to kill anyone.” But it was. He knew it was. He remembered Paulina telling him that Bobby Kennedy had been murdered at a campaign rally, and at that memory, his face turned deathly white. “I need my mobile.” He whispered. “Give it to me now, Alistair. Give me my mobile.”

Knowing that there was no point arguing, he pulled out the phone from his pocket. He hoped Harry was right, that it was all some elaborate hoax, something done in poor taste for reviews, because he couldn’t stomach the thought of her having been attacked. It was with that hope that he handed the phone over. He watched in silence as Harry typed her name into the Google search bar, and as Google processed the request, he prayed that she would be alright, that everything was okay, but then Harry clicked on a video, and panicked screams broke the silence.
Harry watched in horror as she was savagely attacked by the knife wielding lunatic. He saw the man yank out the blade from the back, and Harry hoped that that was it, that the police intervened and stopped it before anything further happened, but then he saw the struggle. He watched as she gripped the blade for dear life, he watched as her hands buckled under the pressure, and when he saw the knife pierce her cheek, he threw the phone away. The screams rang in his ears long after the video ended. He wanted to silence it, to forget the images that he’d seen, so he covered his ears and shut his eyes tight, hoping that’d do it, but he could still see her blood drenched dress, he could still see her face . . .

“How could anyone hurt her?” he asked with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why would anyone want to? She’s brilliant, she is! Always has been. So why? Why would some sick bastard do –?” he gritted his teeth unable to finish the thought. “Somebody give me their mobile, I’ve got to make some calls. I have to figure out what’s going on. What are you lot bloody waiting for?!” he roared. “I need a fucking mobile!”

Harry had broken his. Had he on the protective case that Alistair bought him, the phone would’ve been find, but Harry was stubborn and disliked the case, so now the phone had a cracked screen and refused to stay on longer than a few seconds, which was why Kamal had to let Harry borrow his. The security details watched in silence as Harry punched in the phone number. It was the only one he remembered by memory – the only one that hadn’t been changed since his relationship with her, but the phone rang and rang and Irmalinda didn’t answer.

“Her mum’s not answering.” He announced after the third call went to voicemail. “Who else would know? Who could we ring?”

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have all the information.” Alistair told Harry. “I only have to contact MI6.”

“That’ll take to bloody long!” Harry didn’t want to wait. He needed immediate answers.

“What of Lord Fellowes?” Kamal asked. “Surely he’s kept in touch. It’s not like him to sever ties with someone as promising as Miss Balcázar.”

“Right . . . you’re absolutely right.” Harry typed in his aunt’s number. It rang twice before she answered. “Aunt Jane?”

“Harry?” Her voice was thick, laced with sleep. “Is that you dear boy?”

“It is.” He confirmed. “And I apologize for calling so late, but it’s of the upmost importance that I speak to my uncle at this moment.”

“Did something happen?” Her eyes snapped wide open. “Harry, did something happen? Are you safe? What of your brother? What’s going on?”

“The family is quite well, I can assure you. The trouble is with Paulina.” His voice cracked as he spoke her name. “Give him the phone, please. There’s no time to waste.”

“Robert.” Lady Fellowes shook her husband. “Robert, you must wake at this instant!”

“Not morning yet . . .” he grumbled.

“Wake up, now!” she hissed. “Harry’s on the mobile. Apparently something happened to Miss Balcázar in America.”

That did it, his eyes snapped wide open.

“Give me the mobile.” He quickly took it from his wife. “This is Lord Fellowes.”

“They’ve attacked her.” Harry informed him. “At a rally in California, a man pulled out a blade and stabbed her.”

“No.” He whispered in horror.

“There’s video of it. I would not recommend watching.” His voice grew soft. “It wasn’t just a stab in the back, he slit her face.”

“Good heavens!”

“You’ve her number, don’t you?” Harry asked. “You need to give her a ring. I doubt she’ll answer, but perhaps a staffer will.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll do so immediately.” Fellowes was still processing the information. “I’ll contact you as soon as I’m done. But if you look, I could give you her contact information.”

Harry was so very tempted, but instead of accepting he said, “If she wanted me to have it, I would.”

“Very well,” said Lord Fellowes. “I shall be in touch shortly.”

Lord Fellowes placed several calls, but no one ever answered and he didn’t have the option of leaving a voicemail, the box was full. So he gave up after five minutes of incessant calling and called Harry to tell him that no one answered. Harry took the news well. He didn’t curse, simply thanked his uncle and asked that he contact him if he had any news.

“Alistair,” Harry began after he set down the phone. “Will you contact MI6 for me?”

“Already have.” Alistair replied. “Would you like to hear what they said?”

Harry nodded.

“At 3:37pm pacific standard time, she was admitted into the emergency services. From the information intelligence was able to gather, there was a deep stab wound that penetrated her scapula. It didn’t break the bone, but did scratch against it. The left side of her face sustained serious injury; she was cut all along her cheekbone.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “That is the most critical of the wounds. It completely opened the flesh, exposing the bone, and . . . it is being mended as we speak. Her hand also sustained injury. She gripped the blade when she fought him off, so that will be thoroughly cleaned and mended. There is no reason to suspect that she is in mortal peril. The injuries, as serious as they are, are not grave. And while no statement has been released by the campaign, it is expected that Miss Balcázar be admitted overnight to monitor her progress.”

Alistair waited for a response from Harry, but the prince just looked at him with tears in his eyes. The last time he had seen Harry look so broken wasn’t when Paulina had been admitted to the hospital after the accident, it was when Harry lost his mother. His look was enough to break Alistair’s heart, and for a moment, he forgot himself. He had been his constant guardian for over two decades; Harry had long stopped being his charge and had turned into some form of a son to him, which was why he had to comfort. And so he took Harry in a strong embrace and held him as he wept against his shirt.

“It’ll be alright, Harry.” His voice was soft. “She’s a fighter, she is. This won’t stop her.”

“This would’ve never happened if she’d stayed here.” Harry whispered. “If I’d only been happy about Thea, this would’ve never happened. She would’ve been safe in the cottage with our girls. She would’ve –”

“Look at me, Harry.” Alistair pulled away. “This is not your fault. Do you hear me? Her being attacked has nothing to do with you. This is that lunatics doing. Not yours. Understood? That bastard is the one that sent the blade plunging in. Her blood is on his hands. Not yours.” He paused to let it sink in. “So don’t beat yourself up over it. There was nothing to be done on your part. She’s made her life. And sometimes, American politics are gruesome, but she’s a fighter.”

“But what if something happens to her? What if she hemorrhages?”

“That’s why she’s in hospital being looked after. The doctors will keep her safe.”

“That’s no comfort though.” Harry wiped away the fallen tears. “And you know its not. After all these years, she’s still my heart. I want to guard my heart, to make sure its safe. Is that too much to ask?”

“At present, it is.” Alistair would’ve liked nothing more than to fly out to Los Angeles and stand guard at her door, but he knew it wasn’t their place. “But I’ve an idea. What say you to keeping watch all night? This is all the networks will be talking about. And I’ve a feeling we might hear from her. Would that make you feel better?”

“It would.”

“Then we’ll keep watch.”

And they did. The pair sat down in the media room at Clarence House, determined to see the night through. They had hoped that a few hours after the initial press announcement, a statement would be given by the campaign, but the hours came and went without anything. That was why an emotionally and physically exhausted Harry passed out shortly before five in the morning. Alistair was the one that kept watch, and at a quarter to seven, he woke Harry.

“Sir!” he exclaimed. “It’s Miss Balcázar. They’ve released a statement.”

Harry didn’t pay attention to the statement. It was irrelevant to him. What captured his attention was the image on the screen. The campaign hadn’t shied away from keeping Paulina hidden from view. They wanted her center stage. At least, she did. That was why she gave the order for a portrait to accompany the official statement, and that was what Harry was so fixed on. Her hair was pulled back in a messy side fishtail braid, there was a bit of visible dried blood, but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that she was looking directly into the camera with a slight smile on her face and with determination in her eyes. Despite the massive bandage on her face and her lack of makeup, she had engaged the world head on with that portrait, and when he saw it, Harry knew she’d be alright.

That image of hers put him at ease. It gave him the strength to go to his morning event and to see to his military duties in the afternoon. He wasn’t even affected by the reporters trying to get a rise out of him. He knew she was recovering safely within the hospital, there was no need to fret, no need to get flustered, but then, when he was stepping out to dinner with his mates, the inquiries changed from what he thought about the attack, to what he felt about her finally getting a boyfriend.

“What?” Harry found himself asking, baffled as to how they’d bring up a boyfriend when she was recovering from an attack.

“That Kennedy that’s always with her,” replied a reporter. “That’s her boyfriend. They’ve stepped out as a couple. What do you –?”

Fortunately for Harry, Alistair intervened. He hurried the prince into the vehicle and drove them off to restaurant where he was too meet his mates.

“Give me the mobile.” He demanded. “Kamal, you’ve my new mobile!”

“Here it is, Sir.”

“What they’re saying isn’t true.” He told them as he took possession of the phone. “I mean, he loves her. That much is true, but she doesn’t feel the same. She would never! He’s a Kennedy for fucks sake! She told me once that she could say with absolute certainty that she would never be with one of them. She said they might be great men who do amazing things, but that they all cheat and fuck around, and that she could never be with someone like them.”

He hurriedly typed in her name, hoping that they’d be wrong, but when he clicked enter, he saw a picture of her and Francis holding hands. There was even a video. His better judgment urged him not to click on it. No good would come from watching that video, but still he clicked. At first, the video focused on her face. It showed her with sunglasses, walking out alongside Francis, but then it panned out and their hand holding was visible. He expected it to just be a video, but then she talked and so did Francis, and Harry swore that he felt his heart be ripped out of his chest. It had been years since they broke up, but she’d never moved on, she’d never stepped out with anyone, so he clung to the hope that she was still in love with him, that no one else could fill his place, but there she was, with that bloody Kennedy.

“Miss Balcázar!” cried out a reporter. “Why are you holding hands with Mr. Kennedy?”

Harry hoped she would say that she needed help walking, that that was why their fingers were entwined.

“Are you romantically involved?” asked the same reporter.

Tell them you’re not, he thought. Tell them you’re not.

“What do you think?” replied Paulina, coyly.

“So he is?” asked another. “He’s your boyfriend.”

“I sure am.” Francis proudly stated. “She got herself a pretty one, didn’t she?”

And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Harry broke his phone.