I've been meaning to message for a while. I'm so sorry it's taken me this long. I can't remember if I said Happy New Year. I loved the last chapters. Your writing and creativity is brilliant and I'm excited for what you have planned. I also struggle with mental health and this year has been harder with my grandmother passing away in January. I hope things get better for you and I look forward to whenever you return. Stay safe. Best wishes.
I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to read this message. Seriously: thank you.
I am so sorry you lost your grandmother, it’s so painful to know we won’t have anymore time to build new memories with them. I hope, with time, you’re able to find comfort in the memory of the moments you’ve had together.
I want you to know I think about this story all the time and I have not forgotten. I want to give it the ending you deserve and I will, I promise. Soon!
In the meantime, reading your message has been a great source of motivation. Thank you for taking the time!
I’m so sorry it took me so long to reply to this question!!!! So much has happened and then I had to reset my phone and didn’t have tumblr anymore 😭
Anyway, to answer your question: I definitely, 100%, for sure will post again! It’s in my plans to finish this story because I also read fanfics and I hate when they’re just left unfinished. So. It’s coming!
When? Well, that’s harder to say. I want to make sure when I post again I won’t ever leave you hanging again! And for that to be it might still be a while. I wanna say I’ll come back and give you the rest of the story — and it’s ending! — this year. Am I too optimistic? Maybe. But I promise I’ll try!
Just know this: I haven’t forgotten and I’m so grateful you (and anyone else reading this) is still around. ❤️
I’m sorry. Guys, I’m just sorry. I’m gonna need a break. I underestimated the issues with my laptop, but the truth is that isn’t the main issue. The truth is I’m just not doing very well, mental health-wise. I barely have enough energy to do my obligations, and writing is ending up taking a backseat, which is why I end up being late with chapters so often.
I’ve always hated reading a story and suffering through the uncertainty of when it would be updated, so I wanted to be honest and give you a direct answer to that. So, I’m gonna have to take a break from posting. I am gonna keep writing, though, as much as my mental energy allows it, and hopefully once I have the story fully finished I can come back and update every 3 days, or something, knowing that I won’t have to postpone anymore.
Once again, I am so sorry, and so, so grateful that you have decided to read this story! If you still want to know how it ends, keep an eye on this blog, and I’ll let you all know as soon as I can come back.
I feel a little better knowing I’ve left H and Marie on a good point, happy and in love and in their secret, little bubble. If you choose to come back when I do, you can look forward to their families finding out their secret, the world finding out and having opinions, the struggle of remaining Switzerland, and, of course, Marie’s title changing again, eventually. Also Adrien and his singer girlfriend and their shenanigans, and Lourdes’s journey towards podium.
In the meantime, I also wrote another Harry fic, you can read clicking here if you want, it’s already finished!
Thank you for your support, understanding, and lovely messages every chapter! I’ll work hard to give you an ending you deserve!
Hey all, my laptop broke. It’s ‘just’ the screen, so I can just buy a pc monitor but it’ll take a while. If it takes too long I can use my work monitor, but sadly I can’t write right now.
Hopefully I can update next week, the 22nd.
I’m sorry 😔 and thank you for your understanding ❤️
Hey guys! Good news: I didn't have to buy anything, turns out my mom saved my old laptop and had it fixed! Luckily I had already planned on going to visit my parents this weekend, so I got it back and now we're back in business!
Unfortunetely, because it took longer than I thought, I will have to delay the chapter one more week because I want to have time to do it justice.
I AM SORRY! And also SO grateful for your patience and understanding and for sticking with me! It means a lot!
Thank you and I promise a preview of the chapter by thursday!
Hey all, my laptop broke. It’s ‘just’ the screen, so I can just buy a pc monitor but it’ll take a while. If it takes too long I can use my work monitor, but sadly I can’t write right now.
Hopefully I can update next week, the 22nd.
I’m sorry 😔 and thank you for your understanding ❤️
‘Harder days are coming.
The loan of borrowed time
will be due on the horizon. (...)’
- Ingeborg Bachmann
The most northern village in Savoy was Valois-Narcisse, so small that it wasn’t actually reachable by any form of public transportation. Not a lot of people in Savoy even knew Valois-Narcisse by name; Bayona, on the East Coast, was the closest reference point, a beach village considered an under-rated touristic spot. Historically, Valois-Narcisse was populated by sheep and eggplant farmers, not a very sexy niche, and it was still how the village’s only export to local and regional farmer’s markets.
For the following few weeks after Ascot, every time Harry tried to talk about it, his phone corrected the name to ‘value narcissism’, so by the time I drove past the small, rusted iron sign that read its name, I couldn’t help but smile.
One of the reasons Valois-Narcisse was so abandoned was that it was mostly situated up a mountain. Not at the top of the mountain, exactly, although parts of it were. The village just stretched along the mountain, with most of its commerce and eateries, however scarce, down below, and the houses built towards the top, including a couple of small hostels and, lucky for us, one very odd Airbnb.
The houses, bridges and streets were all built of stone and wood, with wildflowers and weeds growing in between, and across the mountain, beyond the village, stood the vast, beautiful Celtic Sea. On days of low tide, locals swore they could see the outline of the Irish coast on the horizon, at least according to the description on Airbnb.
But even if that was an exaggeration, we wouldn’t have cared, because what drew Harry and I to Valois-Narcisse that weekend was how desolate and empty it was. Paparazzi wouldn’t dream of finding us there, so it was there that we scheduled our first getaway. Our first secret rendezvous. Or, as Harry kept reminding me, our first date.
We had been texting non-stop since I left his house after Ascot, about what happened, and also about all things around us, what we were doing or not, and a lot of nothing. It was over text that we made the plans to meet in Vallois-Narcisse for the first time since getting together, it was over text that we discussed the latest of the Adrien saga (he’d been seen out in a club with the singer-girlfriend and their friends), and it was over text that he informed me that since we never got to go on our date the previous year, during our weekend in Vallois-Narcisse, he was going to pull all the stops to ‘take me out’’.
“Are we going out for dinner?” I asked, in our Airbnb, while I got ready in the middle of the afternoon.
“Not really.” He replied, from the small sitting room right outside our suite. “And stop trying to guess, just get ready.”
He had refused to tell me anything about the date, claiming it was supposed to be as real as the real one would have been and in the real one, it would have been a surprise.
“It’s very hard to get ready when I don’t know what we’re doing.” I sighed. “How casual am I supposed to look?”
“Casual.” He replied, unhelpful. “Maybe wear sneakers.”
“Well, that’s one decision off my conscience.” I mumbled to myself, staring at my options laid out in the bed, my small suitcase open on the floor.
I had chosen a preppy, plaid short skirt in shades of white and blue, and I had all the tops I had brought in the bed as possible options. For shoes, I removed the flats from the lineup, and put on my white Nike’s, turning around to look at the tops again.
“Are you ready? It’s time.” Harry called from the other room.
“Just–! Just give me ten minutes!” I shouted back, nervously.
I realized how ridiculous it was. It was just a gesture – a sweet, romantic, gesture – to have a first date when we had already slept together more than once. More than twice. The previous night, for instance. It made no sense, it was just sweet. So there was no reason to be nervous, and I knew that. Rationally, I knew that.
Still, as I looked at the clothes I brought, I hated every single one. I threw the Jurassic Park tee back into the suitcase – too casual –, and looked at the Kimono top, a greenish blue shade, long, loose sleeves, a nice, laidback fit to contrast with the skirt. The other two options, a tight, square neckline, navy blue, crop top, and a loose, green, blouse with spaghetti sleeves, both matched the skirt and were casual enough, but seemed more appropriate for the weather.
“…It’s been ten minutes.” Harry’s voice came back from the other room, patiently cautious.
“Coming!”
In one panicked move, I grabbed the green, strappy blouse and put it on. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly applied some tinted sunblock to my face. I wanted to apply actual makeup, but convinced myself it was silly. He’d seen me without makeup many times already. It wasn’t a real first date, no matter how big the knot on my stomach was, so I just grabbed a pair of earrings, my every-day necklace, and sunglasses, and burst through the door in a hurry, ready to run as if we had an actual reservation, even though I was perfectly aware that no restaurant in this village town worked like that.
“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go!” I said, looking at him, who startled up from the couch and looked me up and down, appreciatively.
“Mary, wow.” He smiled, slowly, approaching me with careful steps. “You look…”
“What are you doing?!” I laughed, blushing. “You saw me five minutes ago. I look the same. I just put on a different, very casual, outfit.”
“Will you just pretend with me? Please?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “We never got to have our first date, just… let’s just pretend we’re a normal couple today.”
I shook my head, grinning. “…Fine.”
He took another step towards me and, from seemingly thin air, produced a white daisy.
I sighed. I wanted to say ‘really?’, but I bit down my sarcasm, and took my flower.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful!” I said, adding a little more emotion than necessary.
He sighed heavily, making me laugh. “Come on, ma’am, we have a date.”
“Yes, sir.”
Our Airbnb was in a secluded property at the end of a dead-end granite driveway off of the main road. Instead of taking that direction, however, we walked towards the hike trail in the opposite direction. I wanted to ask what was on the huge backpack he’d brought, but I knew he was just waiting for the opportunity to tell me it was a surprise, so I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He announced we had arrived when we reached a clearing amongst the trees. The grass and weeds were a little high, but nothing that made it impossible for us to sit down and enjoy ourselves. Especially because, as I soon discovered, Harry had a picnic blanket in his backpack. Because Harry had a whole picnic in his backpack.
“A picnic?!” I asked, excited.
“You like picnics?” He smiled, setting the blanket down.
“I love picnics!” I said, excitedly. “Don’t go to many, because… you know, outside, not very safe.”
“Yes, I do know.” He nodded, going through his bag, “Fortunately this place has enough privacy for us.”
“How did you even know to come here?”
“I googled it.” He replied, simply.
From his bag, he took out a bottle of sparkly wine and two ceramic looking plastic plates, which he sat down at opposite ends of the blanket. He then placed two linen napkins, folded, on top, with a set of cutlery over each.
“You thought this through.” I noticed.
“Of course I did.” He shrugged, removing a piece of paper from his pocket and reading it quickly. “I do have visual aids, though.”
In his bag, he also had acrylic Tupperware with a number of cheeses, which he then laid out on a wooden board. In another container, he had brought an assortment of cut veggies with a smaller cup inside, with ranch, which he remembered was my favorite. For our main course, he dramatically revealed large sandwiches from his favorite London restaurant, perfectly packaged and cut, for easier consumption. And for dessert, there were also a number of fruits and two small pots with what looked like cheesecakes.
“This is… incredible.”
He seemed the most flattered I had ever seen him.
“Thank you!” He said, folding his note quickly.
“Can I see that?”
“What? Oh, no, it’s just a little reminder of where things go–Oh–okay.”
I walked over to him and grabbed the paper before he could return it to his pocket; it was a list of instructions on how to set up the picnic, in his own handwriting. It even said ‘transfer cheese to wooden board’ and included a drawing of how to set up the napkins on top of the plates, with the cutlery on top of the napkins.
“This is… so sweet.” I gushed, watching him blush. “Where did you get this from?”
“I googled picnics.” He shrugged. “Well, first I googled first date ideas. Then saw the picnic idea and went on google street view to see if this place would be good for one. Then googled how to do a picnic.” He shrugged, grabbing the paper back and folding it. “Not a big deal.”
It was the way he blushed slightly and still made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal that he put in that much effort into giving us one afternoon where we could pretend we were a normal couple, untouched by tragedy. That’s what made my heart swoon for him.
I didn’t even have time to kiss him, though. He was so adamant to continue as if nothing was the problem that he just held my hand and sat down, pulling me with him.
“So…” He started, smiling. “So good that we are finally able to do this.”
“It is.” I agreed, amused.
“Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
“So, tell me, what is it that you do?” I laughed so loudly he reluctantly joined me.
“I’m sorry, it’s just too weird.”
“Come on!” He complained. “Like a normal first date, just go with it.”
“Okay, okay…” I sighed, still smiling. “What I do for a living… I… I am a lawyer.” He gave me an annoyed look. “What? If I’m talking to someone who doesn’t know what I do for a living, I’m not gonna tell them.”
“Fair. But be honest.”
I sighed. “Alright. I have a law degree from Harvard, which I’m really proud of, and I mostly have experience with copyright law… But I am not practicing right now.”
“Really? How so?”
I gave him an annoyed look this time. “I… I made a career change last year towards working on my… family business.”
He grinned. “How interesting.”
“Thank you. It’s been very rewarding.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice to make.”
My smile faltered slightly. “It wasn’t fully my choice… But I’m happy with it, regardless.” I added, to assuage his reaction.
He nodded, silently. After a while, he added, “Are you?”
I shifted the position of my legs under me, using the time it took to think it through.
“Yes. Yes? I think so.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t really stopped to figure that out… Not exactly a priority.”
“It should be.”
I smiled. Not knowing how to change the subject, I reached out to the platter next to me and grabbed a piece of cheese.
“This is really good.” I added.
He smiled, accepting of the change of subject.
“Alright, time for you to ask something.”
“Oh. Okay… Uhm.” I finished chewing slowly as I thought about it. “Where… are you from? Originally?”
He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m from England.”
“Oh, really? Interesting.” I said, overly impressed. “Where in England?”
“London.” He added, grinning. “I was born and raised in Central London.”
“Fancy.” I added, appreciatively, making him chuckle. “Do you like living there?”
He considered this. “…not particularly.”
I stopped chewing. “Really?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know… I mean, I liked it, yes, in that… generic, mandatory way you always feel you must like the place you are from. Like, I will defend it if I must. But… if I had a choice, would I want to spend the rest of my life there? I’m not sure I would.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Well.”
“Go on.” He said, grinning.
“Oh, I just mean… I love New York, it was one of the best experiences of my life living there for a year after law school, even if those memories are tainted with the presence of my ex… But as much as I love New York, and a lot of other places I’ve been to… coming home to Savoy is just…” I shrugged. “I don’t know, I couldn’t imagine staying away forever, you know? It’s home.”
He nodded. “I don’t know, I just don’t have that sense of attachment to England. To my family and friends, sure. But to the place? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
We were silent for a while, eating cheese and drinking wine, and pondering over the words said. Then he perked up again, cheerily, and said,
“Tell me about your family.”
I gave the sky an eye roll. “…Fine.”
“Wow. So aggressive.” He noted, chuckling.
“Shut up.” I said. “Okay. Well, I’m the oldest of three. My brother was the middle child, but he passed away last year. He was three years younger than me and we got along really well. My sister is about eleven years younger than me, so we are not as close, though we’ve gotten a lot closer recently.”
“That’s nice to hear.” He smiled.
“My mother was born in Northern Savoy, her father is French, her mother is Savoyen. My grandfather has a property management and consultancy business, and my grandmother was always a stay-at-home mother. My mother only has one sister, Aunt Katherine, who’s now taken over my grandfather’s business, though her husband, Merlin, who is a Lord, seems to be making most of the calls. That is the root of most of the disagreements between my mother and Aunt, currently.”
“Tough.” He noted.
“Aunt Katherine has two children, Camille is the eldest, she’s been married to Hamilton Costeau for a few years, he’s a hotshot nightclub owner from the capital, and they’re expecting their first child currently. Her brother, Adam, is a freelance graphic designer, he’s married to a writer named Marcia. They’re probably my most normal relatives except that they’re wild, crazy hippies.”
He laughed. “How so?”
“They had a fully vegan wedding in a bowling alley and they live in a boat.”
He almost spit out his wine laughing. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna need more information.”
“There’s not really that much more to it. To be fair, the vegan menu was actually pretty good and bowling is fun. Haven’t been bowling since, so it’s a good memory. We don’t see them a lot, because of the boat.”
“When you say boat…?”
“Not a yatch or anything like that. It’s one of those small, house boats, like in Amsterdam? Except they actually use it to sail around since they’re both freelance and can work from anywhere.”
“Honestly… that sounds great.”
“They’re cool.” I nodded. “Let’s see… on my father’s side, he has two older sisters. Marilou Bondy is in her sixties, her husband is a Vice Admiral in the navy, and they have two kids in their mid-thirties. Zaccharie, married to Amber, they have two kids who are three and five years-old. Zacc is a business manager in a shipping company, his wife has a graduate degree in Psychology, but now is a stay-at-home mom. Zacc’s sister, Heloise, is CEO of a multinational company, and her husband is a doctor. They’re by far my relatives who’ve got it together the most.”
“Sounds like it, those are some big jobs. They have kids?”
“A two year old, adorable. All my cousin’s children are. We have good genes.” He laughed. “Let me see, what else? My father’s second oldest sister, Stephanie, married a Lord of Luxembourg, uncle Ellis, so they live there. They have three kids, Josephine, Klaus, and Catarina.”
“Klaus! I know Klaus!” He said, happily, “Love Klaus. He’s fun!”
“Yes, he’s… very you.” I noted, amused. “How did you two meet, anyway?”
“Oh, he met a friend of mine during gap year, so my friend introduced us at a festival later on.”
“Of course.” I nodded. “As you know, he works for an investment firm. His youngest sister, Catarina, is twenty-three, she took a few years after school to figure it out, so she’s still finishing her degree. And the oldest, Josephine, is an interior designer, and she’s actually getting married next month, to Marius Allard, who owns a network of gyms in Luxembourg.”
“Royal wedding?” He asked.
“A small one, but yes.”
“You going?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Anyway. Then, there’s my father, the middle child, oldest brother, and they also have two youngest brothers. Or, had. Adrien’s father died many years ago of lymphoma, so now Adrien is next in line for the throne after Lourdes. You know him, so no need to go into it.”
“How is he doing in New York, by the way?” He asked, pouring us more wine. “I read he and the singer were seen partying in a boat?”
“For the fourth of July, yes.” I nodded. “My father and the advisors are… how can I say it? Pissed.” He chuckled. “Celebrating an American holiday, half naked, in a boat, with a bunch of celebrities, including his pink-haired girlfriend… they want him to come back.”
“Of course they do.”
“Adrien has a younger sister, Natalie, who’s my favorite.” I said, gushing. “She’s awesome, sweet, positive, always down for a good chat, though not big into parties or crowds–”
“So, the opposite of Adrien?”
“Yes.” I laughed. “Nat is getting her masters in Sorbonne, she studies literature and communications. Their mom, Princess Annette, has been a working royal for many years. Finally, my youngest uncle, Prince Albert, is also a working royal. He divorced his wife about five years ago, which was a huge scandal at the time, but we’ve managed to ride it out, and now everyone gets along fine. His ex-wife is even still a working royal, as well.”
“Woah.” He said, brows raised. “We could learn a thing or two from about how to handle divorce in a healthy way.”
“Agreed.” I said, teasing. “They have three kids. Maryanne is eighteen, currently serving her minimum military course post-graduation. Her brother James is sixteen, he’s in boarding school in Switzerland, and Sarah, who’s ten, attends the same boarding school as Lourdes… and that’s it. Unless you want to hear about my extended family, in which case we might be here a while.”
He nodded. While he digested the info-dump I’d just given him, I took the time to finish my wine and have some veggies and ranch.
“Question.” He said, unwrapping our sandwiches, “Why did you only mention two or three working royals?”
“My father’s oldest sisters lost their title upon marriage, and Aunt Stephanie lives in Luxembourg. Aunt Marilou and her husband do work sometimes, but that’s mostly because of her husband’s Admiral job. So, it’s mostly my father and his brothers who work for the Crown. Since Uncle James died, Adrien and his mom work, too, although he’s in New York now. His sister is still in school, so she’s excused. And that leaves uncle Albert and his ex-wife, and their kids are too young. There’s also some cousins of my father who are working royals, though they also have private careers.”
He nodded. “So that’s why you said you would have to become a working royal eventually.”
“Yep. That’s why a lot of the burden was already mine before, and also why I knew it would eventually be mine again. I just… I had hoped I’d have some time in-between.”
“Well,” he took the cheese platter and moved it to the side, leaning in closer to me. “You have time now.”
“I do, don’t I?” I smiled. “What should I do with it?”
“I have an idea.” He grinned, leaning in the rest of the way to touch his lips to mine.
His hand cupped my jaw as we kissed, my skin warm either from the sun or his touch. I put my glass down, mindlessly, not caring when I felt it fall to the grass. I slid my hand across his hair and laid back down, pulling him on top of me.
It was just one afternoon of borrowed time, but it was ours.
— ---- —
It was a cloudy summey day, not great weather for a royal wedding, but it would have to do because Princess Josephine Anne-Marie Elyse of Luxembourg was ready to become Mrs. Marius Allard.
Normally, we wouldn’t all go to a royal wedding just because we were royals, but we were family this time, so we arrived, my family and I, in Luxembourg two nights before. The rehearsal dinner went without a hitch, and so the following morning we got ready in our hotel and waited with other foreign family members for the shutles that would drive us to the church.
I had changed Harry’s contact on my phone to Hedwig – a name I took from Harry Potter – just in case someone saw me texting him, which was bound to happen as were texting so much more often. This didn’t stop my heart from nearly freezing when I received a photo from him. It was a mirror selfie showcasing him in his ceremony military uniform, black and red, with medals to his chest. The text read: ‘beautiful day for a wedding’.
I sighed; A few weeks prior to this, Harry had excitedly informed me during a late-night facetime call, that his family had assigned him to represent them to Josephine’s wedding.
“Why?!” I asked then, astonished.
“Ouch.” He said, sarcastic. “I’m great at weddings.”
“I’m not saying you’re not.” I said, rolling my eyes. “And of course I want to see you! But… my whole family is going to be there! Isn’t your father supposed to do these things? Or your uncle?”
“My father will be busy, my uncle was going to go, yes, but turns out his son has pneumonia so he’s staying put.” He shrugged. “And since I know Klaus, they figured I would be more familiar to the bride and groom than my brother.”
I was quiet, biting my lower lip nervously.
“What? This is good! I’m excited I get to see you all dolled up so soon!”
But I couldn’t get my excitement to match his – and I tried. It was just too risky, not to mention it felt like the day would be torture. To be near him again and have to pretend I didn’t want to hold his hand? Kiss his lips? Rip the clothes right off his body? It was too much.
Sighing, I went to the bathroom and discreetly took my own mirror selfie showcasing my light pink dress with a darker pink on a slit falling from my hips, and my large disc fascinator, and texted it to him.
‘It is unfair how perfect you look’, he replied. It made me smile, and I tried to hold on to that feeling as we rode to the church.
As family, we were close to the last group to arrive, so when I walked down the red carpeted entrance towards the church behind my parents, all I could think was that Harry must already be inside.
We trotted behind, stopping to salute the military battalion in formation under the country’s flag – a Luxembourg tradition. Military personnel saluted, civilians lowered their heads or curtsied. Since mandatory minimum service was still considered service, I saluted with my father, as mom and Lourdes curtsied.
Inside, we were ushered to the front of the church by a palace aide. Because of the odd number of seats, our parents and I were seated one row in front of Lourdes, who found herself sitting between, of all people, Adrien and Harry.
My parents greeted Adrien, who was there fresh from a plane from New York, and then looked at Harry, who received from then a curt nod before they turned to the front.
"How's...? Uhm?" I started, as my cousin kissed my cheeks.
"Sienna?" He asked, sighing. "Her name is Sienna."
"Right. Sienna."
"She's good. She's recording a new album." He replied.
"How... fortuitous." I nodded, as he took his seat again.
Before I sat down, Harry managed to give me a sneaky wink. I blushed, and turned to the front.
We seemed to be the last frontier between family and important guests, as next to Harry sat other royals and in front of us, were mostly empty seats that filled quickly after we arrived.
Just as the music started, Lourdes, who'd been chatting excitedly between Adrien and Harry, sighed loudly and stage-whispered,
"Ah, damn, I'll barely be able to see Josephine from here." She complained. “Margueritte’s hat is too big.”
As calm as I could, I turned to her, taking the care to make myself sound annoyed. "Do you want to trade seats?"
"Really?" She asked, "Is that allowed?"
I looked at my parents, who were already discreetly looking at us.
"Is it?" I asked.
"I believe so." My father said.
Mom leaned closer to me. "Are you sure you don't mind, chérie?"
I smiled, already getting to my feet. "It's fine. At least this way she'll be quiet."
"I heard that." Lourdes said as she passed me by.
I took her seat and crossed my legs at my ankles, holding my head high facing forward, pretending I didn't see the grin on Harry's face.
Josephine looked breathtaking; lace bodice, three quarter sleeves, flowy, tulle, ball gown skirt, hair pinned back in a low hairdo, a long veil falling down from her family’s tiara – a Luxembourg tiara –, matching diamond earrings. It was difficult to take my eyes from her, except from one thing.
Harry was touching my hand. His fingers very gently grazed mine, slowly stretching until our middle fingers were enlaced. It was such a simple gesture. Such a light touch. But so many people around who were not meant to know about us. My heart beat faster on my chest and I felt my skin warmer as I remembered all the other ways in which that hand had touched me. I risked a look at him, who stared ahead determinedly.
As the song came to a slow end, I pulled my hand from his, startled, thinking for some reason the silence would make us more visible.
The priest began to speak in a monotone, calm voice up front. By my side, Harry adjusted himself in his seat, leaving his left knee to lightly, but very deliberately, touch mine.
I bit down a grin, sighing. Thinking two could play this game, I reached for the neckline of my dress with my hand, adjusting it slightly as if to fix something, but ‘accidentally’ pulling it down sligthly. As it was V shaped, this enlarged my cleavage only slightly, especially as I crossed my arms over my lap, pulling my breasts together.
I stared ahead, ignoring Harry, but I felt his leg press harder against mine.
“Beautiful wedding, isn’t it?” I whispered to him, pointing my chest in his direction.
“Is this another catholic tradition?” He whispered very lightly leaning closer to me. I smiled, blushing.
I looked down at my lap, fiddling with the program. I had no idea where we were on it, which is why I startled again as suddenly everyone rose from their seats to sing another hymn. I followed, pulling my dress up nervously, but I did leave my arm down hoping Harry would touch my hand again.
It took him what felt like the whole song, but then he finally did. I allowed my own fingers to caress his this time, missing being able to touch him, feeling my palms sweating as the thought.
When we sat down again, and someone else started speaking, he leaned down slowly and asked, whispery:
“Truth or dare?”
I sighed dramatically, and gave him a stern look, hiding my amusement.
“Truth.” I mouthed.
He grinned, and leaned down again. “What were you thinking about during the song?”
What he was asking was, of course, ‘what were you thinking about while our hands touched secretly in the middle of this very full church?’
I leaned to him, but starting ahead, said, “About how good it felt last time you fingered me–”
He sighed, heavily, leaning away from me, adjusting his tie as if it was the most important thing in the world.
He didn’t allow me to ask it back, his eyes stared firmly and frustratingly ahead for the rest of the – very long – service.
When Josephine and Marius walked out as husband and wife, we all waited for their close families to follow and then to the aides to guide us away at the right time. Harry continued to deliberately look away from me at all times.
We were ushered back into the shuttles with the rest of the family, everyone talking excitedly about their favorite moments of the ceremony. I kept my comments to the dress, the only part I remembered in detail.
The reception was held in the palace; I didn’t see Harry again for a very long time. No one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, other than Lourdes who asked if I was mad at him because we seemed to have ‘barely spoken’.
As all the guests were in their seats, I finally found Harry in a distant table with other foreign royals who weren’t family. There were speeches, there were dances, there were entrées and champagne, and Harry’s eyes continued to find mine whenever I looked at him. Luckily, I was able to distract myself by my family grilling Adrien about his inappropriate girlfriend.
Conversation was the sound of the night in between courses when I decided to find a bathroom to re-apply my lipstick.
“If you pass by a waiter, would you ask for someone to bring me more water?” Lourdes asked as I left.
“I’m not your maid.”
“Really? It’ll cost nothing–”
“Shut up, of course I’ll do it.”
She rolled her eyes in response.
I was distracted, looking around for a waiter, when my eyes found Harry’s again. This time, too intense to look away. He put his hands in his pocket and pointedly walked out of the hall.
I sighed. It was too idiotic a choice to follow him. Yet, there I was. My feet moving of their own accord.
He walked off down the hallway, calm as can be, stopping only to ask an aide for directions. Down another hallway, he turned to the right, before confidently opening a door, turning back to lock his eyes on mine, and walk inside.
I bit my lower lip and looked around. There was a staff member walking off in the distance, but no one around other than that. I didn’t know if that would last. I walked to the door, and casually looked around one more time. No one was watching. No one around. I took in a deep breath, and walked inside.
I quickly closed the door behind me, but I had no time to notice anything else. Harry’s lips were on mine, strongly, arms framing me in place against the door. One hand turned the lock, the other traveled up and down my side, his heavy breath on my skin.
“That was not okay.” He said, voice low, anguished, against my neck. “Back there.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, innocently. “All I remember is a lovely ceremony.”
He grinned against my neck in between kisses. “Fuck you.”
"It's true.”
“You liked when I fingered you, right?” He asked, lightly biting my earlobe. “Maybe I should do it again, then.”
My whole body trembled at the thought of going back outside, pretending nothing had happened, still pulsating with his touch on me.
“…maybe you should.” I said, weakly, feeling his large hand grasp my breast. “Right here. Right now.”
“…that would be really stupid, now, wouldn’t it?” He asked, reaching down for the hem of my dress, pulling it upwards. “We wouldn’t want to be caught… what would they think?”
“It would be such a scandal.” I agreed, feeling his hands now grip my thighs, pulling me up in one quick move.
He pinned against the wall, legs around his waist, leaving me in the perfect position to feel him thrusting his hardened dick against my crotch.
He touched his forehead to mine, and grinned.
“You’re fucking torture, Your Royal Highness.”
I grinned, happily, wrapping my legs tighter around him.
“You like it.”
He smiled in response, his hands rounded my thighs to reach below in between my legs, finding a path under my wet underwear.
“I do.” He confessed, touching me like it was the very first time. “I like it a lot.”
--- ---- ---
[A/N: Well. This was a lot. LOL what do you think??? A lot of...stuff coming so I wanted to take a chapter for happiness only. Also, I promise all that family tree stuff is important. THANK YOU FOR READING AND SORRY I’M LATE! Have a grat week! Next chapter: invictus games! harry’s birthday! MM and Harry get careless... tune in to find out what happens ;) ]
“…It’s been ten minutes.” Harry’s voice came back from the other room, patiently cautious.
“Coming!”
In one panicked move, I grabbed the green, strappy blouse and put it on. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly applied some tinted sunblock to my face. I wanted to apply actual makeup, but convinced myself it was silly. He’d seen me without makeup many times already. It wasn’t a real first date, no matter how big the knot on my stomach was, so I just grabbed a pair of earrings, my every-day necklace, and sunglasses, and burst through the door in a hurry, ready to run as if we had an actual reservation, even though I was perfectly aware that no restaurant in this village town worked like that.
“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go!” I said, looking at him, who startled up from the couch and looked me up and down, appreciatively.
“Mary, wow.” He smiled, slowly, approaching me with careful steps. “You look…”
“What are you doing?!” I laughed, blushing. “You saw me five minutes ago. I look the same. I just put on a different, very casual, outfit.”
“Will you just pretend with me? Please?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “We never got to have our first date, just… let’s just pretend we’re a normal couple today.”
I shook my head, grinning. “…Fine.”
He took another step towards me and, from seemingly thin air, produced a white daisy.
I sighed. I wanted to say ‘really?’, but I bit down my sarcasm, and took my flower.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful!” I said, adding a little more emotion than necessary.
He sighed heavily, making me laugh. “Come on, ma’am, we have a date.”
‘I did think, let’s go about this slowly.
This is important. This should take
some really deep thought. We should take
small thoughtful steps.
But, bless us, we didn’t.’
-Mary Oliver
“By the way…” I added, breathlessly, as he kissed my neck, “I’m falling in love with you, too.”
I felt his hand aggressively grip my tight in response as he pulled my hip into him. He released a heavy breath on my neck and paused, leaning back slightly to look at me.
“You are?”
I smiled. “Where’s all that confidence, Your Royal Highness?”
He grinned and leaned forward grabbing my lower lip with his teeth on a gentle nip. I tightened the hold of my legs around his.
He kissed me again, this time his hands slid up to my jaw, steadying my face in place so his mouth could frame mine strongly, his tongue and mine dancing together as our hips moved as one trying to get impossibly closer.
He nibbled my lower lip again, breaking the kiss; I moaned a complaint, feeling his lips grin against my neck. His hands hovered hungrily around my back, then slid down to pull down the fabric on my waist. He leaned back, looking at my body.
"I don't know how to get you out of this thing." He complained, making me chuckle.
I pushed him back so I could jump down from the table. I gave my back to him, moving my hair to the front, pointing to the flap of fabric on my back hiding a zipper. He undid it quickly, pulling my jumpsuit down to my feet in one swift, fast move. He stayed crouched down as he did, his hands held onto my legs and he slid them up slowly, making my entire body shiver.
When they reached my hips, I felt his mouth on my ass, biting it gently as his hands slid to my crotch as he stood up again, his lips grazing my back slowly as he did. One of his hands made their way up across my stomach, touching my belly button up until the area under my breasts, as the other slid further down between my legs, over my underwear.
Breathless, I pressed my hips back into him just as his hand grabbed a firm hold over my breast; I let my head fall back on his shoulder, bringing one arm up to grab a fistful of his hair. While his other hand rubbed strongly against my cunt, over my underwear, his lips traced down my neck. The feeling of his stubble against my skin, his hands over my body in the exact way I had fantasized about so many times, it made my legs tremble, my breath weaken, my clit pulsate in anticipation.
"Fuck..." I moaned out, weakly.
"Language, Mary." He whispered, his lips on my ear.
"Fuck you." I replied, smiling, tugging on his hair.
In one fast move, his hands left my body to untie my bra; he gently spun me around to face him, now almost completely naked.
Self-conscious, I pulled him closer again, but he held my arms in place. Stepping back, he looked at me, an appreciative, seductive grin in his lips as his eyes hovered down my chest, my stomach, my hips, my legs...
"What?!" I asked, impatiently, feeling my cheeks blush as I rubbed my thighs together; every inch of my body already missing his hands.
"I just want to look at you." He said, hands running down his hair.
"This is embarrassing." I complained, shyly, crossing my arms over my chest.
He chuckled, biting his lower lip. He took a step closer, and pulled my arms down, still watching every piece of my skin.
"Why?"
"Because!" I laughed, nervously. "I'm naked! And you're watching me."
"I'm not watching you." He corrected, his hands lightly grazing my body as they found their way to my breasts. "I'm worshiping you..." His eyes found mine, serious, just as his fingers gently pinched my nipples. "The way you deserve."
His hands held onto my chest, firmly, and his thumbs started rubbing circles around my nipples, just as his mouth found mine again. He started slowly, gently, but it was exactly enough to send waves of inciting pleasure down my body. I pushed my body against his, and his leg flexed between mine. I mounted one leg over his hip, feeling his thigh under my cunt.
"This isn't fair." I complained, my arms around his neck, still covered by his shirt. It was unbuttoned, so just as he leaned back I pulled it down, and he shrugged it off to the floor.
I grabbed a hold of his muscly shoulders, sliding my hands down slowly down his torso. I leaned closer, laying a gentle kiss over his skin, covering his chest with kisses until I reached his neck. His hand grabbed a firm hold onto my hair, the other traveled lightly down my body to squeeze my hips closer to his. His hands were too big on me, nearly covering the whole of my back.
I kissed his neck allowing my hands to get to know his body; I had spent so long wondering what he would feel like under my palms, it felt exhilarating to be able to freely touch him, so I did. I touched every inch of his chest, his stomach, the curve of his hips, until my hands found his belt, which I unceremoniously undid.
"Curious?" He asked, his voice still as teasing, but now strained, lower.
I answered by letting his pants fall to the floor, reaching down to allow my hand to hover over his bulge. He bit my neck in response, a little stronger, a puff of heavy breath down my skin. I moved my hand down, gulping at the touch of him, thick, strong, hard, on my hand. He kissed my clavicle, panting. I moved my hand up, firmly; I felt him getting harder as I did, but just as I was moving my hand more firmly around him, his hands gripped my thighs again and pulled me up to the table, making me lose my reach.
His hands slid down my legs to my knees, pulling them apart slowly, around his waist, dragging me closer as he pressed his hips against mine. He reached behind me and pushed whatever was on the table to the floor, leaning down to lay me against it, his mouth trailing kisses down my neck, my clavicle, and my breasts, kissing one while one of his hands gripped the other. I squeezed my legs tighter around him, enjoying the feeling of his hardened dick against me.
His hands grabbed hold of my hips, strongly pushing them down in place.
"So impatient..." He teased.
"Shut up." I complained, weakly, trying to sit up to kiss him, but before I could his hands held onto my neck, pulling my mouth onto his, lowering me down to the table again.
I felt one of his arms slide down my body, over my stomach, reaching down below my navel and over my lace panties to hover my labia; his hand was so big it covered my whole pussy as he pressed more firmly against it.
"Is this okay?" He asked, whispery, looking up from my breasts.
I smiled in response and he pressed his middle finger down, starting to move up and down slowly, making strained moans leave me against my will.
"Good?" He asked, now sounding definitely teasing. I pulled him more firmly against me with my legs in response.
"God--" I let out, breathless, as his finger found my clit. "There--" I begged.
My back arching, my legs trembling, he reached his other hand over to hold onto my neck, lightly holding it over my throat. He moved my underwear out of the way and fingered me down, feeling just how wet I'd become.
I saw the grin taking over his lips, and pulled him up for a kiss before he could tease me about it, biting his lips mercilessly the more his fingers moved in me. I came with a spasm of pleasure with his mouth to my neck, sweating weakly.
He kissed me again, slowly. His hand between my legs continued to run all over my cunt, now delicately, as if just enjoying the feeling of it.
He leaned back, pulling my lower lip between his. "Can I taste you?"
I nodded, kissing him again, deeper now. I barely knew what he asked; I would have said yes to anything.
He reached down, pulling my panties off. He spread my legs wider, and traced down my body with his lips until they were over my labia; he kissed me slowly, from below to the top, letting his tongue get to know every nook and cranny. When he found my clit again, a moan escaped before I could stop it, it was the only sign he needed. He kept his mouth over it, his tongue circling it, first with kitty licks, then strongly while his finger reached down from below to enter me again, sliding in easily, familiar. He fastened the rhythm and waited until I was moaning breathlessly again before adding one more finger while his tongue continued to add pressure to my center, circling, sucking, until I was thrusting myself into him.
When I looked down, desperately, his eyes found mine, hungry, but I didn't feel the need to look away. I felt an overwhelming wave wash over me, taking over control of my every movement while I came with a strained, high pitched moan; his face between my shaky, weakened legs.
Panting, I fell back down on the table, eyes closed as I breathed quickly, wishing time would stop. He gave my navel one final kiss before making his way up my body. He laid his head between my breasts as his hands found mine, intertwining our fingers.
When I felt I might not fall back down again, I sat us both up slowly. I felt myself dripping over his table, and his hard cock between my legs, but his eyes were all I saw while he rested his forehead on mine.
We remained like this for longer than felt appropriate, just nuzzling our noses together as our breaths evened out together.
“Truth or dare?” He asked, eventually.
I smiled; “If I say truth, will you ask me to rate your performance?”
He chuckled, his cheeks reddening slightly. “No.”
“Okay. Truth.”
He let out a deep breath. “Did you mean it?”
For a moment I thought he was asking if I was faking it, but his expression was too serious.
“When you said you were falling in love with me.” He explained, whispery, probably finding the confusion on my face. “You know you don’t have to say it just because I did?”
I smiled, and leaned over to lay a quick kiss over his lips.
“I meant it.”
‘Falling in love’ already felt like the wrong way to put it; there was no falling to it. I was there, I fell. But it felt like too much to say it then.
He smiled, nodded, and gulped. His smile disappeared.
“What are we going to do?” He asked, softly, worried.
I heaved a sigh, and looked at the clock over his kitchen window, doing the math in my head.
“I have… two hours before I need to leave for the train station for the last train to Savoy.” I told him. “So, I guess we have two hours to figure that out.”
I traced the spiderman band aid on his cheek lightly; his arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled my off the table, mounting me to his lap.
“Okay.” He said. “We can do a lot in two hours.”
Smiling, he walked us upstairs to his room. We could maybe fit a whole universe in two hours.
--- ---- ---
I had never been touched like this: sexually, yet in a non-sexual way. Harry had his hand over my breast, caressing it lightly, innocently, but purposefully, analyzing every inch as if trying to commit it to memory.
“Does this feel good?” He asked, causally, if slightly concerned.
“Yes.” I said, smiling, eyes closed, nearly falling asleep.
He leaned closer and raised himself on his elbow to lay a quick kiss on the side of my breast. He left another over my tattoo, on my shoulder, and then nuzzled my hair with his nose as he settled back down on the pillow.
I had a little less than one hour before I had to get up and get dressed, but I didn’t want to move. My legs still felt too dangerously numb, and the feeling of his embrace behind me under the covers felt so perfect the smallest movement felt like it might destroy it.
“Truth or dare?” He asked, whispery, tracing my neck with his lips.
I smiled. “Truth.” I said, just because the idea of having to move for a dare was too much.
He raised himself on his arm again, resting his chin on his hand to look at me. “…Did–did you ever think about me?”
I looked back at him, amused. “Of course. It’s kind of what you do when falling for someone.”
“What I mean is,” he corrected himself, with an eyeroll, “did you ever think about fucking me?”
To this, I bit my lower lip and stared back at the wall. Harry leaned down, kissing my arm.
“Did you ever, you know… at night… think about what it would be like?”
His hand squeezed my breast a little tighter.
“Yes.” I confessed.
He leaned closer to whisper in my ear.
“Really?” He asked, gently biting my earlobe. “What did you think about?”
I turned to him, grinning.
“No follow up questions, Your Royal Highness.”
He smiled, sighing.
“Truth or dare?” I asked.
“Why do I feel like you just want to get back at me for this question?”
“Pick truth and find out.” I shrugged.
“Truth.”
“…did you?” I asked, simply.
He gave me a long look, still smiling, and then leaned down to touch my lips with his.
“Almost every day.” He said. “When you stayed here, every night I wanted nothing more than to just turn you around and kiss you.”
I smiled. “You were very restrained.”
“Thank you.” He said, seriously, sounding touched, making me laugh.
“You only told me to dump my boyfriend once.”
He grinned. “And I didn’t even call him a fucker like I wanted to.”
I giggled; he leaned down again, capturing my mouth with his.
“I thought about this a lot.” I confessed, just because. Touching my nose to his, I folded one leg up to rest between both of his. “I couldn’t help it. But it always made me sad.”
He touched my forehead with his lips, and stayed there.
“I don’t want this to be it.” He said, still to my forehead.
“Me neither.” I whispered.
“…how much do your parents hate me? Just, you know, ballpark?”
“They–they don’t hate you exactly.” I said, unsure. “They just hate everything you represent.”
“Well, that’s much better.” He teased, making me smile.
I leaned back, looking up at him.
“It’s not about you personally.”
“I did yell at your mother and went against them all when I let you stay here.”
I sighed. “Yeah, that–that was good at the time, but unproductive now.”
He stretched his arm back under his head and looked up at the ceiling.
“What do we do?” He asked, pensive.
I took in a deep breath and pushed myself upwards, kicking off the covers as I got up.
“Hey!” He protested. “Come back, I only have you for another hour.”
“I think better on my feet.” I explained.
I opened his wardrobe and opened a drawer.
“Can I borrow a shirt?”
“Okay, first you get out of bed, now you want to get dressed? What have I done?” He complained; I smiled, picked the first, simple, cotton shirt I could find, and put it on.
“Nevermind, you still look hot.” He sighed, almost sounding disappointed.
“Focus!” I demanded. “Let’s think. What can we do?”
He sighed, and sat up against the headboard.
“Well. What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it, what is the problem here? Why can’t we just date?”
“Well, I’m the first in line for the throne of Savoy.” I started. “You’re the fourth in line for the throne of the United Kingdom.”
“And why is that a problem?” He asked, didactic.
“Because the press needs profit, and they achieve it by writing stories about us, real or not, and one of their favorite topics to speculate about is who we will marry one day, so as soon as they know we are together, they’re going to start running every possibility about our future–”
“Exactly.” He interrupted. “The whole problem about us being together is what it could mean for the future.”
“…okay?” I nodded. “So, maybe we should talk about the–future?”
I winced; our relationship was 50 minutes old and we were talking about the future? We were doomed.
“No, wait–that’s not–I don’t mean–”
“No, I–I get it.”
“So…?”
He sighed, and sat up, running both hands up his face and through his hair.
“This is hard.”
“Just–” I started. “What if we just… focused on the present?”
He considered this. “What do you mean?”
I perked up, “Well, what if we just refuse to let this affect us? We just… we pretend we’re normal people. Normal people who just started dating and who don’t need to talk about the future yet, because it’s too soon.”
He nodded. “That sounds good… except–”
“Yes?”
“We’re not the problem.” He argued. “We can do that, sure. I’m sure we can. But, what about the press? Nobody controls them. Also, and I feel like that’s an even worse problem, what about our families? They would never buy into ‘we are focusing on the now’.”
“There’s a simple solution for that… We don’t tell them.” I shrugged. “We don’t have to. We know how they feel. Why should we invite them into our…?” I struggled against the word ‘relationship’. “Stuff?”
“Because they control our lives?”
“Good point.” I sighed.
“Also, how could we keep this from them? My neighbours are all family members and employees of my grandmother. And you literally live with your parents.”
“Yes, but!” I said, excited, kneeling onto the bed. “We live in different countries! So, we’ll only be able to see each other every other weekend, anyway, if we can get our security to keep their mouths shut, we can meet in secret.”
Silent, he thought about this as his eyes hovered around the room. I waited, tense. It felt like asking too much. I knew I was the problem, my situation was the problem. Had we started dating before Louis died, people would complain, yes, but they wouldn’t have nearly as much to say about it.
“If only we lived a century or half ago.” He said. “Then this would just be considered a ‘good match’.”
I grinned. “I know… It’s bizarre.”
When monarchies had transitioned from being only a symbol, to being a working force for the country, they had realized the need for members to help. After all, with modernization, social media and the 24 hours news cycle, there’s only so much one monarch can do. They eventually need family members to help. So, today, ‘spares’ were no longer seen as trading chips to other kingdoms. They were more needed at home, for support.
If Louis was alive, and I was still a spare myself, we would still have had a few hills to climb, but the idea of our future wouldn’t be a huge unknown: I would move to England, take Harry’s title, and sometimes visit my family. We might even be able to work for both countries.
But now, considering we even made it that far, if Harry and I were to marry, he would have to move to Savoy, which would be extremely frowned upon by his family, not only because they would be losing a valuable member of their workforce, but because they already had a history with a family member walking out for love before (Edward VIII, who then became Duke of Windsor). Not only that, the woman he walked out for was also a foreigner. The ripple effect it caused in British history was so big it was still a sensitive subject.
Crucially, the marriage laws for British royalty dictated Harry would lose his titles and place in the line of succession should he marry a catholic. Which I was.
“I forgot about that.” I groaned when Harry reminded me.
“They want to change that law, but even if they do, if we were to get married, wouldn’t the Savoy government expect me to abdicate my position in the British line of succession?”
“I…” I stuttered. “I don’t know.”
I did know. And the answer was yes, probably. But the idea would be so utterly destructive for his family I couldn’t bear to say it aloud.
“My grandfather had to, when he married my grandmother.”
“Those were different times.” I argued.
“We both know if there’s one place time doesn’t pass that fast is inside a monarchy.” He smiled, sadly.
In my family, the problem would be Savoy’s historic animosity towards England, Harry not being catholic, his polemic party past, and, of course, the risk that our future children would link us forever to Britain, meaning should some people die, it was likely that in a few years the only descendant to the Savoy throne was a British monarch.
Revolutions had started for less.
I sighed. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”
He looked at me, but averted his eyes soon after.
“…It is.”
I turned around, and sat facing the window, giving my back to him, pulling my legs up to my chest.
“Maybe we should cut our losses, then.”
He didn’t say anything. I bit my lower lip and tightened my arms around my knees, to try and stop myself from saying anything else.
I knew what he must be feeling, I knew because I used to be a spare. I knew how hard it was to be in that constant limbo of not being important enough, but not being normal, either. And if I knew dating someone would make my life even more of a public debate, I would run away screaming in the other direction.
He was falling for me, sure. But he wasn’t stupid. If we started a relationship and things went south, he would be the one to draw the short straw. Not only was he not an heir, he had a past that people would point to when trying to find the guilty party of our doom. My people would have my back in the press and pull out all the stops in order to try and save my reputation and image. His might not do the same.
“Is that what you want to do?” he asked, calmly.
I didn’t just feel guilty; I felt very mindful of the fact that on top of everything else, the fact that I outranked him was also a problem. Theoretically, he should follow my orders because my word was worth more than his; or at least, it’s how it would be for people who cared about that stuff. I didn’t think he did, but still, it felt wrong to tell him something that could affect his own choices.
To put it simply: I didn’t want to influence him into getting into something that might hurt him in the long run.
“I want…” I started, “I just want you to be happy.”
I heard him sigh, heavily, and get out of bed. I looked back to see him putting on his boxer briefs.
He scratched the back of his head with a hand, the other on his hips, and looked at me.
“I will be happy, whatever we decide. But right now I want to know what you want.”
“Well, what you want matters, too.”
“I didn’t say it didn’t, but I–”
“I asked first.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does–”
“This is not truth or dare!” He said, loudly, exasperated, making me flinch.
I avoided his eyes, self-conscious.
“I’m sorry.” He sighed, calmer.
He walked over to me, and sat by my side in bed, facing the window.
“Why can’t you just tell me what you want?” He asked, strained. “You won’t upset me. I get it, so much has happened in so little time for you.” He gulped, winping his palms on the sheets. “I don’t mean to… pressure you into anything. I understand if a serious relationship would be too much right now, we can take it slow if you want, keep it casual, you know? I don’t... I don’t need to be your boyfriend or anything.”
I shook my head, confused.
“I don’t–that’s not–You don’t have to worry about that.”
“But I do.” He insisted. “I don’t want to be one more thing you have to stress over.”
I sighed, heart aching in affection for him. I lowered my legs, and turned to the side to face him.
“Harry…” I started, smiling, “Okay. If this will work, I think we need to always be honest and open with each other… So, in honor of that…” I took in a deep breath, bracing myself. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”
I immediately felt a little juvenile for it, especially as he took a while to respond.
Then he looked at me, surprised. “Really?”
I smiled, embarrassed. “Yes!”
He smiled to the floor, blushing, and threw an arm around me to pull me closer into a tight hug, before laying back down in the bed, pulling me with him. He turned to the side to face me, touching his nose to mine, still smiling.
“You’re blushing.” I teased, whispery.
“Shut up.” I laughed. “So, you’re my girlfriend now...” He added, in a teasing voice.
I sighed, happily. “I am.”
“So stupid... What are we, in elementary school?”
“Oh, okay, if you don’t want to--” I said, getting up, but he held me down. I laughed, letting him.
“And… all the other stuff? We never got to a solution.”
I gulped, realizing he was right. I got so caught up on my own fears that I forgot to think of a solution for the actual problem, which was, of course, that it didn’t matter if we could have an actual, serious relationship, where we were responsible and considerate of the issues we faced, but just… ignored them.
“What if we just try to focus on the present?” I asked, tentative. “A serious, real relationship, but… We let them worry about it if they want. We live each day at a time. Nothing else.”
“And you think they’ll let us?” He asked. “I don’t know how your family works, but mine will need to know what I plan to do about all of those issues.”
“Then we insist. We tell them, listen, we’re Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?” He asked, amused.
“Swiss neutrality,” I started, “is one of the main principles of Switzerland's foreign policy.”
“Tell me more, counselor.” He teased.
I turned to lay on my back to better look at him, going through my brain for all the info I remembered from my political science classes so I could better defend my metaphor.
“Their policy states that Switzerland is not to be involved in armed or political conflicts between other states, but they have armed neutrality! Which means it is self-imposed, permanent, and armed.”
“Armed? I thought you said they were neutral.” He asked, sounding almost bored.
I got on my knees, but leaned down to him. “Armed neutrality means they have no alliance with either side in a war, but will defend themselves if necessary.” I smiled, throwing one leg up to straddle him. His hands slid up my thighs. “I think that should be our official policy.”
“Oh, yeah?” He asked, grinning. He thrust his hips slightly higher, adjusting himself under me. By coincidence or design, his dick was now perfectly aligned under me.
“Did you even pay attention to what I said?”
He sat up, pulling me closer by the back of my knees. I rested my hands on his shoulders.
“Yes. I like the part about defending ourselves.” He kissed the tip of my nose, lightly. “So we stay neutral to everyone else, and whatever they have to say about us, but defend ourselves if necessary.”
“And it will be.” I reminded.
“I’m in if you are.” He said. “You’re the heir. You’re the one who’ll be expected to pick a side.”
“And you’re the man.” I shrugged. “Your family will never be okay with the idea of you giving up power for a lowly woman.”
He laughed, “Well, they’ll have to learn not to underestimate you.”
I grinned, biting my lower lip. His arms wrapped around me.
“Even if we can stay neutral, our families won’t. The press won’t. They’ll pull us in different directions with all they’ve got.”
I nodded, slowly. I held my hands to his jaw, still filled with affection at the bandaid I had put in his cheek only that night.
“So we don’t tell them.”
His brows shot up in surprise. “Are you suggesting we keep our relationship a secret? Mary, do you have an invisibility cape? How come you never told me?”
“Ha-ha.”
“Seriously, there’s no way to keep something like this a secret. We take security everywhere we go. You live with your parents. Half of my family are my neighbors.”
“Okay, so, we have some kinks to figure out.” I shrugged. “But we live in different countries, so we can meet in the middle, somewhere they won’t suspect. We just need to make sure we’ve got our security on our side…” I smiled, and leaned closer to kiss him.
He allowed me to part his lips and deepen the kiss, slow, agonizingly and frustratingly slow. He groaned, his hands finding my backside, and pulled into him. Then I pulled on his lower lip, breaking the kiss.
“Truth or dare?”
He grinned, eyes still closed. “Truth.”
“Wrong, pick again.”
He laughed. “Dare?”
“…I dare you to be my secret boyfriend, Your Royal Highness.”
Still smiling, he leaned in again and kissed me.
“Done.”
If Louis was alive, and I was still a spare myself, we would still have had a few hills to climb, but the idea of our future wouldn’t be a huge unknown: I would move to England, take Harry’s title, and sometimes visit my family. We might even be able to work for both countries.
But now, considering we even made it that far, if Harry and I were to marry, he would have to move to Savoy, which would be extremely frowned upon by his family, not only because they would be losing a valuable member of their workforce, but because they already had a history with a family member walking out for love before (Edward VIII, who then became Duke of Windsor). Not only that, the woman he walked out for was also a foreigner. The ripple effect it caused in British history was so big it was still a sensitive subject.
Crucially, the marriage laws for British royalty dictated Harry would lose his titles and place in the line of succession should he marry a catholic. Which I was.
“I forgot about that.” I groaned when Harry reminded me.
“They want to change that law, but even if they do, if we were to get married, wouldn’t the Savoy government expect me to abdicate my position in the British line of succession?”
“I…” I stuttered. “I don’t know.”
I did know. And the answer was yes, probably. But the idea would be so utterly destructive for his family I couldn’t bear to say it aloud.
“My grandfather had to, when he married my grandmother.”
“Those were different times.” I argued.
“We both know if there’s one place time doesn’t pass that fast is inside a monarchy.” He smiled, sadly.
In my family, the problem would be Savoy’s historic animosity towards England, Harry not being catholic, his polemic party past, and, of course, the risk that our future children would link us forever to Britain, meaning should some people die, it was likely that in a few years the only descendant to the Savoy throne was a British monarch.
'You deserve to be fought for,
remember that’
- The Better Man Project
I prayed that it looked innocent from afar, because from where I was standing it felt very dangerous. Harry to one side, hand to his locked jaw, looking away. To the other, Christopher, hands in his pockets, eyes going from me to the ginger, brows furrowed.
Both men looked hostile, shoulders squared back, an annoyed, aggressive look on their eyes.
The silence was tense.
“Christopher?”
“Bonjour.” He greeted, spinning his hat in his hands. His hair was longer, but other than that, he looked the same.
“Wha-what are you doing here?”
“I may not be royalty, but I’m not trailer trash, either, bunny. I know people.” He said.
It was definitely the old nickname that shook me out of my shock, and brought me straight back into reality: my ex-boyfriend, almost fiancé, standing next to me in a place swimming with the upper class and the world’s press, while the man I was in love with watched.
“That’s not what I meant.” I explained, rispid.
“So this is it, huh?” He asked, coldly, looking between me and Harry, his grin, hostile.
“This is what?” I asked.
“Him.” He replied, pointing his chin at Harry in a dismissive manner. “He’s the one?”
“Chris.” I sighed, already dreading where this was going.
“May I help you?” Harry asked, his tone dripping with disgust.
“Oh, you’ve helped me plenty.” Chris replied, his tone matching Harry’s. “Helped me dodge a fucking bullet.” He added, looking at me, sarcasm all over his manner.
“Christopher, I–” I stuttered, trying to think of something to say that would end this as fast as possible.
“No need to explain, bunny, I get it. Clear as day.”
“I think it’s time for you to go, man.” Harry interrupted, stepping closer, putting himself between me and my ex.
“Yeah, go on.” Christopher said, stepping closer to Harry himself until he was staring up at him. “Really easy to play the big man after you steal someone else’s girl, isn’t it?”
“Christopher!” I interrupted, outraged, but whispery, terrified people would notice how deeply darker the energy had gotten around us. “That is not what happened.”
“I’m sure you’re so used to getting your way your whole life,” Chris added, mocking, “nothing’s out of reach for the little prince, right?”
“You’re really embarrassing yourself here, dude. I’d take my losses and go if I were you.” Harry told him, voice steady.
“Oh, but you’re not. You people couldn’t take a day in the life of a normal person, not after being coddled your whole life. But here’s the thing, buddy,” Christopher said, somehow managing to take one more step closer to Harry, “you think you can do what you want because of that little silver spoon you were born with, but never forget you might have lucked out being born at the right family, but you were born in the wrong order, my guy. At the end of the day you're too down the line to matter.”
“Chris!”
“Any room you walk into, people don't see you, they just see granny, don't they? You got nothing else. You are nothing else.”
I braced myself, took in a deep breath, and stepped closer to them. “That’s enough.”
They both ignored me.
“And I think you know that, too, don’t you? That you’re nothing?” Christopher asked. “No wonder you had to go after Maggie, conveniently right after her brother died, of course–”
I sighed, staring around, feeling useless.
“I think it’s time for you to shut up.” Harry told him, louder now.
“–how else would you make yourself feel you have anything to offer? Not work, surely, little prince is too good for that, so let’s latch on to a royal who actually lucked out and got some power now.”
“Ma’am, maybe we should go?” Joyce asked, lowly, to my ear.
I looked back. Though our staff had stayed behind when we moved to the hallway, our security had followed, as it was their job to keep an eye on us at all times, even if by far. Harry’s security, for example, were watching from a few meters behind us. They didn’t seem to notice how badly things had progressed – as both Harry and Christopher were keeping their tone very low – but they were still standing in a way to shield us from view to other people.
“Get Harry’s security.” I asked Joyce.
“I will, but you should come with.” She replied. “Wait back inside with the others while we handle this–”
“Joyce, now.” I demanded, and she hurried away.
“I think we’re done here.” Harry added, looking past him, down the hallway, and already reaching out his hand for mine.
Christopher stepped up between us, blocking his way.
“Did you try to cozy up to Louis too, before he died? You were his type.” He looked at me, now grinning, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. I leaned back. “Pity the throne isn't made of dick, right? Lou would have loved it then, right, bunny?”
Harry shoved himself back between me and Christopher. “Okay, this is over.”
Chris shoved him back one step. “Oh, is it, little prince?” He asked, laughing, humorless. “If you say, we must obey, right? God forbid you encounter someone who doesn’t bow to your every wish!”
At this, Harry’s security finally showed up.
“Sir?”
He raised a hand, stopping them in place. They didn’t approach more. I wanted to punch someone.
“You really are a fucking dick, huh?” Harry asked him. The light of anger in his eyes was the only thing that betrayed his calm.
“Shouldn’t have stolen my girlfriend if you wanted me to kiss your ass, asshole.”
At this, he shoved Harry again, but this time Harry wasted no time in returning a punch directly to Christopher’s face.
“Oh, my God.” I gasped.
A lot of things happened at the same time: Joyce pulled me back. Harry’s security officer stepped in, but wasn’t quick enough to stop Christopher from returning a punch against Harry. Next thing I know, we’re all being held back, one or two meters apart from each other, each by a security officer.
“That’s assault! I’m going to fucking sue you so hard your fucking grandchildren will be paying up!” Chris spit out, clenching a hand to his left eye.
I looked at Harry, who’s cheekbone had a small scratch; he was flexing his hand from the punch.
I stepped towards Christopher, shaking off Joyce’s hand on my arm.
“Try.” I dared him. “There’s four witnesses here who saw you shove him twice and call him names multiple times. Harry was acting in self-defense. Any court will find you guilty of inciting violence, intimidation, maybe even assault of the third degree. I don’t know what you learned in Law School, Christopher, but I think you may even serve time for that.”
“Maybe you’ll go to jail, and then you’ll be someone’s bunny.” Harry said.
Christopher attempted to lunge at him again, but Harry’s officer held him in place, and he gave up quickly enough.
“Breaking up with you was my choice, Chris.” I told him, stronger now. “If you don’t think I am able of making my own choices without another man being involved, then that’s on me for taking so long to realize how little regard you have for me.”
He rolled his eyes, scoffed, and gave Harry another dirty look. Then he shoved off Harry’s security officer’s hold on him, and took off towards the elevators.
“Jesus Christ.”
I looked back at Harry, whose face was being held in place by one of his security officers. He gently shrugged the man’s hands off.
“I’m fine.” He said.
“Harry, I am so sorry.” I said, pushing past Joyce towards him. “This is–He is–I mean.” I sighed and groaned at the same time. “I am so sorry.”
His hand gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, Mary. At all.”
“Stil, what are we going to do? You have a scratch on your cheekbone, that’s going to swell and get red, it may look like you have a black eye.”
“Relax, I can handle it.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
“Sir, we should probably leave.” His security interrupted. “We can’t be sure who witnessed this, and the longer we stay the clearer your wound will be.”
“That’s what I mean!” I said.
“Okay, I get it.” Harry sighed. “For the record, he barely touched me. It’s not that bad.”
“Her Royal Highness is correct, it’ll get worse, especially the longer you don’t ice it.” His officer added. “If we wait, they’ll have you pictured arriving normally, and leaving with scratches.”
“Scratch, one scrath!” Harry corrected. “Fine. Get Edward and secure a way out.”
Joyce approached me again. “Ma’am, we should go back inside.”
“What? No, I–”
“It’s okay.” Harry said. “It’s okay, Mary. You should go ahead, you don’t want to be associated with this.”
My heart sank with guilt. “I should be. It’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t–”
“How isn’t this my fault, Harry?! He’s my ex. This whole thing was about me!”
His secretary arrived right then, interrupting his rebuttal.
“We should leave right now.” He said. “While the race is on and fewer reporters will be expecting exits.”
Harry looked at me, longingly.
“Ma’am,” Joyce insisted, “we should join the others.”
I looked at Harry, whose eyes were still on me, feeling my heartbeat heavy in my throat.
His security officer came back.
“We’re ready to leave, sir.” He said. “We’ll take the stairs down.”
Harry continued to look at me in a desperately sad way. Finally, he sighed, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I guess I’ll see you around.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry, again.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I get it.”
I wondered, briefly, if he thought I was apologizing for something else. Maybe the thing he had just said that was still echoing in my head.
“We should really get going.” His secretary insisted.
“Fine.” Harry said, rispid, before giving me another quick smile. He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. “Take care.” He said, before being quickly escorted to the stairs by his team.
Joyce cleared her throat after they were all gone.
“We should go back, ma’am, before you’re missed.”
“Yes, thank you, Joyce. I get it.” I replied, instantly feeling guilty over my tone, but filing out quickly, without looking back.
I had a few certainties for the rest of the afternoon: one, my outfit was, apparently, a statement. I knew this because I overheard two women talking about me in the bathroom when they didn’t know I was in one of the stalls.
Two, Cadie and Auguste, and everyone else, knew nothing about what had occurred with Harry and Christopher. I even asked Joyce if my other security officer, Pierre, had seen anything, but apparently he’d been guarding the doors. And, as Joyce assured me of her silence, I didn’t have any explanations to give to anyone.
And three, I had to talk to him. There was simply no way I could go home without talking to Harry about, well, not about what had happened exactly, but definitely about what he had said. And I knew, even as I spent all the following hours thinking it over, I knew exactly why I shouldn’t talk to him. It was impossible not to know when I had been told over and over before.
And yet, there I was: outside Kensington Palace, barely a couple of hours after he had left Ascot, sitting in the car trying to decide if I should follow my heart, or if I could go back home and live with the regret.
My phone chimed once, letting me know I had a new message. It was from Cadie:
‘Guards have been informed and taken your ID. You can go in.’
I sighed. She and Auguste were in a separate car, and I had another with my two security officers. I had sent Cadie to the gate to inform them I was here and give them my passport.
‘BTW Auguste is really insisting we go home.’
I rolled my eyes to the dark and made my choice. I typed a reply for her:
‘Go home, I’ll be fast, but there’s no need for you to wait.’
I waited for her reply on the edge of my seat, wondering if whatever Auguste had to say would make me change my mind. But the reply never came. We just saw their car take off. Then Joyce and Pierre looked at me.
“Ma’am?” Joyce asked.
“Let’s go in.” I decided.
The guards let us in, and took a look at the car just to confirm we were who they had been told we were. We were then pointed in the direction of Harry’s Cottage.
When we parked in front of the cottage, I realized I wouldn’t need to knock. I felt stupid – of course security would tell him he had a visitor. So I stepped out of the car, and met him in the sidewalk. Each step closer gave me more dread.
The area around his left cheekbone was slightly swollen, and redder. The scratch was red enough that left me no doubts that it was bleeding, even if just a little.
“I’m fine.” He said as a greeting.
I shrugged. “I’m sure you are. I only came for a drink.”
He grinned, nodded, and ushered me inside.
Strangely, it felt like coming home. I walked into his house, his slightly messy house, with the jacket he’d worn today thrown over the couch, dishes still to wash in the sink, and fresh, unfolded laundry on a basket by the stairs, and I felt an immediate sense of relief. Like I could stop being proper and regal. As if now it was safe to step off of my heels and be myself.
It was a dangerous thing to feel at home with a man I wasn’t supposed to love.
“Make yourself at home.” He said, unknowingly rubbing salt to my every wound.
“Okay.” I replied, kicking off my shoes, and leaving them by the door with my handbag. “Why aren’t you icing that?”
He sighed. “It’s just a scratch, Mary.”
I quickly pulled off my hat, and the half-a-dozen bobby pins keeping it in place, and made my way to the kitchen, finding an ice tray in the fridge.
“Seriously, it’s not a big deal. I know it was scary and all, but–”
“Don’t tell me it wasn’t a big deal!” I said, knocking the tray to the sink after washing it. I looked back at him, softly as an apology of sorts for the loud tone. “It was awful. He dragged you into something that has nothing to do with you, put you in a terrible and dangerous position, not to mention being horribly rude and offensive!”
“I can handle it–” He started, but stopped himself when I groaned in response and turned back to the sink to get a handful of ice out of the tray.
“I don’t care that you can handle it. Of course you can! I can, too! That’s not the point!” I said. I found a clean kitchen towel to wrap the ice in.
Harry walked to me, and leaned against the kitchen sink.
“You’re right. It sucked.” He said. “But, can I ask you a qu–God, what–!” He complained when I touched the ice to his face.
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“It hurts!”
“Just keep the ice to it.” I insisted, holding his hand in place. “Or else it’ll stay swollen longer.”
“You’re right. It sucked.” He said. “But, can I ask you a qu–God, what–!” He complained when I touched the ice to his face.
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“It hurts!”
“Just keep the ice to it.” I insisted, taking his hand and holding it over the ice to keep it in place. “Or else it’ll stay swollen longer.”
I held my hand to his jaw, keeping his head in place, adjusting his hand holding the ice to the wound as he winced. I held my hand over his for a moment, then removed both to look at the scratch.
“We should clean it.” I said, my voice coming out softer than I had intended it. “To be safe.”
His eyes were on my lips, which they didn’t leave as he nodded, gulping.
I stepped back and grabbed his first aid kit from where I knew it was, under the sink. As I went through it, looking for gauze and, well, really just doing nothing to give myself time to breathe, he moved closer to me, leaning on his side against the counter by my side, facing me.
“I’m sorry.” I said, looking down at the box. “I’m just really angry right now and I… I don’t don’t know what to do with that, and I know it’s not your fault, of course, but it frustrates me to no end that you’re not.”
“Who says I’m not?!”
I looked at him, finally. He was closer than I had realized.
“You’re too calm to be angry.” I complained.
“I’m calm because you keep apologizing to me.” He said. “And if there’s one person here who I know did not ask for this, it’s you.”
“You didn’t, either–”
“No, I kind of did.” He said, scratching his brow with his free hand, avoiding my eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, even if you disregard the countless times I wished I could punch that guy in the face before today, I did punch him first.”
“After he said a thousand horrible things.” I countered.
“No, I think if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been kind of hoping for the chance to punch him for a long time.” He sighed. “So I wasn’t exactly eager to diffuse the situation today.”
I regarded him, silent, trying to understand what he’d just said.
“Why did–” I started, weakly; confused. “Why would you want to punch him? I mean, you know what? Nevermind.” I shrugged. “You should feel proud you saw him for who he was before I did.”
I wet a piece of gauze in the sink, and pulled him by the arm to the kitchen table, sitting him in a chair facing me.
“As sexy as it is when having you man-handle me like this,” he said, smiling charmingly, “I can tell you’re still mad.”
I touched his hand, removing it from the scratch, and dabbed the gauze over it to clean it. He winced.
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.” I teased.
“Shut up.” He grinned. “But, please, continue. You were saying I was so smart for seeing him for who he was before anyone else.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “Maybe it’s less about you being so smart, and more about me just being dumb.”
“You’re not dumb.” He said, simply.
I sighed, tapping the scratch with a dry piece of gauze now. “Well, what would you call it?”
He seemed confused. I sighed, tired.
“I’ve known Christopher for most of my life. He was my first crush, my first kiss, my first boyfriend. Hell, my only boyfriend! I was going to marry that guy! You know how serious that kind of decision is for people like us! And I was, for like, the last two years of college up until last year, I thought I was going to marry him!”
The ice was dripping on the table now, so I grabbed his hand, placed it over the gauze, and took the ice to the sink, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly on the way.
“I wasn’t just in love with him, I genuinely liked him. I thought of him as a good, cool person.” I looked back at him, “I don’t know that guy that we saw today, and I don’t believe people can change that dramatically that fast, which means he’s always been a dick, and I just didn’t see. I didn’t see it! So much so that I almost married him. How stupid is that?!”
I bit my lip, feeling my nails scratching my palms in frustration. I took in a deep breath again, and found a bandaid box in the first aid kit. I walked back over to Harry.
“And I didn’t even do anything while he went off on you like that.” I shook my head in disappointment. “I was such a coward.”
He reached out and held my hand in his. “You did nothing wrong.”
I smiled at him. “I thought we established saying that didn’t help.”
“I’ll keep saying it until it does.”
I sighed, still smiling, but still frustrated as Chris’ words swirled around my head. I removed Harry’s hand with the gauze from the scratch, taking a step closer to him so I could see it better from up close. I felt his eyes on me, and a warm puff of air as his breathing grew heavier. I avoided his eyes. It felt safer.
I grabbed the ice from him, a little more forcefully than necessary. Remembering just how absurdly offensive Chris had been, I let out a huff of anger. Harry blinked, patiently.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” I said, quickly. “It's not worth it.”
“You’re right. But you’re angry.” He insisted. Still, I was quiet. “Okay. Truth or dare?”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Not now, Harry.”
“Oh, we can refuse to play, can we?”
“…we never discussed that specific rule.”
“Okay, then pick.”
I sighed. “Truth?”
“Talk to me. What are you thinking about?”
I straightened up, allowing my bubbling anger to come to surface.
“Fine! I’m thinking about what would have happened if we hadn’t broken up. I’m thinking that that part of him would have come out eventually, and what would have set him off? Me? Our children? What would he have done? Who would he have hit if you weren’t there? And more importantly,” I heaved a heavy sigh, “how dare he accuse you of all those things?! He doesn’t know you! He doesn’t know us, or our story, and everything that happened between us! He said all of that bullshit based solely on me breaking up with him, and seeing us talking! Nothing else!”
The kitchen was silent as I breathed heavily, still holding the ice to his cheek.
“…I just need to say it.”
I looked down at him, who was staring off into the wall.
“I think I know what you’ll say, but I need to say it, anyway…” He gulped. “It’s not true. What he said. You know that, right?”
He looked up at me, tentatively. I let my hand fall from his face.
“Harry…” I started, weakly. “Of course. Of course, I know. He–Christop–Ugh!” I put–no, threw the ice down at the table, angrily. “How could I have been so blind?!”
I ran both hands through my hair in frustration, pulling it a little. I looked back at Harry, took a deep breath, and let my arms fall to my sides.
“Harry.” I started, softer, pleading, “He was projecting. He was probably trying to save face, because that’s what I accused him of doing when we broke up.”
His brows furrowed up at me. “Really?”
I sighed. “He… I don’t think he did it on purpose. I don’t think it was a big, evil plan, or anything like that… I don’t think he realizes that’s what he did. But he… He didn’t seem to care about me or our relationship until after Louis died. Like the sacrifices he would have had to make weren’t worth it unless I had a title that held actual power.”
His expression grew from confusion, to anger. “Are you literally fucking kidding me?!”
“…no. Again, I don’t think he knew that’s what he was doing… But he didn’t want to marry me until it meant he would have a bigger role within the royal family. And I said that when he proposed.”
“Wait, he proposed?!”
“Oh, man, we really need to catch up.” I joked. “In front of both our parents, and my sister.”
“I think I read something about that in the press, it seemed too ridiculous to be true.”
I smiled, humorless. “Believe me, the real thing was worse.”
“That fucking…” he mumbled. “Dick. That fucking dick.”
“Relax, it’s over.” I shrugged.
“Now I wish I had punched him harder.” He added.
I watched him for a few seconds, biting my lip, before it became too hard to stop myself from breaking into a smile.
“Well, at least you punched him.” I said, taking another step closer, standing between both his legs to ice his cheek again. “I just stood there, like an idiot.” I framed his jaw with my other hand, pulling his face slightly up so I could see the wound better.
Though my eyes were firmly in his cheek, I could feel his on me.
“I should have done more.” He complained, sounding strained. “I should have stopped him before he talked about your brother. That was way over the line.”
I bit my lip, gulping, wishing like hell I could tell him the truth about Louis’ sexuality, and about how confused I was, wondering if Chris knew something about it he had never told me.
But then, I realized. “Louis would have laughed in his face.” I told him, smiling myself. It made him smile, too.
“What do you think he would have said?” Harry asked. “If you told him about what Christopher did today.”
I considered this for a few seconds.
“He would have found the nearest bottle of booze and had us toast to the bullet I dodged.”
I was being sincere, but the minute Harry laughed, I did, too.
“And then would have spent the rest of his life asking for praise for being right about him.”
“Really?” He asked, serious. “I thought he liked him. Your whole family seems to.”
“Chris is just part of our context…” I shrugged. “But after the second time we broke up, Lou never defended him the same way the others did. He always said I deserved better.”
I took the ice from his cheek, and dried it with the clean part of the towel.
“I think it’s better.” I declared. “I think we should go with a band aid and maybe icing it a little more.”
I opened the band aid box, realizing it was all kids’ band aids. I looked at him, inquisitive.
“It’s my nephew’s.” He shrugged, blushing.
“Right.” I nodded, unconvinced, and slightly amused. I took out two, and offered it to him. “Trucks or superheroes?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
I carefully placed a spiderman band aid over his cheekbone, coming closer to make sure none of the glue was touching his scratch.
“A superhero for the hero who defended my honor today.” I teased, making him smile.
Making sure the band aid was secure in place, I caressed his cheek, and then continued to do so a little more than necessary. It was just… It was so easy to look at him like this, standing right over him, his legs around mine, his face in my hands, a perfectly innocent excuse for it all.
I allowed my thumb to travel from his cheekbone to his nose, and then down to the corner of his lips.
“I’d defend your honor anyday.” He added, whispery, his warm breath joining mine.
I didn’t remember being this close to him before, but he certainly felt close now.
“There’s something I’m wondering.” He said, still just as softly, just as carefully.
“Yes?”
“Before… you said…” He gulped, eyes going between mine and my lips, blinking rapidly. “You said he dragged me into something that had nothing to do with me.”
I nodded, slowly, hands still framind his jaw, thumb to his lower lip.
“He shouldn’t have accused you of anything.” I said. “You did nothing wrong. What happened between Christopher and I, it had nothing to do with you.”
He nodded only slightly. His eyes traveled to mine, too close now.
“So it had… nothing to do with me?” He asked. “At all?”
I bit my lower lip, closing my eyes in frustration.
“I…” I sighed. “We had a lot of problems. Problems I had been ignoring for a long time.”
When I looked back at him, he had a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips; it felt nice under my thumb. His skin was warm now, all traces of the icing gone.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He said.
Feeling way too weak for this, throwing all caution to the wind, I traced his lower lip with my thumb, my eyes following the line attentively.
“I forgot your question.” I whispered, watching as his smile grew, teasingly, into a grin.
I felt him lean forward, closer to me.
“Should I ask again?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as his nose touched mine, delicate.
With one short move, easier than it should have been, I touched my lips to his, softly. Two seconds, then gone. I pulled back, only slightly, opening my eyes to see his closed.
“Does this answer your question?”
He didn’t answer mine; one swift move and his hands pulled me by my waist to him, just as he stood up, crashing my lips into his in a fury. His arms wrapped around my waist, hands splattered on my back, up and down, as if getting to know each centimeter of me they could reach.
My hands slide down his jaw to the back of his beck, tugging at his hair, allowing my walls to come falling down as his body met every inch of mine as he kissed me strong and fast. His hands, wide and firm in my back, rubbed against my sides, but stopped at my hips, questioning.
I pulled back, leaving my forehead on his, a breathless smile on my lips.
Bringing my hands back down, I traced his lapel, finding the first button of his shirt. I undid it, and looked at him, before undoing the next one. And the next.
His lips stretched into a smile and he leaned down, tugging me closer, kissing me again, with renewed energy. His hands slid down my hips, finding my buttcheeks, and with one firm move he lifted me towards him, to sit on top of the table. I wrapped my legs around him.
“By the way,” I added, as his lips found their way to my neck, “I’m falling in love with you, too.”
--- ---- ---
[A/N: Y’all. I know I’ve dropped the ball here. I totally stopped with the previews and have been posting very late on mondays (technically tuesdays I guess), thank you SO MUCH for your patience! Being an adult sucks balls. BUT AT LEAST WE ARE FINALLY HERE! WHAT DO YOU THINK????? PLEASE LET ME KNOW. Also, what do you like? you know, seggs scene wise, full details or fade-to-black? I’m flexible. I love reading them (and writing them) but always feel super self-conscious writing them, so let me know? And thank you for reading, as always! Two last things:
1. Last week I forgot to ask, what do you think of Harry’s poem??
2. Has anyone noticed anything familiar about Adrien’s storyline in NY, dating a celebrity out of nowhere? Just wondering.
DROP ME A MESSAGE THANKS FOR READING AND FOR BEING YOU AND FOR BEING HERE HAVE A GREAT WEEK!]
Oii, como sei que você é brasileira também vou tomar a liberdade de falar em português hahaha
Só queria elogiar a sua história, ela é simplesmente MARAVILHOSA, eu amei cada capítulo, acabei virando a noite para terminar de ler hahaha
Espero ansiosa pelos próximos capítulos! Até!
AAAAAH BRASILEIRA(o?) <3
Nossa muito obrigada pela mensagem eu amei tanto ler isso!!!! A quantidade de vezes que virei a noite pra ler fics e saber que alguém fez isso pela minha é tão lindo! <3
'chaos is only understood when it is loved by the wild, not the weak’
- Zachry K. Douglas
I wondered, briefly, if my parents were as nervous as I was about that day. None of us had planned on me being back in England anytime soon, but there I was anyway. I suppose I should thank Adrien for continually attracting scandal and, therefore, needing me to distract the media from his wild American adventures.
In May, soon after my sister had returned to her previous insane schedule of ice skating training, there was a report from TMZ, of all places, that Prince Adrien of Savoy was now dating Sienna Lapa, a wannabe singer who’d come in second in X Factor a few years prior. This, we came to find out after asking Adrien what was happening, was the friend who had helped him find an apartment in New York when he decided to relocate there.
My parents and Adrien’s mother deemed it a ‘completely inappropriate choice’. Adrien’s sister, Natalie, seemed to be trying to keep an open mind -- she was and had always been her brother’s biggest defender, after all. Lourdes immediately pulled up all the videos from her X Factor journey to show anyone who’d listen, but that only made our family hate the girl more, as most of her performances involved her with too much energy and very few clothes.
“You can all be so close minded…” my sister complained, rolling her eyes, as Natalie watched the video over her shoulder with furrowed brows when she and our aunt came over for tea after the news broke.
“We’re just looking out for him.” Our cousin told her.
“So you’re on their side now?” Lourdes asked her.
Natalie shrugged, defensive. “I think if Adrien likes her, she must be nice.”
Her mother scoffed. “We all know your brother’s record with women is not stellar, chérie.”
“He dated Faye!”
“Exactly.” My father sentenced.
“Maggie, what do you think?” Natalie asked.
As they all looked at me, expectantly, I took a moment to ponder how much this had been happening lately. I had been used to speaking softly before, to remarking carefully on things, in case someone would hear me. But as the Crown Princess, my opinion mattered in more ways than I had immediately realized. It wasn’t just the press that suddenly cared about me, my family, too, seemed more invested in my thoughts. As if my verdict could make or break anything within the family just because I was bound to be queen one day.
“I… I don’t think being an artist should mean she will inevitably ruin this family.” I said.
My mother shook her head, and my Aunt sighed, but nobody disagreed.
After tea, my father asked me to stay behind as the others left, and sat me down to remind me, sternly, that being the heir – and, one day, the Monarch –, meant it was my duty to safeguard our family from anyone who, purposefully or not, my damage it.
“You think this girl will damage us?” I asked, suppressing an eyeroll. “Papa, she’s just a girl.”
“She’s American. They don’t understand monarchies.” He replied. “Not to mention she belongs to an industry that thrives on scandal and notoriety, things that do not have a place in this family.”
“We don’t even know her!” I said, smiling, amused against my better judgement.
“We know she wants fame.” He replied, seriously. “That doesn’t have a place here.”
“We don’t even know if it’s true.” I argued.
Unfortunately, it was. I texted Adrien after this conversation, and he was as frustrated as we were, but for other reasons. ‘Its so new’, he said, ‘we just wanted to enjoy each other before inviting the whole world into it and now here we are’.
According to him, it ‘just happened’. They’d been friends for a long time, she was really supportive after his breakup and helped him adapt to New York. He moved into the same building she lives in, and they started spending more time together; before they knew it, it was more than friendship.
He also made clear he knew perfectly well how unsuitable the relationship was: ‘she’s been trying to establish her music career for a long time, so her future lies in America’, he said. ‘She also has pink hair and a lot of tattoos… can you even imagine her in mass with the rest of the family?’
I could not.
The world couldn’t, either. Press and public alike had a lot of opinions on this relationship, which became everything anyone could talk about. It wasn’t just me that gained notoriety with Louis’ death, Adrien did, too, and, with him, any girl he could one day turn into a princess.
And that was the main reason I was sent to England. An invitation for Royal Ascot was issued every year to our family, we tended not to go simply because it was far and we had other commitments. But we needed to change the conversation, so if it took putting me under a hat and in the same picture as the British royals, so be it.
I could see my parents’ tension about this plan in the way they exchanged silent glances while we talked it through, but they didn’t voice any of it. Of course, they couldn’t. Not if they wanted me to do as I was told. So, they didn’t mention Harry, and I didn’t bring him up, either.
Regardless of this, he was very much in my thoughts essentially 100% of the time, even before the Ascot plan was born. All I had to do was just keep that to myself and, if my parents did the same, we could hopefully hold onto the lie that the issue was over.
So, on that day in mid-June, I took the train early with Cadie and Auguste and my security, headed to England, with a fancy outfit safely packed away in a weekend bag, which I changed into before we arrived.
I was wearing a salmon pink, wide-legged jumpsuit that my mother had deemed ‘too modern’, with my hair styled in vintage waves under a flowery disc fascinator.
The Royal Ascot races were a society event, with the actual races taking a backseat to… pretty much everything else: the fashion, the high profile guests, the arrival of the queen and royal family later on… honestly, it was everything but horses.
As a guest, I didn’t arrive with the other royals in a very much televised carriage ride into the main front lawn, and I was glad to be able to skip it, hoping I might be able to go straight to the viewing area, free of press. Unfortunately, that was the opposite of the goal.
So, even though I arrived privately, I was then escorted to the entry lawn for socializing before the race started. Though Cadie didn’t seem to think it was necessary – which I tended to agree with –, Auguste made sure to find me a pin with my name on it, a must-wear for every guest no matter how high ranked.
“A drink would be actually helpful.” I told them.
“Not until the enclosure, I’m afraid.” Cadie replied.
Auguste leaned in closer. “Though my colleague may have a different view, ma’am, I feel being seen with alcohol might not be the best course of action for what we’re here to do.”
“Boss.” Cadie whispered his way, rispid. “I’m your boss, Mr. Authier. Not colleague.”
“Is it appropriate to discuss that at this time, boss?”
I sighed, walking further away from them and into the crowded, sun soaked lawn. One thing I hadn’t grown used to yet was the looks. Every step taken through a public area, particularly one with such a high concentration of high class people, was the target of laser focused glances from almost anyone around. I was forced to develop the ability of confidently aiming my eyes at something abstract, so I was seen as being busy, but didn’t accidentally lock eyes with anyone. It was a perfect recipe for disaster. Which is why I should have expected it.
I didn’t bump into him, that kind of thing didn’t happen at highly planned events like this, especially when you had a large entourage of people with you whose job it was to make sure you went to the right place at the right time to meet the right people. It was more accurate to say our eyes bumped into each other.
There I was, walking slowly through the crowd, avoiding one pair of eyes after the other. First using the far away stands as a distraction point. Then using the awkwardly placed decorative flowers as a distraction point. Which led to using the one very weird hat as a distraction point, as its owner was standing right next to it. But then the hat was so weird I had to see the face of the person wearing it, but she was already looking at me, so I felt awkward and looked away as quickly as possible and, in my hurry, didn’t think too much about it, so instead of a safe distraction point, my eyes found… Harry.
“Ma’am,” Cadie leaned closer, “shall we go greet the president of the Ascot association?”
“What? I–” I stuttered, barely able to take my eyes off of Harry. “Sure.”
Heaving a sigh, I allowed myself to be walked around to meet the people it was important for me to meet, doing what I had been doing every day since the last time I had seen him: smiling politely, making smart, appropriate conversation, representing an entire country. All things that were painful reminders of what kept us apart.
I woke up early, I worked hard every day to hold myself accountable to my new role, keeping busy the best I could, but every night when I closed my eyes to sleep, it was his eyes that I saw. It was his voice saying ‘don’t marry him’, the tap of his hand on mine above his heart as he told me ‘it’s yours’, and every time I thought about it my whole body shivered with joy and I wanted to cry of frustration, sadness and anger that I couldn’t just embrace something that was meant to just be a happy thing.
“Yes, my parents were so sad they couldn’t make it.” I told a trustee of the event, sustaining a neutral smile as though my entire body wasn’t shaking.
Sometimes, hypocritically, I wondered why Harry hadn’t reached out, either. I knew, rationally, that it was better that he didn’t, but he had made a point of saying he didn’t have to listen to his advisors when they told him to stay away from me, but he had. Whenever I started to feel sad about this, I reminded myself it was better this way. Safer. Healthier. Then I googled him to make sure he wasn’t dating anyone new, ‘just in case.’
But now there he was, in Ascot. Because of course of the five days of this event we would both go to the same one, believing differently was something only my parents did to help them sleep at night. On my end, I knew it was going to be this way.
It’s like I was fated to always run into him after weeks or months of absence, just to remind my heart of what it was leaving behind. Destined to try and forget him just to see him again, the man I could see, but not feel. Love, but not have. At arm's length, but worlds away.
As I turned away from the U.N. Ambassador, assuring him I would transmit his best wishes to my parents, I startled.
“Harry.”
He startled, too; looked me up and down, closed his eyes in frustration, and sighed.
“Damn, Mary, really?” He asked, sounding tired.
“Wh-what?!” I asked, nervously, drying my sweaty palms in the pants of my jumpsuit. I’d been nervous all day they were a choice too ‘out there’.
“Where do you find the audacity to look this beautiful?!” He asked, seriously.
It took me maybe two seconds to understand this flattery, and that he wasn’t actually criticizing my fashion choices, and when I did I was washed by such a deep wave of relief I was almost angry.
“Seriously?!” I slapped my handbag playfully against his arms, rolling my eyes, and turned away to walk into the building, leaving him as well as my team to catch up.
“What?! It was a compliment!” He said, hurrying after me, suppressing a chuckle.
I was smiling in spite of myself. “Maybe, but your tone was very misleading.”
He smiled. “I apologize about my tone, Mary. May I try again?” I blinked, slowly, grinning now, and he went on. “You look beautiful.”
His second attempt was all that it shouldn’t have been: intense, yearning, full of a double meaning only we seemed to hear.
Bashfully, I gulped. “Thank you… I wish I could say the same.”
“Ouch?” He laughed, taking a step back.
“It’s not your fault, coats and tails is just not flattering on anyone.”
“Well, that’s it.” He took off his hat and immediately started unbuttoning his vest.
“What are you doing?” I asked, laughing.
“I will go naked before I let you see me in something unflattering.”
I took one step closer and stopped his hands with mine.
“Oh, my God.” I said, looking around. “Stop!”
The main building was guests only, no press, so we were pretty safe there. But there were still guests around.
“What? You started it.” He chuckled but, at least for now, stopped undressing himself.
Someone behind him cleared his throat.
“Sir, you should probably button up before we go upstairs.”
Harry nodded, serious. “Of course. Thank you, Edward.”
He subtly buttoned his shirt while I looked around; some people had their eyes on us, but nothing too out of ordinary.
“My secretary.” He explained. “Trying to keep me from trouble is literally his job, so I try to listen to him sometimes, throw him a bone, you know how it is.”
“I hope you pay him enough.” I told him, teasing. “Sounds like an impossible mission.”
“Touché.” Harry giggled, the sight making my stomach flutter.
We exchanged a long look, the whisper of our smiles still holding on to our lips dreamily.
“So, how have you been?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Good. Well. Merci.” I nodded. “You?”
“Awful, thanks for asking.” He smiled, so it was tough to know if he meant it or not.
“Oh?”
“Nothing that we can fix, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Should I escort you upstairs?”
“Oh. Uhm. Sure.”
He led the way to the elevators, our team right behind us. With our security, we crowded one elevator with no room for anyone else. Though this was a pretty safe environment, I didn’t feel safe enough to inquire about what he meant.
“So, how’s Lourdes?” He asked, upbeat.
“Pretty good.” I said, nodding. “She’s skating again.”
“Nice!” He broke into such a huge smile it was hard not to smile as well. “I want to see her skating, do you have any videos?”
“More than I need.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll–”
I was about to say I’d send him some, when I stopped myself.
“You have her number, right? You should ask her, trust me, she’ll be delighted. She loves showing her routines to people.”
He nodded, “I will.”
Though it was a very big building, the elevator stopped on every floor, where both our security alerted people it was crowded before the doors closed again. We were headed to the last, highest floor, the Royal Enclosure, which was the best viewing point for the races. It was also highly exclusive and invite only, and a person could online invite someone else after attending for four years. Divorcées weren’t even allowed in until 1955.
So the elevator ride took a long minute, which may be what gave me the courage to surrender and lean in closer to him to ask:
“Truth or dare?”
He smiled to the ground, biting his lower lip, but leaned in to me as well and whispered, “Dare.”
Smiling in return, only slightly annoyed I’d have to wait to ask why he said he’d been ‘awful’, I went through my head for a good dare idea.
“Let’s see….”
“May I remind you we are in a very public, heavily press-present event?” He whispered, still close.
“Sounds like something you should have thought of before choosing dare.” I shrugged, whispering back. “Okay… get someone in this elevator to slap you.”
He leaned back. “What?!”
“Go on.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mary… I–” He sighed, looking around. His eyes paused on every person present, my staff, his staff, the security… and then it paused on the tall, slender man who he had referred to as his secretary before. “Hey, Edward, I need a favor.”
“Yes, sir?” The man replied, while I suppressed a giggle.
“Slap me.”
The whole group looked at them for a moment, before looking away, pretending not to be overhearing.
“S-sir?”
“It’s not a big deal, just slap me. It doesn’t need to be strong.” Harry insisted.
“Sir, I–I don’t understand!”
“It’s a long story,” Harry lied, “I’ll explain later, but I need you to slap me now. Go on, I promise I won’t mind.”
I bit my lip strongly to stop myself from laughing. Edward looked truly concerned, and Harry sounded increasingly more desperate.
“Harry, no!” Edward said, shaking his head.
The elevator stopped in place with a melodic ‘ding’, and Harry sighed as the others filed out before us – Edward leading the way.
“Any chance you’ll slap me?” He asked, making me laugh.
“Ask me again later.” I said, walking out.
“But then I’ll have already lost.” He lamented.
“Well, then you’ll have to live with the defeat.”
He groaned, following me to a table of drinks and appetizers. There were no cameras in this enclosure, and no one else I had to be formally introduced to. As I didn’t know anyone else, this left me free to grab a drink and something to eat.
Harry, however, waved a quick hello to a handful of people as soon as we walked into the room, but continued to follow me.
“Okay, rematch.” He started. “Give me another dare, I must redeem my honor.”
“God, men… it must be so exhausting feeling you have to prove yourself constantly.”
He grinned. “We both know you’re judging me for not doing a dare. Go on, give me another one.”
I giggled, and sighed. “Alright, remember you insisted… I dare you to…” I thought about it deeply, looking around.
There was a couple of girls a few meters away looking at us – more particularly, at him – with jealousy and desire in their eyes. I smiled in spite of myself, feeling oddly powerful.
“To improvise a poem.”
He looked so confused it made me smile again.
“A poem? Like, like poetry?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Take your time.”
As I took a sip of my sparkling wine, he put his hands in his pockets, looking around. I could see his mouth silently moving as he talked quietly with himself. It was an amusing sight, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how handsome he looked deep in thought like this.
“Okay.” He nodded, seriously, approaching.
He removed his hat, brushed his hair to the side with his hand and stood unnervingly close to me.
“You're a vision in pink, I might need a drink…” He risked a look at me, but his cheeks were reddening, so he looked away again. “And I might pass out, if you gave me a wink…”
I tried to suppress a giggle, as I thought any sudden movements might dissuade him from this dare.
“Every day I remember, when the leaves were ember… In blue, you breezed through… your skin, warm and tender, In all of your splendor…” he looked at me again, still pink in the cheeks, but with renowned intensity in his eyes, “Waking up with me, your legs between my knees. I woke up desperate to please, and tease, with ease…”
His eyes locked on mine, intense, he recovered his color just as I felt my cheeks heaten up. He said each word slowly now, over-enunciating double meaning into each syllable.
“And squeeze, your hills, give you chills, thrills, until… Your daisy became daffodils… Asleep and awake, three days of bliss, give and take… Slow, sweet, fast or rough. Forever wouldn't be enough.”
His eyes hovered over my face, slowly lowering towards my lips, pausing there for the longest minute as I felt breathless. To the silence, I realized it was over, and struggled to think of something teasing, light-hearted enough to say to this. How to hide the way his voice – his words – made me feel?
I bit down an embarrassed grin thinking of his words. Walking in wearing blue when the leaves were ember? That was when we met last fall. Waking up with my legs between his knees? When I ran away to his home and we slept in the same bed. ‘Squeeze your hills, give you thrills, slow, fast, or rough, forever wouldn’t be enough’? That, that was… an alternate reality that felt the more tempting the more he continued to look at me.
“I don’t want to break the moment, because I feel there’s a moment here… but that was really good, right?” He asked, sounding honestly shocked.
It made me laugh out loud.
“Oh, my God, did I… write that?” He added, looking around, seemingly astonished with himself. “Did I maybe hear this somewhere? Did I accidentally plagiarized someone?”
Laughing, I held on to his arm to steady myself.
“Honestly, it was very good.” I managed to say.
“I know! It was incredible!”
“I mean, it started just okay… but it got… really interesting in the end.”
“Interesting?! I think I’m a poetry miracle!”
I laughed again; throwing my head back, I had to hold on to my hat so it stayed in place.
“I need a pen and paper to write that all down before I forget it!” he added, patting his pockets.
“Oh, my God, shut up.” I begged, still laughing.
“Alright, alright…” He smiled. “My turn. Truth or dare?”
I sighed, “Dare.”
He grinned, surprised. “Oh, wow. Okay… I dare you to…” He considered it for a few seconds, looking around the room.
Silently, he grabbed my half-drank wine glass and moved to the drinks. He picked a bottle of whisky, and poured some into my glass.
“Hey!” I protested.
He did the same with the scotch, the vodka, the mango liquor, and every other bottle in the table until my glass was almost full to the brim.
“I dare you.” He said, handing me the glass.
“Are you s–? This is so unoriginal.”
“Just drink it.” He grinned.
I smelled the contents of the glass, which smelled oddly of citric coca cola, and took a quick sip.
“Oh, my God.” I complained, trying to remind myself not to yell in disgust.
“You can do better, come on.”
“No, I think this is enough.”
“What? You drank nothing!”
“Yes, but you never said I had to drink a lot, just that I had to drink.” I shrugged.
He closed his eyes, and smiled, annoyed. “Wow. Such a lawyer.”
I laughed. “My turn.”
“Fine. Truth.” He said, rolling his eyes.
I gulped, placed the disgusting concoction in my glass back on the table, but kept the smile in my lips as I asked, “Why did you say you were awful before?”
His smile faltered.
“Oh. You know…” He shrugged, nonchalant.
“No, Harry… I don’t.” I said, softly.
He avoided my eyes, but his lips sustained a humorless, emotionless smile.
He took in a long breath, and looked at me.
“Do you maybe have another question?”
“What? No. Harry…” I shook my head, confused. “That’s the question.”
He sighed. “It’s just work.”
“Work?”
“Yes, Marie. Work. I have a lot to do to get Invictus ready for September…”
“Okay. Is that all it is? Because your tone says differently.”
Still smiling coldly, he looked around, and brushed a hand through his hair, nervously.
“Speaking of work, how’s your work?” He asked. “Is royal work as an heir any different?”
“Harry.” I insisted, seriously, now feeling my heart beating increasingly heavier in my chest.
Finally, something snapped. He bit his lip, avoiding my eyes, then closed his eyes, muttered ‘hallway’, and walked off without affording me a second glance.
Chilled to the bone, I waited a couple of seconds before following him out, strategically avoiding Cadie and Auguste’s worried glances from nearby.
We walked out of the enclosure to the elevator hallway. It was emptier now than when we had come in, but still had a couple of people in it. So Harry passed them towards other doors, where it was emptier.
He stopped by a window, hands in his pocket, and heaved a sigh, brows creased, eyes pained. My heart ached just to watch him.
“Look, I–” He started, avoiding my eyes still. “I…” He laughed, humorless still.
“Harry,” I tried, softly, “you’re worrying me.”
He closed his eyes, painfully. After a couple of seconds he opened them and stared right into mine. When our blues connected, I felt again that old chill down my spine; that feeling of being seen for all I was, that chill of knowing there was a lot being said, even if we weren’t speaking.
“Work is hard, yes, but–” He licked his lips, pausing. “I can handle it. What makes it harder, though, is that I can’t go very long without thinking about you.”
I gulped. “W-what?”
He smiled, a little more honestly now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mary. I know that sucks to hear. I just…” He sighed, heavily, and took a step closer to me. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Feeling my stomach do a cartwheel inside, I gulped. “I… W-what?!”
His smile grew now, amused.
“I look around my house, and all I can think is I miss having you there. I miss waking up with you, cooking with you, talking with you all day long...”
He took another step closer, now in a way where his smell was all I could breathe; still the same citric L'Occitane smell I could never forget.
“I think about you every time I open my bathroom cabinet and see the toothbrush you forgot.” He shrugged. “It’s pathetic. And even now as I say it, I know it’s pointless. I know just looking at you that it’s a lost cause. And it’s not your fault, even if sometimes I wish it were. It might be easier if I had a reason to be angry at you… But you didn’t ask for this. Neither did I. I just…” he shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I sighed, breathless. “Harry. I…”
“I know.” He nodded, staring at the ground. “I understand better than most. You have a duty. You have rules to follow and a huge number of people around ready to remind you why this would be a terrible idea, and I get it. I have the same. Lower stakes, maybe, but I do, and I hate it.”
He smiled, in a sad, desperate way; eyes full of yearning as they looked at me.
“The truth is I think about that kiss every day.” He whispered, gently. “The truth is I think about that date we never had every day, and about everything that could have been different… The truth…” He sighed, longingly. “The truth is I think I’m falling in love with you.”
My mind was both completely blank and going a thousand miles an hour. I felt my hands… shaken. My legs felt weak. I thought of Louis’ funeral again, of trying to kiss him at the worst of times, of how much it hurt when he pulled away, of when he told he didn’t want to be something I might regret.
I remembered sleeping with Chris right after, getting back together with him without even realizing it. Of the proposal and the yelling and the months of headlines about it.
If my brother was still here, Harry and I might have been just a complicated, unique love story. But he wasn’t, and because of that everything was such a mess. I was such a mess.
And yet, here he was: loving me anyway. In spite of it all. What was the universe thinking?
“Maggie?”
My fragile, already shaken up heart went cold. I looked back to find…
“Christopher?
--- ---- ---
Royal Ascot Outfit
[A/N: I know what you’re thinking, ‘how dare you not post for 2 weeks and then leave us with a cliff hanger????’. Guys, I’m SORRY! In my defence, 2020 was a hell of a year, I had to move, the holidays were a lot, I had a guest over, and I GOT A DOG! So...........a lot has happened! But things should calm down now, so I promise to try my hardest so this doesnt happen again! Spoilers: the story is going into its next phase! Secret-relationship-angst kind of next phase. But anyway, enough about me... how have YOU been? Tell me all about it, oh and also your thoughts on the chapter? hopes for the next ones? notes? criticisms? I’ll take it all! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND STICKING WITH ME AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE! PS: Lola, my fur child, is a 2 years old rescue, loves munching ice and guilting me into petting her instead of writing/working. I also accidentally scard her out of going to the bathroom where shes supposed to so now I’m slowly moving a pet-mat through the apartment back there. Tips? LOVE YOU HAVE A GOOD WEEK! BYE!
PS 2: I PROMISE I’LL COMPRISE ALL THE CHAPTERS INTO A MASTERPOST LIKE ONE OF YOU ASKED ME TO, I JUST NEED TO FIND THE TIME BUT I WILL! Thanks for the suggestion <3 ]
I’m so grateful you chose to read this story this year, and I’m so excited to share the upcoming chapters with you! I’m sorry, but due to the New Years (and me hosting someone at my house), I’ll be unable to post this week, but I promise Chapter 26 will be here next monday, January 11th!
Guys, I have to level with you: It's so hard writing with a guest over. I'm sorry! ALSO I ADOPTED A DOG THIS WEEK! Her name is Lola and she's the bestest girl and I love her so much and I AM SORRY!!!!!! I *PROMISE* the update will come this week, specially because my guest leaves tomorrow lol please don't give up on us =(
May I offer you a pic of Lola as a consolation prize?
I love her so much. AGAIN THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE!!!!!! Spoiler alert: next chapter is a pretty big one, I promise to make the wait worth it! =)
I’m so grateful you chose to read this story this year, and I’m so excited to share the upcoming chapters with you! I’m sorry, but due to the New Years (and me hosting someone at my house), I’ll be unable to post this week, but I promise Chapter 26 will be here next monday, January 11th!
‘my soul
chose yours
and a soul
doesn't just
forget that’
- b. m.
Lourdes showed up right then. We stepped away from each other, startled, struggling to look like we weren’t caught doing something wrong.
Lourdes didn’t seem to notice.
“There you are!” She smiled. “Finally made it out?”
I looked down, shyly. “Yes. I was just about to go back in.”
“What? Why? Let’s get out of here before someone comes to find you to do more work.”
I smiled. “Lou, I have to work.”
She rolled her eyes, and looked at Harry. “This used to be our favorite holiday. We don’t live here, but the Palace is full of little secret places. We should take Harry on a tour.”
“I’d love that.” He said. “Palaces are fun when I don’t have to live in them.”
Lourdes laughed. “Where should we start?”
“Again, I–I have to work.”
Lourdes gave me an exasperated look. “Stop, the day is basically over.”
“You know there’s a black tie dinner tonight, right?”
She sighed. “Tonight! Hours away! Besides, if they really need you, they’ll come find you.”
“I don’t know…”
“Harry, some help?” She grinned at him. “You want Maggie to come, right?”
He looked at me, and sighed, longingly. “Always.”
There was no going back after that.
I grabbed my shoes and ran towards the opposite end of the hallway, away from the reception hall.
“Fine, but let’s run before someone catches us.”
We took the staff’s passageways to avoid being seen while we made our way. Unlike the rest of the Palace, they were mostly all old cement and industrial lights, with wooden or backsplash floors that needed fixing. Places that weren’t seen by the people who ‘mattered’, only used by servants to stay out of the family’s way or make their way faster through the palace.
The spiral, stone steps were steep upwards to the Clock tower. We climbed it slowly, out of breath from the long walk. The Clock tower wasn’t meant as a place to be visited; as we explained to Harry, though the Clock was now a hugely popular touristic attraction, it was created to be functional, and the tower where it was situated merely a place for maintenance.
Therefore, it was simple. A round room of barely even wooden floorboards and high top ceilings. Clean, but empty. Across from the door we walked through was the clock; it’s lowest end was below the floor we were on, and it’s highest point out of reach even to Harry in all his height.
“I don’t know why but I pictured it a lot smaller.” Harry noted, leaning on the railing separating the room from the clock itself.
Standing by his side, I pointed down to the river below.
“Perfect view.”
He smiled. “Can they see us?” He asked, reasonably, noticing the public gathering to watch the boat parade and the separate stand for the press.
“Nice.” He knocked his shoulder on mine, lightly, making inexplicably blush.
“Shall we?”, Lourdes asked, kicking off her flats.
“Lourdes, we have a perfectly good view from here.”
She ignored me, instead sneaking below the railing to edge herself forward, holding one of the metal bars securing the clock in place to pull herself up. She quickly climbed the railing and stepped forward.
“What–woah–” Harry stepped back as my sister climbed up onto the clock.
The old clock had several metal structures securing it in place, as well as all the other important and ornamental parts. The pointers, for example, were held together by two metal bars shaped like an X, which had a smaller circle inside connected to the engines. The X and the circle, my siblings and I had found as children, formed an almost perfect climbing hole.
“Come on!” Lourdes called, impatient. “What are you guys waiting for?”
“Is that… allowed?” Harry asked, almost whispery.
I gave him a cheeky grin. “Are you really afraid of breaking the rules? You, of all people?”
“Fair. But, you know, I’m a guest here. I already kidnapped their princesses, I don’t want to give your family more reason to hate me.”
“Are you chickening out?!”, Lourdes called, already climbing into the top part of the circle.
“We’re fine here.” I told her, who then made chicken sounds at us.
“I expected that from Harry, British and all, but you’re Savoyen, Maggie. You’re made of stronger stuff!”
“Lou–”
“Okay, that’s it.” Harry said, peeling off his coat and suit jacket, starting to fold his long sleeves past his elbows.
“I–” I stuttered, remembering to look away from his arms, “You–you don’t have to, you’ll get dirty from the dust.”
Lourdes made chicken noises again.
Harry sighed. “You understand.”
Before I could say no, he threw one over the railing, where he sat and pulled himself up, standing on top of it, starting to look around at the metal bars to try and figure out where he should go next.
“Lourdes, if he falls, I’ll tell Papa it’s your fault.”
She shrugged. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Harry laughed, loosened his tie, and climbed up.
“Are you coming?” He asked, looking at me, a joyful smile in his lips.
“She can’t…” Lourdes mocked, in a sing-song voice, “She’ll be queen one day! What will the church say?!”
“I am wearing a dress, Lourdes-Abigail!” I complained, as Harry laughed, amused.
“You do every year, yet I can’t help but notice this is the only year you seem to be struggling with that.”
I sighed, knowing I couldn’t tell her it wasn’t about my title, but about not wanting Harry to see me losing all composure in order to climb into a clock like a child.
But… Harry was there, too. And it was very fun. So I undid my belt and removed my overcoat, placing it along Harry’s in the railing, to the side, leaving my shoes near it, too. Now wearing my short-sleeved, simple black dress, I sat on the railings facing the door and turned to the clock, one leg at a time, trying to maintain some sort of etiquette.
The hard part came with getting to my feet, for which I had to raise one leg first. If I did it on the other side, I wouldn’t have the metal bars to pull myself up; if I did it on this side, I would essentially showcase my underwear. This wasn’t a problem I had had when it was just my siblings with me.
Harry was watching me, uncertain, trying to figure out a way to help.
I sighed. “Would you look away, please?”
“What?”
I sighed, blushing. “I am wearing a dress.”
“Oh.” It was now his turn to blush slightly, turning to face the river. “Of course.”
I pulled myself up swiftly, only almost slipping in the railings because of my stockings. Then, I took the small step into the bottom part of the metal circle, where, inexplicably, Harry still was. Because it was a circle, and I was wearing stockings, though I had tried to step to the side of him, as to keep my distance, I slid slightly and almost fell, but Harry was quick to wrap his arms around me.
“Oops, there you go.” He said, as we chuckled, as if his arms around me didn’t send shivers through my whole body.
“You need to keep climbing, we can’t both stay here.” I said, enjoying the proximity more than I should.
“Okay, but I don’t know how!” He explained, exasperated.
“There, that side. Use the bar to pull yourself up and hoister your body into the next arm of the X.” I explained as he loosed his hold on me to turn around and do as I said, but as he was wearing socks, he, too, slid back into place. Now it was my arms around his muscled back.
We laughed.
“I’ll just stay here.” He said.
“At what age should I expect to become so completely physically useless?” Lourdes complained from above us.
“Good God, she’s brutal.” Harry whispered, with an amused laugh.
“It’s the teenage hormones.” I explained, smiling. “She’ll grow out of it.”
“I heard that.” Lourdes said. “And just because you said it, I’ll make it a point to become even worse as I grow up.”
“Why don’t you help?” I asked her, laughing; “We can’t all be junior athletes.”
Sighing, she leaned down and offered Harry a hand. “Come on, I’ll pull you up, but you have to use your legs.” She said. “And it’s ex-athlete.”
Harry held her hand and took an impulse to hoister himself up to the next section of the X.
After he had settled in place, he heaved a long sigh, and asked: “Why ex?”
“I haven’t skated since last year.” She explained.
“You can always go back.”
“It’s not how it works… You don’t recover that much time away… besides, my trainer’s contract is about to run out. When it does, he’ll move on and train someone else.”
After I had climbed up into the opposite section to Harry, I looked at him. We shared a look of worry over this, but, much like me, he also seemed lost as to what to do.
“Oh, it’s starting!” Lourdes exclaimed.
We followed her finger to see a large vessel of the Navy making its way down across the river. On top of it, soldiers lined up perfectly, saluting.
Ship after ship, bigger, smaller, weirdly shaped, with cannons, old and new, made their way through the river, some shooting empty cannon balls up to the sky to the cheering crowds. Some holding bands in perfect formation playing our national anthem.
“So,” I started, after we’d been in silence for a while, “how much better is our Clock to your London Eye?”
Harry grinned. “I will not dignify that question.”
“Because you know it’s so much better?” Lourdes asked.
“Because the answer should be obvious.” He replied, amused.
“Because you know it’s so much better.” She affirmed, confident.
“No!” He protested, making us laugh.
Another ship went by, this one releasing a show of fireworks. We stayed silent, listening to the thunderous sound.
“Louis found this place.” Lourdes said. “Do you remember, Maggie?”
I smiled at the river. “Oui… A lifetime ago.”
After the last ship had passed by to the sound of excited applause by the cheering crowds, we all released tired sighs almost at the same time, and remained silent for a minute just appreciating the movement of the people below.
“They’ll be looking for us.” Harry said, eventually.
“Yeah.” I agreed.
No one moved.
“You should come back.” Lourdes said, to Harry. “Some time when there’s no big event, just to visit. That way we have more time to show you around. And you should come to Callois, or Haydell! Those are the best Palaces.”
He was smiling at her. “Well, I’d be happy to come back. It sounds fun. It… it might be hard to justify it without a proper reason.”
“Can’t the reason be you were invited?”
He looked pensive. “I… I guess it can?”
“Well, then you’re invited. Isn’t he, Maggie?”
They looked at me. I felt a knot of… not anxiety, something lighter in my stomach.
I smiled at Harry. “I… We’d love to have you.”
He smiled, softly, at that.
Lourdes looked back down at the river, listing all the things in Callois and Haydell she wanted to show Harry, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. They were full of yearning and heavy with the weight of all that wasn’t being said – it was hard to look away. It made me want to cry.
“Hello?!”
I shook my head, looking at my sister. “What?”
She sighed, annoyed. “I asked… how much money do you have on you right now, Harry?”
He seemed confused, as I’m sure I did. “Uh. I don’t know?”
“Will you give me all of it if I can hop off from up here without using my hands or arms at all?”
“Lourdes-Abigail…” I started.
“Mind your business, Maggie.” She interrupted. “You’re not allowed an opinion as you have insider knowledge on this matter.”
I sighed. Harry just seemed even more confused.
“No hands or arms?” He asked.
“Surely, you’re not considering this.”
“How much money?” She asked again.
Grinning now, he picked his wallet from his back pocket and went through it.
“Uhm… sixty pounds.”
“Not euros? Ugh, fine. It’ll do. Do we have a deal?”
“Well, I’m very intrigued, so yes.”
Perched up on the upper arch of the metal circle, Lourdes turned to the side and started to slide down, arms crossed in her chest. When she reached the first arm of the X, she used the metal connection to the wall to slide around it, and sit again on the circle on the other side. From there, she pressed her feet against the wall using it to keep her steady against the metal of the circle as she slid down, the circle now to her back, quickly reaching the lower leg of the X. From there, she was able to take a bit step onto the railing and jump down to the ground, turning around to us and throwing her arms in the air, to then slowly curtsey in victory.
Harry and I chuckled, amused. Harry slow clapped. He leaned down and handed her the money.
“Well earned.”
“Thank you.” She took another curtsey, smug.
“What was that, the ballet, gymnastics, or the skating training?”
She shrugged, counting the money. “All of it combined, I guess.”
“Impressive.” Harry said, giving me a quick look before going on. “Why are you quitting, again? That much talent shouldn’t go to waste.”
She sighed. “I just… I don’t know, I don’t like it as much anymore.”
“You haven’t skated since last year, you said so yourself.” I reminded her. “Maybe you just don’t remember how much you like it.”
“Whatever, it’s done.” She shrugged. “Ivan’s contract is about to expire anyway.”
“Hey, Mary.” Harry called. For a moment, my heart skipped a beat to him using the old ‘nickname’.
“Yes?”
“Didn’t you say you always wanted to get proper skating lessons?”
I stared at him, confused.
“I… did?” I said, trying to pass the question as an answer. Lourdes was looking at me, brows raised.
“You did?” She asked. “You hate ice skating.”
“No, I don’t.” I dismissed. “I just… I don’t love it, because I’m not great at it. But, maybe if I had lessons…”
Lourdes scoffed, mocking, but looked away to put her money in her pocket.
I exchanged a quick look with Harry, who shrugged, nodding excitedly. It wasn’t a… bad plan. It was just an unusual one. But, maybe it was time for desperate measures.
We heard steps on the stairs, and all looked at the door, expectantly, as if being caught mid-mischief which, in a way, we had been.
From it emerged Auguste, breathless.
“Ma’am.” He sighed. “The–the King–he… he needs you to–”, he paused, wheezing. “Guests are leaving.”
“Oh, right.” I nodded. “We have to say goodbye?”
He nodded. “And Princess Maryanne was looking for you, ma’am.” He added to Lourdes.
“Oh, thanks.” She said, before looking at us. “I’ll go see her. See you downstairs?”
“Sure.” She left. I looked at Auguste. “Okay, I’ll be right down, Auguste. Merci.”
He nodded again, breathless, looking at Harry.
“I’ll wait for you, ma’am.”
“No need.” I assured him. “I’ll meet you back at the reception hall.”
He nodded one more time, and bowed, before leaving.
We waited until the sound of his footsteps on the stairs had faded. Then I tentatively looked at Harry, already saddened at having to leave. He was looking around at the room.
“This is a cool place.” He said.
“It is, I like it, too.”
We continued to just hang from the clock, seemingly trying to forget about the obligations knocking at our doors.
“We should–” I started, and he cleared his throat, nodding.
Carefully, we made our way down from the clock. Harry first, then me. He offered his hand to help me down from the railing, which I took. It didn’t stop me from slipping in my stockings again, though, and he had to step quickly closer to catch me in his arms just in time.
The problem was, now his arms were tight around me, our bodies glued together, my feet barely touching the floor. His warmth and mine were one, his breath and mine were one, and nothing else in the world existed.
“I miss you.” He said, suddenly. So suddenly I looked at him for a long time, speechless, convincing myself I hadn’t imagined it. But he was looking beyond me, awkwardly.
I didn’t know how to respond, at least not while his arms were keeping my standing, at least not while my insides felt like they were burning.
“I wanted to text you.” I confessed, softly. “But I guess I felt… guilty.”
I watched his eyes slowly reach mine again, hovering every inch of my face on their way.
“I guess I still do.” I said.
He nodded, slowly. “So you… you regret it? The… kiss?”
“No.” I shook my head, quickly. “Not one bit.”
We smiled, and I felt as thought my skin was burning.
“You?” I asked.
Slowly, he touched his forehead to mine. “Impossible.”
An infinity later, or maybe half a second, just as the distance between us was growing smaller, the door opened again.
We were so startled I must have jumped three steps back. I don’t know how much she saw, but something told me there was not a chance that my mother wouldn’t be absolutely livid, regardless.
“Marie-Margueritte.” She called, even-toned, calm to a chilling degree. “You have neglected your work long enough today.”
“I was just going downstairs.” I explained, avoiding her eyes, rushing towards my overcoat and shoes.
“You shouldn’t have left at all.” She added. “You have a duty.”
“It’s my fault, ma’am.” Harry told her. “I told the princesses how beautiful the Palace was and they wanted to show me more of it. They are wonderful hostesses.”
I sighed, knowing that wouldn’t help. I put on my coat quickly, and my shoes, and walked towards my mother, who was still seething looking at Harry, now putting on his blazer.
I could almost see it behind her eyes: the enraging need to tell Harry off for the way he spoke to her in Kensington Palace, and probably also for keeping me away from the reception.
I held her hand. “Shall we go, Maman?”
She sighed. Wordlessly, she turned around and pulled me with her by the hand.
“Keep up, Your Royal Highness, you wouldn’t want to get lost.” She said, without looking back.
It was a long way back downstairs in total and utter silence. My mother didn’t let go of my hand until we were inside the reception hall, and she followed me until I was standing with my father in place to say our goodbye to our guests.
I wanted to find a moment to talk to Harry again, before he had to leave. But there was no moment.
Next thing I knew, he was standing in front of us, saying his formal goodbyes, gently kissing my knuckles, and walking away.
— ---- —
It was hard to fall asleep that night, thinking about him, about his arms around me, about what might have happened if my mother hadn’t arrived until it was already sunny out.
A few hours later, I stumbled down for breakfast only half-awake, glad that I had no work, hoping to get back into bed as fast as possible.
Unfortunately, while my mother and sister discussed her upcoming school commitments, I remembered the plan Harry and I had silently hatched the day before.
“Maman,” I started, “What is going on with Lourdes’ trainer? Is he still available?”
My parents exchanged a look. “Just for a few more weeks, unless your sister changes her mind.”
“I’m not.” Lourdes said.
My father folded his newspaper, and looked at her.
“You know, Mr. Federova has phoned frequently to inquire about you, Lourdes.” He said. “He thinks it would be a tremendous waste to let go of your years of hard work.”
“I said I don’t want to skate.” She repeated, more forcefully.
“Well, anyway.” I interrupted, cheery. “I was thinking, since he’s paid for the season and not working, that I might take some lessons.”
“Lessons?” My mother asked, confused.
“Ice skating lessons.”
Lourdes laughed. My father looked at me, slightly concerned. My mother merely nodded and said, “alright, I’ll call him and let him know to expect you.”
“Are we–?” my father started, clearing his throat, “are we sure that’s a good idea? Margueritte is… well–”
“Well?” I asked.
“A disaster.” Lourdes volunteered.
“Excuse me?”
“I just mean, you have many talents, dear,” my father intervened, “but coordination is, well, not one of the bigger ones.”
“Excus– I’m very! I–” I struggled, livid. “I’m very… sportsy!”
“Wow.” Lourdes sighed, sarcastic.
“Shut up. I’m good with– feet– sports! I can play! I play p–polo and stuff! Tennis!”
She shook her head. “Not to mention your talent for words.”
“Shut up! Mom?!”
Mom was grinning ever so slightly as she drank her tea.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” My father replied.
“I’ll be fine! You’ll see, I bet I’ll be great at it!”
“Maggie, you can’t be serious…”
I looked at my sister, confidently. “Why do you care? You’re not using him.”
“He’s a former Olympian! He can’t teach you the basics, it’s insulting!”
“I can ice skate, it won’t be the basics!”
“Please.”
“You wanna bet?”
She didn’t. But I kept up the charade, amping up my enthusism more than I actually felt it. Eventually, a few days later, when it was time to leave for my first lesson, Lourdes announced she was coming too.
“Ivan is a highly awarded, accomplished ice skating champion. If he’ll be subjected to teaching you how to stand on your own legs just because he’s been paid through the season, at least I should apologize in person.”
“…I can stand on my own legs.” I said, rolling my eyes.
Ivan Federova looked… scary. He wasn’t tall, or big in any way, it was like he had somehow maintained the same body he’d had when he won Olympic gold three times back to back in his late teenage years. Now he was in his fifties and didn’t seem to be capable of smiling… or personal contact. He’d made little effort to learn either French or English, but it wasn’t usually a problem, as he didn’t talk much.
Lourdes was mostly quiet on the way to the rink. Over the years, my family had signed rental deals with three ice rinks around Savoy. One was close to Lourdes’ school, where she practiced every day after classes under the supervision of her security and trainer. The other was closer to Haydell Castle. As Corsilla was a small town, the nearest rink was a half an hour drive away, in Grauville. The last one, where we were going today, was close to Callois Palace, where my parents resided full time, for practice during weekends or school holidays. Ivan’s contract stipulated he practiced with Lourdes in whatever rink was easier for her depending on the time of the year.
Upon running into Ivan in the empty rink, Lourdes launched into an apology and explanation of her decision to quit, very professional in all of her thirteen years-old. Ivan cut her off after around five minutes of this, looking at me instead and saying, in a gruff, heavily Russian-accented voice, “I train you now?”
“Yes.” I said, stepping forward, schooling my features into enthusiasm instead of fear, “I’m very much looking forward to it. I may not have much experience, but what I lack in-”
“Stretch.”
“What?”
“Stretch!” he gestures to my whole body.
“Go stretch.” Lourdes explained, looking appalled that I had to ask. “Your legs specially.”
I ran to the sidelines of the ice, and, unsure of where to begin, started doing the leg stretches I usually did at the gym.
Ivan had me put on my old, barely ever used pair of skates, said something in a mixture of Russian and French, of which I understood only a part about having to break them in, and then told me to do laps around the rink so he could see ‘my form’, which was, of course, a disgrace. He sighed heavily after I finished a slow, wombly lap, and stepped into the ice himself to teach me how to skate more confidently.
Lourdes, who out of principle hadn’t brought her skates, watched from the bleachers. When she first attempted to yell out advice, Ivan shouted, “No help from public, merci. This is private”, and she sunk in her seat for the following half an hour.
Around that time was when I realized I would soon be sporting fresh dark purple bruises all over my body. Ivan discovered that what he had meant to teach me would take longer than he had intended. First it was skating without slouching, then it was breaking, then he had to push me very hard to make turns without wanting to scream.
When Ivan declared the lesson over, I sighed in relief and sat on the floor, exhausted. He quickly reminded me to go home and be back the following day.
“Tomorrow?!” I asked, appalled.
Lourdes kept coming with me for my ‘lessons’ even though she looked as though she was being forced to go; the first time she brought her skates and got into the ice with me, Ivan yelled at her that this was a private lesson. She sat in the bleacher fuming, arms crossed on her chest.
A week later, I was not able to move, but my parents kept saying they were proud I wasn’t giving up. Lourdes came back the following lesson and barged into the rink on her skates; before Ivan said anything, she told him “our family is paying for an empty rink, might as well have both of us use it, get our money’s worth”, then she just skated to the other side of the ice and pretended she wasn’t watching us. It was kind of amusing.
The real deal started when Ivan tried to teach me how to spin. The first one was reasonably easy, standing in place, just using my hands and knees to create momentum and letting the ice do the rest. The danger came with a sit spin. It looked so seamless when he or Lourdes did it, but it involved a lot more steps than I would have imagined. I had to skate confidently in one leg, raise the other backwards and bring it forward as I used my arms to spin in place. Ivan’s accent got worse when he was frustrated, and I hated being so clearly bad at something, especially in front of my obviously talented little sister, so there were a lot of high tempers in the ice.
I wanted to text Harry every day, tell him every little bit of all of this, but the more I stared into his number, the more terrified I felt. I knew if I started there would be no going back. If I sent one message, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And if there was anything V. E. Day had proved, it was that there was just too much between us.
At one point, when Ivan was getting louder and I was trying to convince myself not to leave, Lourdes skated towards us - breaching the invisible line he had drawn between us - and stopped between me and him. “Maggie,” she started, and when her trainer tried to yell she just waved an impatient hand at him, focusing on me, “you’re too afraid to fall when you lunge.”
I sighed. “Yeah, my bad, I should just ignore the prospect of feeling pain.”
She brushed off my sarcasm with remarkable ease, “Get in position.” I did as she said, and she approached, slapping my buttcheek.
“Hey!”
“See this? You might not have a lot of it, but it’s something! It’s fat, which means your blow will be cushioned. And this arm right here will stop the fall as soon as it comes–”
“Is there a way where I avoid falling?”
“No.” She and Ivan replied, together.
“If you fear fall, you can’t skate.” He told me.
“Go again.” Lourdes said, skating backwards.
I sighed and tried again, giving it an honest effort, but falling on my ass regardless.
“You’re too slow when you spin, so you don’t have enough momentum to stay on your feet.”
“God, if it’s so easy why don’t you do it?!”, I stupidly said, exasperated.
She nailed it, of course. Took a graceful, long stride forward, then turned backwards as if it was nothing, then flipped her weight from her right leg to the left in a step forward, using the right leg to get momentum into a spin. She spun wildly on herself atop her left skate as she crouched down on her left knee, right leg stretched forward with her arms above it reaching for her foot. Then, just as she had started to slow down she stood up and her right leg stretched backwards; she grabbed hold of the blade in the skate and pulled it upwards behind her back, above her head, the move giving her more momentum so the spin caught speed again. It felt as if several minutes passed, but I couldn’t take my eyes from her. Eventually, she let go of her leg, which swiftly crossed in front of the left. She leapt into her right foot now, allowing her left leg to bend backwards slightly, starting to spin again for another several laps with her hands up above her head, torso laid backways on her waist. When she started to slow, she straightened up, opened her arms, and stepped out of her spin gracefully backwards, breaking perfectly in front of us.
She had a victorious, emotional smile on her lips, and a glint to her eyes I had never seen before.
We were silent for a couple of seconds as she breathed heavily; Then, Ivan said, “Show her your triple lutz.”
She looked at him, thoughtfully, for a long time. I thought she was going to ask why, and was ready to answer ‘inspiration!’, but she didn’t. She drew in a long breath, and stepped forward.
I skated to Ivan slowly while she took up speed and turned to skate backwards, one leg behind her. She leaned forward slightly and next thing I knew she was twisting in the air. She landed smiling, on her left leg, right one gracefully up behind her back. She skated to us slowly, panting slightly.
“Sloppy.” Ivan told her. I gave him a shocked look he ignored.
“Well, I haven’t skated in months, ever since–”
“Excuses don’t make podium.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
She skated away again and repeated the jump. I applauded, mumbling to Ivan without moving my lips, “Don’t antagonize her.”
“I teach.” He replied, unaffected.
She broke in front of us forcefully, still smiling. Still breathless, but looking more alive than I’d ever seen her.
“That was awesome!” I said.
“You under rotate. You lose points.”
She looked at the ice beneath her feet, sighing, hands to her waist. Silently, she skated off again.
I looked at Ivan. “Seriously, what’s the plan?”
“Remind her what she loves.”
“…being insulted by you?”
He grinned, still watching her.
Her third jump was… well, to me it was exactly the same as the other two. And as Ivan’s expression didn’t change, I had to wait until she skated back to us.
“Flat edge. Lose points.” Ivan said before she even reached us.
Instead of breaking, she took speed again and took off for another try. Except this time she did her first jump, landed, and immediately jumped up again in another twist in the air.
“Triple lutz, triple toe.” Ivan nodded. When she approached us again, she was out of air; she doubled down on herself, hands to her knees, panting. “Luchshe.” When I seemed confused, he corrected, in French. “Mieux.” Better.
“It was amazing!” I exclaimed.
“Axel.” Ivan told Lourdes.
She straightened up, looked at him, no longer smiling. She fixed her ponytail and skated off again.
This time when she skated backwards on her right foot, she didn’t lean forward, and instead looked backwards at the last minute to make a fast switch to her left skate to jump forward quickly, arms crossed to her chest. Her hair spun wildly in the air with her, but when she landed she fell on her side.
I startled, gasping, and Ivan held my arm to keep me from going to her.
“No training.” He yelled out. “That happens.”
She got to her feet, shook off the ice in her pants, and tried again, taking up speed, skating past us without giving us even a glance. She didn’t fall this time. I looked at Ivan.
“Bad entry. Lose points.”
Lourdes had clearly heard him, she didn’t even bother coming to us, instead just took up speed and tried again. She fell.
“You lean your back to your side.” Ivan shouted after her. “Your back needs to be over your feet.”
She tried again. She stumbled on her feet in the landing, but didn’t fall. I thought it was a victory.
“Elbows in.” Ivan shouted. “The, uh– poids stay center! The… weigh.” He translated. “The weight stays center, not back.”
She tried again.
Ivan crossed his arms on his chest. “Good.” He said, nodding. “Good.”
I smiled, looking at her, but she didn’t skate to us. “He said it was good!” I shouted.
But she kept going. She jumped again. And then again. She fell back. She jumped again. Ivan sighed. “Enough now.”
She jumped. She fell. She was panting as she skated to get more speed to go again.
Ivan shook his head. “No good.”
“What?!” I asked.
“That’s punishment. Not training.”
“Lourdes!” I yelled. “That’s enough!”
She jumped again. Ivan sighed.
She did it twice more before I stepped into her path when she was skating past us to get more speed. She almost lost her balance, but managed to skate past me. I followed. She jumped again, and fell. I reached her after she’d gotten up, but was still slow enough I could wrap my arms around her to stop her in place.
“Maggie!” She shouted. “Stop!”
“It’s enough!” I shouted back, feeling a confusing knot on my throat. “That’s good, it’s beautiful. Stop.”
I felt her gloved hands on my arms, trying to pull them off her.
“This is none of your business, just–”
“You’re hurting yourself! You’re out of breath! Stop it!”
“No!”
She doubled down, trying to get out of my reach. We fell to the ground, instead, but I kept my arms firmly in place.
“This is not about you!” She shouted, reaching back to try and push me away.
“I know!” I shouted back, feeling my eyes water. “I know!”
We struggled. I wondered where Ivan was that he hadn’t come to help me yet. We must have looked ridiculous, and that thought didn’t stop the tears.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?! You love this, you’re great at it, you know how to do it, so why are you doing this?!”
I heard a small gasp of air and stopped moving. She let her head fall to rest on the ice, one hand over her eyes. We were on our sides; I leaned back just slightly so she could lay on her back, allowing me to look at her, finding her lips trembling, nose red.
“Lourdes-” I whispered.
“He’s gone.” She cried. “He won’t be there. He’ll never be there.”
It was enough to make me cry, too. But I tried to steady my voice when I asked, softly, “be where, Lou?”
I didn’t need to know who, of course. Her tears fell heavily down her face to her hair.
“I always thought-” she hiccuped, “I always pictured it. Competing. Winning. I always thought– Whenever I dreamed about the– The Olympics. I had it all planned–”
“And you can go!” I told her, teary.
She shook her head. “I was going to do it, and I was going to finish and in the end when– when people clap and I bow, I was going to do the bows and then I was going to find you guys in your seats.” She took her hands off her eyes, and stared at the ceiling. “Mom, dad, you and Lou… I was going to skate to where you were, and do another bow just for you.”
I felt my chest tighten painfully. She brought her hands to her lips and blew a kiss to the ceiling.
“I was going to do this and wave and skate off… and– and I wouldn’t even be too worried waiting for my notes, because you’d be there.”
I felt my own tears fall to the ice, and let my head rest on the floor, too.
“You’d have gone, right? All of you. If it was the Olympics, I mean.”
“Of course.” I told her. “Of course we would.”
She looked at me. “And now he won’t be there.”
“Oh, sweetie.” I leaned in, touching my head to her shoulder. “He… He’d be so upset to hear this.”
She sat up. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.” I replied, looking at the ceiling. “’He won’t be there’? Well, no, Lourdes, he won’t be anywhere. He won’t… he won’t see my wedding. My kids will never know him. So, what should I do? Should I never get married? Never have kids?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” She complained. “Every time I get in the ice, every time I look at my skates, that’s all I can think about! That he won’t see the next jump I learn, that he won’t help me pick a dress or a song. That he won’t be there when I win–”
“Yeah, Lourdes, you don’t think I know what that is?!” I sat up, grabbing hold of her elbow so she’d look at me. “My entire existence now is a reminder that he’s gone! Every time someone calls me ‘Crown Princess’, every time I think about my future, it just means that he’s gone! Should I give that up, too?! Hope you’re ready to be Queen, then!”
She shook her head, but her lips were trembling again. I reached out with my hand, caressing her back. When she started sobbing, I pulled her close, and she let me, leaning into my arms tightly wrapped around her.
I let her cry, for as long as she needed. When her sobs spaced out, I started clearing the ice off her clothes gently.
“Everything reminding us of him is just… what grief is.” I told her. “It sucks. It’s… it’s all this love that was his, that we still feel, but have no one to give it to, anymore.” I brushed the hair off her face with my hands. “But we don’t stop. We can’t. He’d be so pissed if we did. We just… we keep going. And we remember him. I teach my kids about the uncle they’ll never know. You get to that podium and think of him… and wherever he is, he’ll be proud. That’s what we do.”
I kissed the back of her head, and she sat up, cleaning her face with her hands.
“But for that to happen, you can’t quit.”
She stared at her hands for a while, calming her breath. Then, she nodded.
“Okay.”
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[A/N: Happy holidays!!!!!! Hi. How are you? How’s your end of year been? I am home, christmas was chill. Ate a lot. Back to work now. Trying to pull a hamilton and write every night like i’m running out of time. Did anyone watch Bridgerton? Because I am OBSESSED. Anyway. I KNOW. Another moment interrupted. Thsoe can only happen a few times guys, I promise we’re nearly there haha THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I am so blessed to have you and so grateful to you for being here! I’d love to know your thoughts. Anything you’d like to see more of? Other than H and MM, of course! lol Savoy or MM’s family things? Work? Royal events? Friends? Let me know =) Also, I’m still working on fixing a masterlist of chapters, so look out for that!
We’re nearing phase 2 of the story and I am excited to share with you! THANK YOU FOR READING! And.......HAPPY NEW YEAR!]
