There Must Be a Way

“What are you waiting for?” he asked her. “Ya said you were leaving, so leave. Go on!” With his eyes he dared her to go, but she didn’t. “Ya can’t. Can you? And you know why that is. It’s the reason why you didn’t want me looking at your face.”

Her eyes narrowed in defiance.

“You were afraid that if I saw this scar.” And he lifted his right hand to her face. He brushed his fingertips across the scar, and when she shuddered, when he saw those cheeks of hers go dangerously red, he knew he was in the clear. “I wouldn’t love you anymore. That I’d think you deformed. But you stubborn arse, you should know better than to think that. I’ll have you however it is you’ll let me. And you know this. You know how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt. So don’t pretend you don’t love me. Don’t pretend you don’t want me, because if you didn’t, you would’ve left by now.”

She had to say something, somehow convince him that he was full of shit and that the grief had him saying things that he didn’t actually mean. She had to do that or better yet, she had to make a run for it, because that would be the simplest way of ending things, but she couldn’t run and so she said the only thing she could think of.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Francis.

She hoped the thought of him would be enough to repulse Harry. That his imagination would run wild, concocting absolutely filthy thoughts that would make it impossible for him to look her in the eyes without thinking about Francis fucking her.

And she was partially successful.

Harry’s imagination did wander in that direction. How could it not? His nostrils flared at the thought of that bastard touching her, his blood boiled at the thought of him buried between her thighs, but instead of disgusting him, instead of making Harry turn away from Paulina, it beckoned him towards her. He refused to let another second go by in which Francis claimed her body, because that’s what she was getting at when she mentioned her boyfriend. She was shoving it in his face that someone else was fucking her. That someone else had taken his place. And he refused to let that go unchecked, because no one would ever take his place. Francis was nothing more than a stand in. He’d kept her entertained, but that farce had gone on long enough.

It was time for Harry to retake his rightful place.

“To hell with him!” he growled.

And he took her face between his hands and kissed her with a hunger that had been built up over eight long years. There was nothing soft about the kiss, nothing gentle. He wasn’t looking to take his time, because in truth, he didn’t know how long he had. He knew it was only a matter of time before she pushed him off and slapped him hard across the face. Hell, she might even hurl a few obscenities at him, but he was fine with that. Really, he was. He would gladly endure that abuse if it meant he got to taste her lips one more time. That was the only thing that mattered, and if it earned him a busted lip or a black eye, then so be it.

For her part, Paulina simply stood there in shock.

How had things escalated so quickly? How the fuck could he be kissing her when she had just thrown Francis in his face? The Henry that she remembered would’ve thrown a fit. He’d have gone into a jealous rage. That was, after all, what he’d done when she had dinner with the Kennedys. He accused her of plotting to run off with Francis after having had a simple meal with him. He’d been ridiculous and unreasonable, which was precisely what she had expected from him. She thought he’d look at her in disgust and then turn away, but he did the exact opposite. He refused to back down. His feelings would not be silenced.

So he kissed her, and at first, she just stood there. Her eyes went wide, her breath caught in her throat, and she genuinely thought she was going to faint, but then her heart kicked in – the part that refused to align itself with Francis, took over. It beat violently against her breastbone, urging her into action. It wasn’t content to just stand there, and it sure as hell refused to let her push Harry off.

After eight years, it needed him. It had long been silenced by her pride. It was that damn pride that kept her from living happily ever after from him. It was that pride that had cast him aside after the miscarriage, that had kept her from taking him back that night in Harvard when he showed up on her doorstep, but her heart refused to listen to her pride any longer. It had, for once, shoved the damn thing aside and for however long it was in control, it would do as it pleased.

And since that was the case, she kissed him back.

Her lips moved hungrily against his own, and her hands – oh, her hands easily found their way home. The right lost itself in his gingery hair, the left settled on his hip. Her fingers grasped his trousers, desperately clutching the black fabric, eliminating any space that might’ve existed between them. It was strange how easily they fell in together. After eight years apart, they should’ve been awkward – clumsy even, but there was nothing more natural than being together. His hands dropped from her face. There was no point in keeping that hold on it, not when she was so eagerly kissing him back. Instead his left arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her firmly against his broad chest, and his right – well, the right reclaimed its rightful place. It made its way down her body, indulgently roaming until finally settling on her bum, and when his hand finally reached her bum, he didn’t make it a point to be gentle. Harry roughly grasped it, taking hold of as much as his hand would allow. Her dress even rose a few inches from the intensity with which he grabbed her, but she didn’t protest.

On the contrary, that escalated things.

His roughness elicited a gasp, and it was then, when her lips finally parted, that they truly lost themselves. It was then that his tongue pushed inward. He was forceful, eager to reclaim what was rightfully his, and as for her, she was unable to think of anything or anyone other than Harry. The universe began and ended with him. He was all that existed. He was all that mattered, and so she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him every bit as fiercely as he did her.

And as they kissed, the years fell away and suddenly they weren’t thirty-something year olds who had ventured on very different paths, they were instead the young lovers that had taken on the world – the romantics who had genuinely believed in happily ever after.

Odd as it was, all those old memories suddenly burst forward. Their first kiss, their first shag, the holiday in Botswana, the nights in Torquay – all of that was suddenly at the forefront. Those memories sweetened the kiss, reminding them of what had been, luring them with thoughts of what could be if they only dared.

If they just kept kissing, they could have it all.

If they just kept at it, things would be as they once were.

They could have the cottage, the children.

They could grow old, live happily ever after.

And it was tempting. It was so tempting that it aided her heart in the battle it was waging amongst itself. It gave the bit that was still aligned with Harry, the ammunition that it needed to keep control.

Remember how happy you were, it argued. It could be like that again. It could be like that always.

It was a promising prospect, and it attempted to sway the rest of her, to convince her to throw caution to the wind and just give in, but it was only a matter of time before she regained her wits about her. It might’ve taken longer than she would’ve cared to admit, but Harry’s lips weren’t enough to keep her heart from thinking of Francis, because despite the love that she still felt for the gingery prince, there was no denying Francis’ place in her heart.

She had made a life with him, built a home. He was the one she sought to celebrate her victories and to mourn her defeats. And it was the thought of him, waiting for her to call, that snapped her back to reality. She pulled away from Harry, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered when he saw the fear in her eyes. “My darling . . .”

“Let go.”

“I know you’re scared. I can see it in your eyes that ya are, but don’t be, there’s no need for it.” He paused a moment before continuing. “You’re afraid of what people will think, about what the world will say, but don’t mind them – forget the bloody world!”

“It’s not the world I’m worried about.”

“Of course it is!”

“It’s Francis!” she snapped.

“To hell with him!” spat Harry, every bit as forcefully as he had earlier.

“No.” She said defiantly. “I love him!”

“You love me!” He cupped the side of her face, imploring her with his eyes to reconsider. “You know you love me.”

“What good is that?” she whispered, nostrils flaring.

“What do ya mean what good is that?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “You love me. That’s it. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” With his thumb, he gently caressed her cheek. “Despite everything, you love me every bit as I love you.”

“Henry . . .”

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

“I –”

“And mean it.”

She placed her hand atop his, stopping him from caressing her face. “I’ve made a life with him.”

“But you’ve not married him.”

“That’s hardly relevant though.” She lowered his hand from her face. “I’ve spent the last three years living with him.”

“Then why haven’t you married him?” He asked. He might not have been holding onto her any longer, but she was still glued to the same spot. “We were talking about marriage and little ones after only a year.”

“We have talked about it.”

“Then why haven’t you done it?” he pressed. “It’s because you know he’s no good, not really. Ya said it yourself. The Kennedys do amazing things, but they’re shit husbands. And you know he’ll be a shit husband. You know he won’t do right by you. To be honest, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around as long as you have. He’s bound to have cheated on you by now. Knowing his sort there’s probably some little minx he shags. Who am I kidding? It’s not just the one, Kennedys are never satisfied. He probably has –”

Harry didn’t see it coming. He was so caught up in the moment, so determined to ruin Francis’ character beyond repair that he failed to see the blinding rage in her eyes. Had he noticed that, he would’ve shut up after bringing up some little minx, but he kept on going, and before he could finish his thought, the back of Paulina’s hand collided violently against his right cheek.

The force with which he was struck caused Harry to stumble, and it was then that Paulina took off in a sprint. She bolted through the long corridors, running as quickly as her heels allowed. She didn’t dare slow down or look back. She couldn’t risk him catching up to her, not after everything that had happened. So she kept at it, she ran until she literally ran into Alistair.

“Alistair!” she cried out, breathlessly. “Where are the others?”

“Back in the kitchens, Miss,” he replied as he took in her appearance. “Are you alright?”

“I will be, but you have to help me.”

“Certainly.”

“Tell me how to get to the kitchens.”

“I can show you.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Tell me, because I need you to do something else for me.”

“Miss –”

“You said you’d help,” she reminded. “Please, help me.”

Alistair nodded.

“If you keep going straight this way,” he pointed, “You’ll come across a portrait of Her Majesty with His Majesty King George VI. There’s a door to the right of it, take that door, it’ll lead to the staff stairs, take them all the way down, at the bottom of it will be the kitchens and staff area. Now what is it you –”

Before he could finish the question, Harry’s voice rang out.

“Paulina!” he bellowed.

“He’s here.” Alistair whispered, more to himself than to her.

“You mean you didn’t know?”

He shook his head. “Her Majesty had forbidden him.”

“Wasn’t enough to keep him away though.”

“Are you truly surprised at that?”

Her cheeks colored slightly, but she said nothing.

“I take it you two got into it, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Am I then correct to assume that you wish for me to distract him long enough for you to leave?”

She nodded.

“Miss – Paulina, do you not think it might be best to actually have a conversation with him? A proper conversation? Because judging by the look of you and the sound of him, little talking was actually done.”

“I can’t,” she replied in a firm voice. “I don’t want to.”

“What a childish response.”

And once again, Harry’s voice rang out.

“Are you going to help me or not?” she asked, ignoring his jab.

He was quiet a moment before saying, “Off you go then, Miss.”

“Thank you, Alistair.”

She placed a quick kiss on his cheek before taking off in search of the portrait. Hardly a minute passed before Harry came into view. His cheeks were bright red from exercise and beads of sweat had formed along his forehead.

“Where is she?” he asked Alistair, breathlessly. “She had to come through here, I know it!”

“Indeed she did, Sir.”

“Then where is she?”

“On her way back to the hotel,” replied Alistair.

“Then get a vehicle ready.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It is not in your best interest to chase after her. Nor is it in hers.”

“Alistair,” said Harry, warningly.

“You show up at the hotel and then what? You throw a fit? Embarrass not only her, but yourself and your family?”

“That’s out of line!”

“Your father is to be buried tomorrow.” Alistair went on. “Allow him to be buried with the dignity and respect which he deserves, because if you chase after her, if you show up at that hotel, you will make a circus of his funeral. It’s bad enough as it is, what with the tabloids going on the way they are, but don’t you dare give them any ammunition.”

“But she kissed me.”

“She what?” he whispered in disbelief.

“She kissed me,” repeated Harry, a small smile dancing across his lips. “And it was a proper snog.”

“Bloody hell,” said Alistair, momentarily forgetting himself. “That’s why she was in such a state.”

Harry nodded. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Then get the vehicle.”

“This isn’t the right time though.”

“Then when?” Harry bellowed. “Because I very much doubt I’ll ever have another go at this.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s the truth.”

Alistair took in a deep breath. He wanted to support Harry. Truly, he did. He wanted to tell him that he should just show up to the hotel and demand to be let in, but as much as he wanted, he understood the fact that Harry wasn’t going to get anywhere.

“Miss Balcázar is a terribly stubborn person.”

“Damn you, Alistair! I know she’s stubborn.”

“If you know she’s stubborn, then you know that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no getting through to her. She’s left, Sir. She’s run off back to the hotel and has absolutely no intention or desire to speak to you. I tried reasoning with her. I asked her to have a proper conversation with you, to actually talk instead of bicker, but she repeatedly refused. So you can’t go after her, Sir. You shouldn’t.”

“Then what do I do? Because I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. She still loves me, Alistair. I know she does. She knows she does. That’s why she ran off the way she did! She’s just scared is all.”

“I know she loves you.” And Alistair smiled as he said that. “I could see it on her face, I could. That was why she was so keen to leave, but you can’t force her hand.”

“Then what do I do?” repeated Harry.

“You dream.” Alistair reached out, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “And once this is all done with, when the opportunity presents itself, you act.”

“What if it doesn’t though? What if this is it?”

“It’s not though,” assured Alistair. “I’ve spent years praying for you to move on, hoping that someone would catch your eye and you’d be able to get on with life, but it never happened and now I understand why that is. You and her, you’re meant to be. So give it time, Sir. Give it time.”