#opitcphff

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.”

--- ---- ---

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.”

--- ---- ---

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.

“Nope.”‌ I‌ told him. “It’s mirrored glass outside.”

“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.”

--- ---- ---

[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!

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.

“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!

Half an hour and half a bottle of wine later, we were watching Frozen.

“How do I know this song?!” I asked, confused and entertained at once, as Elsa let go of her fears on the screen.

“Some songs are so popular they are just downloaded into our subconscious without us noticing.” Lourdes said, but I wasn’t hearing her.

I was singing Let it Go.

Harry laughed. “I think you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” I complained, more than contested. “Sadly. I’m just… slightly buzzed.” I said, going right back into singing the words I somehow knew.

“I wish I knew what being drunk feels like.” Lourdes said. “It looks fun.”

“…Let it go–I’m not drunk.” I corrected, mid song.

“It’s not all it's cracked up to be.” Harry sighed.

I scoffed. “Says the guy who–”

“You don’t need to finish that sentence.” He said, making me laugh.

To Lourdes, I explained, deflated. “He’s right, though. Really, it just makes you make dumb mistakes.”

She looked at Harry, “Like dressing up as a nazi?”

“Lourdes!” I admonished, completely sober now.

“No, no…” Harry said, soothing. “It’s fine. She’s not wrong. But, sadly, no. That wasn’t a drunk mistake. It was just… a mistake.”

She looked away from him. “Do you regret it?”

“Of course.” He answered, without a second beat. “Every day. But I was… dumb. Young. Privileged. Completely unaware of what it truly meant. I just… I thought it would be funny. I was an idiot.”

On the screen, Elsa wasn’t bothered by the cold. I drank more wine.

“How about this, Lou?” I proposed. “When you’re… seventeen I’ll let you try wine.”

“Seventeen?!” She asked, surprised.

“…and eleven months.”

“Eleven–are you serious?!” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll get you drunk before your birthday, in a responsible way, in a safe and controlled environment.”

“Ugh.” She complained, and then talked to me in French. “Like you waited until you were eighteen.”

“Excuse me? Yes, I did.” I replied, also in French.

“Really? What about the time when you came home from–?”

“Okay, but that was an accident!”

“Okay, my French is not that good!” Harry complained. “What did you say?”

Lourdes gave me a smug look.

“Nothing.” I said.

“Really?” She chuckled.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

She sighed, “Okay, what’s up your butt?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged.

As I sat in the middle, I saw from the corners of my eyes as she exchanged a look with Harry.

“Truth or dare?” He asked.

I sighed. “Truth.”

“What’s up your butt?”

I gave him an annoyed look, but he just grinned at my sister. I looked away.

“Adrien just gave me a lot to think about, I guess.”

“I think he was right.” Lourdes said, sitting up, pausing the movie. “Not about everything, like going to America. That’s dumb. But about you.”

“You think I have power, too?” I asked, half hope, half skepticism.

“I know you do.” She shrugged. “But that’s not new, you’ve always had.”

I scoffed. “Excuse me?!”

“Mags, I don’t know what family you’ve been living with, but the rest of us know you as the perfect one we need to live up to.”

“That’s-” I started, but gave up with a sigh.

After all, in one of the last times I had spoken to Louis, he had told me I let our parents do whatever they wanted with me and my life. So, of course my parents saw me as the one who always said yes. Who never questioned. No wonder they thought it was okay to not tell me anything. No wonder they were so upset I had ‘ran away’. And, if that is who I was, it made sense that that’s how my siblings and cousins saw me.

“I don’t want that to be true.” I told them.

“Why not?” She asked. “It’s a compliment. Sort of.”

Harry reached over to the bottle of wine, and refilled my glass. I took a long sip.

“Even if it is true,” I started, “doesn’t that mean they can do what they want, and therefore they hold the power? And not me?”

“Not really.” Harry said. “Because they’ve grown dependent on you always being there. Especially now.”

“Now I’m the heir?” I asked, whispery. Almost afraid if I said it too loudly he would leave, as if he didn’t already know that.

“Yes.” He said, avoiding my eyes. “A death that alters the line of succession is a big deal. It’s a big change. People grow used to a royal family, they see us as newborns, they watch us grow up. For someone they expected to watch grow old and become king to die so young, I imagine it shakes up the entire collective mindspace of the whole country… Not to mention the ways it can affect politics and all the people who may try to take advantage of it. They may not have told you much yet, but they’ll need to start showing you off soon, to reassure the public that the family is still there, and that the throne is secure. Just because we’re ceremonial doesn’t mean they don’t need us. Unfortunately.”

The silence that followed wasn’t bad or uncomfortable. The twinkly lights and wine helped.

“Truth or dare?” Lourdes asked.

I looked at her, surprised.

“What? Apparently that’s the only way you answer questions now.”

I exchanged an amused look with Harry, who looked down, grinning.

“Dare.” I chose, defiantly.

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” She said. “I dare you to let me try your wine.”

“Fuck off.” I said. Harry laughed. “Don’t think I forgot about the smoking and cutting class bullshit. I’m not rewarding your behavior.”

“Just a sip!” She justified. “You just said that it’s healthy to let kids try these things at home, in a controlled environment!”

“Oh, so now you’re a kid again.” I grinned, sarcastic. “I thought you were a teenager.”

“I’m just saying,” she argued, “you want me to go after it myself? Who’s to say what I might get into?”

“Oh, my God.”

Harry laughed harder. 

“You know, to be fair,” he tried, “I wasn’t allowed to drink and I still did it way earlier than I probably should. Maybe if I had been allowed to taste it at home the whole mystique of it wouldn’t have wheeled me in.”

“Who’s side are you on?!” I asked, as Lourdes nodded enthusiastically. I sighed. “Fine. One sip!” I told her, pointing a threatening finger. “And with one condition.”

“Maman and Papa never find out.” She guessed.

“We take this to our graves.” I told her, serious. Then, I looked at Harry, who tried to suppress his grin and made the motion of locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

I sighed, grabbed my wine glass and passed it to her. “Slowly!” I warned.

She sat up, excitedly, and changed positions so she was facing the both of us, sitting on her knees and closing her eyes as she held the cup with both hands.

“I need to enjoy it the most, so... Okay, I’m going to pretend I’m a fancy adult who just came home from... practice--” Harry and I tried to suppress a laugh. “I’ve been practicing for my… third Olympics where I will, once again, win gold, of course.”

“Of course.” Harry nodded, amused.

“…and my hot, live-in boyfriend, who happens to be a… what’s a hot sport?” She opened her eyes, staring off into the distance.

I laughed.

“Does he have to be an athlete, as well?” Harry asked.

“I’m not going to just date anybody.” She replied, all seriousness. “I need to respect a boy to make him my boyfriend.”

“Hear, hear.” I agreed.

Harry smiled. “That’s fair. How about gymnastics?”

She pouted. “Male gymnasts are all… tiny.”

“Swimmer!” I chimed in, excitedly. “All swimmers are hot!”

“That’s good.” She agreed, before her smile fell. “Oh, but that's the summer Olympics.”

“So, that just means your schedules don’t conflict with each other!” I argued. “He’ll be free to go to your competitions, and vice, versa.”

She smiled. “Okay! That’s good. Awesome, okay, so!”

I smiled, and leaned back into Harry, mindlessly. He seemed to take in a sharp breath as my head laid on his shoulder, before he slowly moved his arm up and passed it around me. I leaned into his embrace, feeling his skin and clothes warm up parts of me I hadn’t realized were cold. We watched Lourdes daydream.

“So, I come home from practice and my hot, live-in, swimmer boyfriend is cooking us dinner, and–”

“Oh, boy, you really need to lower your expectations.” I mumbled.

Harry sighed. “I forget what a rare breed I am.”

I scoffed, as Lourdes giggled. “You can’t cook!”

He looked mock-outraged. “Yes, I can!”

“Harry, you couldn’t even flip a pancake without burning yourself.” I argued. “You didn’t even have oregano!”

“Okay, I may not be a great Chef, but–!”

“Chef?! It’s just oregano!”

“…I know enough not to starve!”

“Okay, I’ll lower my expectations!” Lourdes interrupted. “Hot swimmer has ordered us delivery. I thank him, and he hands me a glass of wine…”

She dreamily closed her eyes and brought the glass to her lips. Almost immediately after she drank, she spit it back into the glass, making us break into laughter as we watched.

“Disgusting!” I accused.

“This is awful!” She complained. “Why is it so bitter?!”

“Oh, my God!” Harry said in between laughter, his head back, a hand to his ribs.

“That’s really expensive wine!” I added.

“How do you drink this?!” She asked, smelling the cup, before trying it again, making the same face.

“Ew, Lourdes, no!” I complained, taking the glass from her. “Disgusting!”

“Yikes.” She complained.

“Yeah, remember this next time someone offers you alcohol.”

--- ---- ---

    We fell asleep right there – with the end credits of the movie rolling up, in the living room blanket covered stone floors. Lourdes curled up to the side, her blonde hair sprawling out around her, hugging a couch pillow. Behind her, I still had Harry’s arm around me.

His eyes were closed, peace all over his face. I pulled the duvet over us, snuggling into him and ready to embrace sleep. I let my arm rest across his stomach, on the side of his waist. As his shirt was wrinkled up, I could feel his skin under my fingertips, so I stretched my hand under it.

He was so warm, and his stomach moved up and down slowly as he breathed. Slowly, I brought my hand up across his stomach, feeling his pecs on my palm.

It now felt too warm for the duvet, but I remained completely still, hidden underneath it, with nothing but the screen and the twinkly lights illuminating us in the darkness.

I felt a chill over all of my skin; it felt too personal, too risky, but I couldn’t bring myself to get away. Resting in his embrace, his shoulder under my head, his face right above mine, his breath lightly breezing over my hair, and his warm skin on my palms… it was exactly where I felt I needed to be.

So I raised my hand higher, slowly, just a little more, to hover over his heart. His breath grew heavier, and his arm tightened around me. I felt his lips on my forehead and his heart under my hand beat so fast it was almost worrying.

On my forehead, his lips whispered so low I wasn’t sure I had imagined it. “It’s yours.” He said.

I moved my head only slightly to his direction, so he knew I was listening.

“What is?” I asked, matching his tone.

Instead of replying, he just moved his other hand – the one not around me – to touch my arm under his shirt, slowly making its way up until his hand was above mine, above his heart. His finger tapped my hand, twice. I didn’t need words, the gesture said enough.

His heart, it said. His heart was mine.

“But you know that, already.” He whispered.

I could barely breathe, and the duvet felt almost unbearable now as my skin grew hotter.

But I couldn’t answer. All I could do was stretch my fingers up to intertwine my fingers with his.

I thought it was the end of it. I thought we would just sleep now, and I would wake up tomorrow struggling to understand if it had been a dream or not. Then he spoke again, just as quietly as before, but slower, so I could make out every word.

“Don’t marry him.”

“…What?” I looked up higher; it felt like if I couldn’t see his eyes, it might not be real.

He looked down at me, under his lashes; the twinkly lights made his hair look golden.

“Don’t marry him.” He repeated.

Again, I couldn’t answer. So he rested his lips on my forehead again, and we let the hours tick by.

Both of us took a long time to fall asleep.

--- ---- ---

When I woke up, we were still on the floor under the twinkly lights of the blanket fort. Lourdes was facing away from me, her knees almost to her chest. In the middle, I still had my head on Harry’s chest, and his arm around my shoulders felt warm, but the noise echoing around the house was anything but.

He moved his arm delicately from under me, and I grunted a complaint, mindlessly.

“Sorry.” He whispered. “The phone.”

He stumbled to his feet, crawling out of the fort slowly, and walking, crooked, to the phone mounted on the wall in the hallway, in front of the stairs.

“Hello?” He said, on a low tone; his voice guttural from sleep. “Who? What do you–? Are you sure? Yes, I know who– I just–” He sighed. “How soon…? Okay, okay. Thanks.”

He returned the phone to the wall and soon he was kneeling in front of the fort again.

“Hey.” He touched my arm, gently. “Mary, wake up.”

“Good morning.” I tried to smile. “What’s going on?”

His face was serious. “We have another visitor.”

Behind me, Lourdes grunted. “Tell them I’m not going home, Harry, especially if they insist on waking me up.”

Harry’s eyes were on mine. “It’s your father.”

I sat up, “What?”

“We’ve been through this with your mom, already.” He started. “I’m not joking, he had to be signed on at the gates. He’ll be here in a minute.”

I recalled Adrien saying he would send someone ‘with power’. Surely, he couldn’t have meant–

“What do I do?!” Harry asked. “Send him away?!”

“When you say our father,” Lourdes asked, crawling up from behind me, “surely you don’t mean–?”

“Forgive me, do you have another one?! Because I’ve only met the King one.”

“Oh, God.” She mumbled, just as I forced myself to get up. “Oh, God, Maggie–”

“Okay,” I started, “Okay.”

“Should I send him away?” Harry asked.

“Maggie, the fort!” Lourdes aggressively whispered, hurriedly pulling the blankets and twinkly lights down.

“I can just send him away, like with the others!” Harry repeated, whispery still. Behind him, the pole holding the fort up hit the floor with a dull thud.

“One of you, help me!” Lourdes whispered at us, pulling the chord of the twinkly lights out of the outlet and trying to ball up all of the blankets and pillows.

There was a knock on the door. We all froze in place.

“Oh, God.” I shuddered.

“Maggie.” Harry said, holding on to my arms gently. It was the first time he used the nickname only my family used for me. “Do you want me to send him away?”

“You can’t send him away!” Lourdes whispered, now so low I could barely hear her. “He’s the king and you barely know him!”

“It’s my house, I can do what I want.” Harry replied, awfully calm. “Margueritte?”

I took in a deep breath in and one deep breath out, and then there was another knock on the door.

“I have to speak to him.”

His hands traveled down my bare arms until my hands, which he held firmly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

I smiled, sadly, down at our hands. His touch was so soft.

“That’s not true.” I said, shaking my head.

He stepped closer to me. “Yes, it is.”

My eyes felt heavy, my throat felt tight. I wanted nothing but to lay down inside our blanket fort into his arms and stay there forever.

“I’m the Crown Princess of Savoy.” I looked at him, allowing the words to break us apart as I knew they would the moment my brother died. “There’s a lot I have to do that I don’t want.”

He looked like he was going to protest, and I wasn’t sure how much of it I could take. So I pulled my hands from his and walked to the door.

My father was wearing a high neck wool shirt, black, and a khaki blazer over it. He was clean shaven, as always, and his receding hair was now so gray it was almost impossible to tell it had once been blond.

He seemed surprised I opened the door, or that was just the smile he gave me; a tentative, surprised small smile. He let out an almost imperceptive sigh before saying, softly,

“Bonjour, Margueritte.”

“Papa.” I replied, feeling breathless. “Bonjour.”

His eyes then examined every piece of me and I was, at once, fully conscious that I was still wearing Harry’s sweatpants and shirt. As we had just woken up from sleeping on the floor after a late night, my face was probably still swollen, my hair a mess, my eyes dirty.

“Tu as l'air bien.” He decided, diplomatic. “Confortable.”

‘You look well. Comfortable.’

“Nous venons de nous réveiller.” I justified, embarrassed, feeling my cheeks redden. ‘We just woke up.’

He nodded. “May I come in?”

I started to open the door, but closed it again.

“It’s not my house.” I explained. “I–”

“Of course!” Harry shouted from inside. “Entrez, s'il-vous-plaît!”

I looked down at the floor as I opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

It felt so weird. Like intruding and being intruded on at the same time. I felt an urge to apologize, but I couldn’t decide to whom. To Harry for bringing him all of this? To my father for not being dressed?

As he walked inside, taking the house in slowly, I hurriedly let my hair down and brushed it with my fingers, putting it back up with all its loose strands on a ponytail.

The sofa was still facing the back wall, and the coffee table was pushed against the bookshelf. The TV was back to its place of origin, but the chord was clearly hanging to the side. Surprisingly, the blankets, pillows and twinkly lights were gone.

“Your Royal Highness.” My father shook Harry’s hand, with almost no accent. “How do you do?”

“Your Majesty, sir.” Harry bowed his head. “I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Good. The flight was good.” He nodded.

The small talk was killing me. Harry, however, stood tall and confident, one hand firmly shaking my father’s, the other casually in his sweatpants’ pocket. He also had sleep all over his face.

“Is my other daughter around?” My father asked, casually. “Or is she still asleep?”

“I’m here!” Lourdes called from the stairs. Two seconds later, she jumped as if having leapt over the last two steps. “Papa, bienvenue!”

She was in jeans and my sweater, slightly too big for her, but in a stylish way. Her hair was brushed down and, though her face still looked a little swollen as well, she overall looked as though she had been up for a while.

She kissed his cheeks and he held her in place, hands in her shoulders. He spoke in French,

“I am very angry with you.”

Her face fell. “I wasn’t smoking!”

“I know that, and we will talk about it at home.” He replied. “But running away? Not answering your phone? We were worried!”

“It’s hardly running away when you sent me here.” She justified. “And I was with Maggie! In a palace! I couldn’t be safer!”

They went on like this, in French, as he berated her and she tried to justify herself. I caught Harry’s eyes behind them, and tried to give him an apologetic, humorous, if awkward look. But he looked away.

“Papa?” I called after a while of this, trying to be brave, remembering Harry’s French wasn’t so good. “Maybe we should speak in English? As we are in England. And in Harry’s house.”

They all looked at me, all somewhat surprised.

“Of course.” He said, smiling at him. “Sir, I am sorry to trespass even more on your hospitality. Is there a place where I would be able to speak to my daughter with some privacy?”

Harry thought on it for a second, looking around the living room. Lourdes gave me a silent, desperate look.

“Why don’t you talk here?” Harry proposed. “I have been meaning to show Lourdes to the gallery in Kensington, anyway. It’s closed to the public today, so it should be safe. What do you say, Lou?”

Dad’s eyebrow twitched at the nickname, perceptible only to those who knew him enough.

Lourdes looked at each of us and sighed.

“Sure.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Why not?”

Harry followed her to the door.

“Thank you.” I told him as he passed by me.

He smiled in acknowledgement, but didn’t look at me.

They left.

I could hear each of my heartbeats as I looked back at my father. He walked over to the armchair and looked at me, smiling sadly.

“I can wait until you get changed.” He said.

I nodded and had to stop myself from running out of the room. At the stairs, I realized Harry and my sister had just shoved all of the blankets and pillows out of sight. They were crammed in the small space precariously, only a tiny passage through in the corner where Lourdes probably made her way up and down to change.

I schooled my face to not react to it and attempted to climb up as quietly as possible, hoping my father wouldn’t make his way to this end of the room and see it.

In the guest room, Lourdes’ pajamas were on the floor. I picked them up and put them on the bed, as well as my bag, quickly emptying its contents to find clothes that felt appropriate. My dress for the wedding was wrinkled, so I would have to make do with jeans and the simple blouse I had on in the train.

As I got dressed, I was overcome with shame again. Why did I feel so embarrassed at wearing pajamas or not having formal day clothes? How was I to know he was coming? And why were my clothes not good enough if they were mine? If I liked them?

I was reminded of Louis, lecturing me about dressing up the way mom wanted me to. I stopped myself just before pulling out the shirt; Harry’s shirt. I had told my brother I would stand up for myself and my own fashion choices, but now I had to stand up for a lot more. For being heard and for being told the truth. For being allowed to do something with my life other than look pretty in pictures. I had to.

I took in a deep breath and kept Harry’s shirt on. Then, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went back downstairs.

Dad was standing in front of the bookcase holding a picture frame in his hand, the same one Lourdes had noticed when she arrived.

He made no comments of the clothes I was wearing; instead, he returned the photo to the shelf and said, as he walked back to the armchair.

“I knew her, you know?” He started in French. “The late Princess of Wales.”

“Yes, I remember.” I said. “I was there when she visited Savoy with Prince Charles.”

He seemed confused. “Right. That must have soon before she passed.”

“It was.”

“You won’t remember this, Maggie, but we were actually in Britain when it happened.” He sat down, crossing his legs and sitting back, leisurely. “We went to–”

“I do remember it, Papa.” I interrupted. “That was the first time I met Harry.”

He suppressed his surprise better this time, nodding.

“He was a good kid. Bright, charming, smart… It was a terribly traumatizing event to happen to such a young child.”

I grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and placed it across the room from him, in front of the still turned sofa.

“Which is what I imagine made him into such a problematic young fellow.”

“Should we talk about us now?” I asked.

As anxious as I was to have this conversation with my father, I was more impatient at his tone regarding Harry.

“We are.” He replied, gravely. “I can’t pinpoint anything else that might have brought you to this, Margueritte.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Henry. What is it? What did he say to you to get you here? To get you to do this?”

My mouth dropped open, and I, for one second, was almost amused.

“Are–? Are you serious?!”

“I understand he is charming and fun, Margueritte, a lot of men are, particularly to pretty girls like you–”

“Wow, Papa–”

“But he is older than you, and he has a reputation, which has not been manufactured with no cause.” He insisted. “He’s wrong for you even before we focus on the fact that he is a foreign royal.”

“Do you hear yourself?!” I asked, choked. “Harry is not the problem, Papa! He has nothing to do with this!”

“My daughter,” he started, enunciating the word loudly, “my firstborn, the little girl I raised, would never have done something this outrageous! Goodness, Margueritte, you’re a good girl! You’re kind and respectful, and you have always put others before yourself! You were always a good student, you went to Harvard, for goodness’ sake!” He took in a heavy breath, “To just disappear like this with no effort to alleviate our minds! Do you have any idea how worried we were?! What went through my head when they came into my office to tell me they had no idea where you were?!”

He uncrossed his legs, sitting up now, restless, fidgeting with his hands.

“I have sat through so many security meetings discussing the risk assessments for each of you, having to hear from expert after expert what are the most likely horrible things to happen to you, and having to decide what the best way to protect you is! And to suddenly be told that the two security officers who were meant to keep you safe simply lost track of you in a foreign country!”

His voice was raising with each word, until the last one, which he shouted, finally getting to his feet, restless.

“Did you even spare a single thought to your mother and me?! We could barely sleep for three days, we were in and out of meetings with the staff trying to decide what was the best way to go about the situation,” he went on, now walking up and down the living room, “Should we contact the police? Interpol? Ask the Scotland Yard to intervene?! So many people trying to show us what the best resolution would be, to then be told you were just… sleeping over at Kensington, walking right in of your own free will as if it’s a holiday!”

He ran a hand through his hair, nervously; a far cry from the composet monarch he was in public.

“And not one call… Not one call going through…” he mumbled. “It’s alright, I tried to tell them. She probably had an issue with her phone. It must be a misunderstanding… Marie-Margueritte would never be this dismissive and disrespectful!” he shouted, again. “And to then have Auguste’s account of how he was treated when he was merely trying to make sure of your wellbeing. Do you think that is an appropriate way to treat your private secretary?! You’re a Crown Princess, Margueritte! You have a responsibility to the people whose job revolves around making you the best future monarch you can be! Do you understand that?!”

My palms were aching, burning, as I scratched them with my nails, tightly holding my hands in fists as I took in deep breath after deep breath.

“Not to even speak of the disrespect towards your mother! To not even see her, after she made the whole trip here?! To allow your… Harry,” he said, with contempt, “to treat her as… as–!”

“He was nothing but polite and kind to maman.” I interrupted, speaking for the first time, my voice barely a shaky whisper. “She was the one who changed the tone of the conversation, Harry did nothing but be honest about why she wasn’t allowed to go upstairs, and he was still polite at that.”

“And why didn’t you see her, Margueritte?! If you had a problem, why didn’t you come home and speak to us about it?! Is this fun for you? Is this what the plan was the whole time?! Because I’ll tell you this, I have never yelled at any of you kids like this, never since you were born!” He sighed. “What is the point? Tell me?!”

He removed his blazer, methodically, slowly, breathing heavily still.

“And Christopher!” he added, shouting. “What are we to tell him?! As far as I understand he left for Canada thinking his girlfriend was going home and all was normal, how are we to explain to him this little holiday you took at another men’s house?! You think he’ll enjoy this information?! Or did you just assume your mother and I would lie for you?!”

“Christopher is my problem, not yours.” I said, shaky. Hands hurting, still. “And I’ll tell him what–”

“I don’t think you understand, Margueritte!” He interrupted, walking over, and sitting again, leaning into his knees to look me in the eyes. “Whatever is your problem, is our problem, too! You’ll be Queen to Savoy one day, you don’t get the privilege of privacy, anymore! Or you think it’s not a big deal that Christopher will be the country’s consort one day?! You think that’s something we can just worry about later?!”

I tried taking another calming, deep breath, but I couldn’t anymore. It was as if my throat was also tighter from the anxiety and anger.

“Do you even know how many threats we’ve received since you became Crown Princess?!” He asked, whispery now. “Do you even realize the amount of detail and accurate information that has to be in a threat for it to be deemed credible?! Do you even know how close you could have come to coming to serious harm in the way here when you were completely alone?!”

“No!” I interrupted, using all of the strength left in me to raise my voice enough so he would hear. “I don’t! I don’t know any of it! Do you know why?!”

I waited, looking at him, but, confused, he seemed to have no response.

“Because you don’t tell me anything!” I told him. “None of you! And that was fine, Papa, when I was a child, or when I was just someone who would never be needed to work for the Crown, but from the moment Louis died I knew my life had changed completely, and I kept waiting for someone to tell me how and what to do, but no one did! Even when I asked! And I asked, and asked! Almost every day I asked, and I was dismissed and condescended to, by almost every single person in the Palace, including you and Auguste, who is supposed to work for me, somehow!”

I ran my hands down my jeans, trying to assuage the burn of the scratches there.

“You talked to me when it was about quitting my job to give the press something to talk about,” I started, “and to make sure I knew I had no choice in what my own staff was, but that was it. I was never given any… choice, any direction.”

“Alright.” He nodded, sitting back again. “Alright, then what do you want, Margueritte? What is it about your life that is so upsetting now?!”

“You do not get to say it like that anymore!” I shook my head. “You don’t get to make me feel like my feelings don’t matter, Papa. If you do, this conversation is over right now.”

“When have I ever–?!”

“You always do that!” I interrupted. “At first it was about me being too young to have any real issues, it was about being too pushy or demanding, when all I wanted was some power over my own life!”

“Margueritte, if sometimes I am harsh, it’s because I don’t think you understand what your life really is.”

“I know I am privileged!” I assured. “I am very aware of that, but that was never the problem. No, the problem is that you, and maman as well, got used to me always being accommodating of whatever it is you needed! We need a child for a photo opportunity, well, Margueritte can catch up with school later, by herself, let’s pull her from class to bring her to an event, then! Well, we need to improve female registration for military service, Margueirtte would attract a lot of girls, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind postponing university a year!”

“Are you saying we made you do those things?” He asked, sounding truly concerned. “You were always given a choice, Margueritte. That was always important to us!”

“But is it a choice when the people asking are the most important people in my life?!” I asked, eyes watering. “When the people asking are the two people I love the most in the world? The two people I could see working so hard to do a good job for the entire country and to be as good to us as they could be?! How could I say no when saying no was upsetting to you? How could I say no to anything when I knew there was so little I could actually do to help!”

He looked down, hands fidgeting again. But I powered through, thinking of Louis; thinking of the promise I had made to stand up to myself.

“The truth is I think you got used to me being the easiest answer to whatever problem you had. Always.” I said, trying to sound calmer. “Even when I was in America! If there was a scandal, like with uncle’s divorce, and you needed someone to put in front of a camera to draw attention to it, you never had an issue asking me to come home, and I never said no, because I felt too guilty.”

I felt a single tear fall from my eye.

“I used to feel guilty that I didn’t want this life, when you had no choice, when Louis had no choice.” I confessed. “And then, when he died, I felt so guilty about inheriting his title that I couldn’t say no to anything. Even if I didn’t want to quit my job in such a public way. Even if I didn’t want to fire Cadie. Or Joyce.”

I dried my cheek with one hand, taking a deep breath. Dad hadn’t moved, yet.

“You got used to me being easy, dad. To not fighting. To not trying too hard to stand out, to accepting anything you needed. Even if it was about my life. My choices. My staff. My clothes?!”

“When have I ever policed your clothes, Margueritte?!” He asked, hoarse.

“You may not have done it, but you didn’t try to stop it, either.” I replied. “And I can’t go on like that, Papa. I can’t go on letting you, and Maman, and Montennon or Auguste or whoever, make me into a paper doll Crown Princess, to be dressed up and sent away to look nice for a picture, that’s not who I am. I can’t do that anymore.”

He nodded, slowly, seeming alarmingly calm.

“I’m the Crown Princess now, and I accept that.” I told him. “Mostly because I don’t have a choice, but I accept it regardless. But if I am to do this, then things can’t be the way they’ve always been… I can’t just say yes, and you can’t just dismiss me when I say no. I need to be allowed to ask questions, and I need actual answers. If I’m to learn what I need to learn, then I need the staff to see me as the heir, as their future monarch, not as good, obedient Princess Margueritte, and they won’t as long as you still treat me as the good daughter you’re trying to protect, or the one you pull out when you need help because you know I won’t complain!”

He took in a deep breath, biting his lip; his hand scratched his chin, and he looked at the center table behind me, thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry I disappeared.” I told him. “I honestly am, but I would do it again. Because I didn’t know what else to do… and let’s be honest, why should I be home? It’s not like I have been doing a lot of work. I don’t have a job anymore, and the work I wanted to do was quickly shut down by Auguste.”

He sighed, exhausted. “There’s a lot going on that you don’t know, Margueritte.”

“Then tell me!” I said, louder than intended. “That is my point!”

“There are things you’re not ready for.” He shook his head. “This job isn’t as simple as you seem to think it is. You can’t be ready one day after someone dies unexpectedly.”

“I didn’t expect to be ready in one day!” I assured him. “I wanted to learn. I just wanted to know there was some sort of plan that didn’t include telling me to avoid the news and just go enjoy my day.”

“That is not what happened–”

“That is exactly what happened!” I contradicted.

“Do you think maybe we just wanted to give you time to grieve for your brother?” He asked.

“I did.” I nodded, enthusiastically. “More than that, I assumed you needed time for that. I assumed it just felt too hurtful to see me in his place when he had just died.”

I looked away, tears falling from my eyes again when my voice broke.

“But months passed, Papa.” I went on. “Months. Then the year was done. And nothing. And fine, if I’m to do nothing, then I’ll do nothing. But why should I quit my job, then?! If I can’t have an active part in this role, then why should I be home, doing nothing, every day?! Should I spend every day just waiting for the moment you’ll need me for another photo opportunity?!”

“It’s much more than that, Margueritte.”

“Good.” I nodded. “That’s good, then tell me what it is!”

We sat in silence, looking away from each other as I tried to dry my tears as soon as they fell.

“I realize that it’s hard…” I started. “I miss him every day. I cry every day. I think about all the things he won’t be here for, every day… And I can only imagine what it’s like for you, having raised him for this job his whole life and now to not only be unable to see him do it, but to have to accept me into it. But, Papa, you need to understand that I did not want this.”

“…You don’t think I know that?!”

“I honestly don’t know!” I shrugged, crying. “But I can understand that it can feel like… like a betrayal to Lou. For me to have his title now. I feel it, too. But I think he would know, surely he would know that I did not wish for this!” 

I tried to dry my tears again, as they fell more freely now.

“For the rest of my life, every time I wear that crown, every time I am addressed as Crown Princess, or Queen, I will be reminded of the fact that my brother should be here.”

I stood up, and walked over to the bathroom near the stairs. I washed my face with cold water, trying to take in deep breaths, trying to think of the promise I made to Louis. Trying to fight the desire to tell my father I would just do whatever he wanted as long as this ended.

When I came back, he was using a handkerchief to dry his own cheeks.

“Do you remember…?” He started, sniffling slightly. “On the train ride to London last year, for the tour, when you asked me to promise you that would be allowed the space and time you needed to focus on your own life?”

The memory was like a dream from a lifetime ago; I nodded, as I sat back down on my chair.

“When your brother died,” he started, so calm and in such a low tone now that I could barely hear him. “My first thought, after him, was you. It was the heartbreaking realization that I would not be able to keep my promise.”

He definitely stifled a sniff, now.

“I have spent so much time feeling guilty over bringing you and your brother and sister into this family, Margueritte.” He admitted. “I have loved you every single day of your lives, but there hasn’t been one day that I don’t fear you’ll resent me for bringing you into a world where you have no real free will. No expectation of privacy… So, when I knew how much I would have to ask of you… All I wanted to do was try and keep your life from changing too much. I figured, if I can keep you out of the conversations that need to happen, if I can keep you just informed enough, then you can go about your life, and those changes won’t feel so disruptive. I just… I didn’t want you to have to give up anything.”

“But that is not your choice.” I told him. “It’s not your choice, either, Papa… You don’t think I know that?”

“I was afraid, chèrie.” He told me, apologetic. “I was afraid you’d blame me. And you’d be right to do it.”

“This is not your fault.” I said, louder. “Keeping me out of the loop on conversations about my life, that was your choice. And it was a bad one. But the changes that need to happen, those are not your choice. I know that.”

He nodded, almost reluctantly. 

“We can’t bring him back.” I said. “And we can’t stop my life from changing, it already has. But you can help me. You can help me be… good at this. Good enough that Louis would be proud of me.”

He nodded, took in a deep breath and ran his hand down his face, staring into the floor. He had never looked more tired. I sat back on my chair, hands in my lap, no longer closed in fists. I tried to calm my breathing, and to allow him time to decide where we should go next.

“Okay.” He said, after a while, nodding. “So, you want to be included.”

I sat up. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He nodded again. “I’ll make sure you’re more included going forward.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what that means, Margueritte.”

“I want a meeting.” I said, bracing myself, trying to ignore the painful anxiety ache in my stomach. “With the whole staff, mine and whomever from yours needs to be there. I want… to be told, item by item, everything that needs to be different now. I want to understand why it needs to be different. I want to choose a new security team, to be headed by Joyce.”

“Joyce has been transferred, Margueritte.”

“Then transfer her back.” I insisted. “And Cadie, too.”

“Margueritte.” He sighed. “If you’re serious about understanding what your new role is, and I think you are, you’ll have to be prepared to accept that there are things that are out of your control. Sometimes, staff issues are one of them.”

“Then you can explain that to me… at the meeting. With our staff there, including Cadie.”

He sighed again. “You can’t fire Auguste.”

“We can discuss it in the meeting.” I repeated. “It’s more professional.”

He grinned, scratching his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“The staff will need time to prepare material for a meeting this… itemized.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “It’s pretty early now, how about tomorrow night? That should give them time to prepare.”

He looked at his watch. “…I suppose.”

“Good.” I nodded. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow. Six?”

He let out a long sigh, and nodded as he got to his feet. “You will have to be home. Will you be home?”

I gulped, looking around the room, already missing it. Realizing I would have to leave Harry’s clothes behind, pack up my bag, and travel back to being five hours away from him. Realizing I would have to sleep alone again. 

But I had been right before. I had to do a lot that I didn’t want to.

“I will.”

--- ---- ---

Because my relationship with Christopher ended before an engagement, however, there was no need to confirm or deny rumors. The Palace merely released a statement saying they ‘would not comment on the Crown Princess’ personal life’ and that was, at least on our side, the end. On the press’ side, there was no end.

They wrote and wrote about this alleged proposal, about why I would say not, about cheating rumors, about the possibility the palace hadn’t allowed me to marry him, that I thought he wasn’t good enough for me.

Cadie thought we should release a proper statement, Auguste disagreed. To appease my own selfish discomfort, I decided not to. What I did want to know was how they could possibly know so much about that night.

“They know there was a proposal, they know he used his family ring, they know I said no and that there was yelling. How do they know so much?”

“I hate to bring up this possibility,” Cadie started, “but the most logical conclusion is Christopher himself must have told someone.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t he?” She asked. “Didn’t Stella know about it before it happened?”

“Because he wanted to ask about my ring size.” I shrugged. “His family and mine have been friends for generations. He would never.”

But other than someone who had been in that room leaking it, there was no other possibility. Therefore, there was nothing to be done.

I did, however, have to deal with texts from most of my friends demanding to know why I didn’t tell them about the breakup.

“A lot happened at the same time.” I said, time and time again, shrugging it off. “It just slipped my mind. “We thought you were getting engaged!” Stella whined. “And you broke up with him! How can it have slipped your mind?!” “We actually talked the next day after it happened!” Constance complained. “And all you wanted to talk about was work!” “Guys,” I sighed, “the truth is we never even got back together officially. Eventually the issues we had were bound to come back.”

They demanded a dinner, to talk in person, which we had to do in the palace as I wasn’t allowed to leave until my new security detail took over. In person, I assured them I was very comfortable with my decision, and it was final. They asked if there was someone else, and once again, I couldn’t answer.

The truth was too complicated. The truth was I still wasn’t able to stop thinking about Harry’s soft, gentle plea for me to not marry Christopher. The truth was I wasn’t able to go to sleep without hugging one of my pillows, remembering the way I had slept in his arms, in his bed, on the floor of his living room. But the truth was that, after a text assuring him I was home safe, we hadn’t spoken again. The truth was I felt incredibly guilty for having tried to kiss him for the first time hours after burying my brother. The truth was I also felt incredibly guilty for having actually kissed him while still having a boyfriend.

But the bigger truth, the more uncomfortable truth, was that he was the first thought on my mind when I woke up, and the last one that made me smile before falling asleep. The truth was I wanted to talk to him about everything that was happening in my life -- every detail of the meeting, every horrible threat I had read on my security file, every new discovery I made while researching the work I wanted to do. I wanted to text him about the delicious spinach ricotta cannelloni the royal chef had made last tuesday. And I couldn’t. 

Not only because of the guilt. Not only because I was so busy. But because I knew that after the meeting, having gotten most of what I wanted, I had to give it my best effort. And giving it my best effort included heading the words of everyone around me who had, in the past or present, hinted that Harry was simply too complicated to work. Not only was he foreign, he represented a different throne. The intricacies were too delicate. 

So, whenever I felt like texting him, instead I grabbed the book he had sneaked into my bag. And that’s how I started reading Harry Potter for the first time at 25 years-old to try and keep sane.

The first couple of weeks after the meeting saw a lot of other meetings with the Head of Outreach Relations, Caesar Bisset. We started by fully researching the Claire Bauton Foundation, which had been started in the nineties by Claire Bauton’s daughter Emilie Bauton, to be a shelter for women and children survivors of domestic violence. So, while Mr. Bisset did what was essentially market research – even if he didn’t call it that –, I spent a few days having meetings with experts of the field of domestic abuse: researchers, activists, and lawmakers, learning as much as I could beyond the initial research I had done on the subject myself.

With their perspectives on what the best way to help would be, we were able to make plans on how to cause the biggest positive impact. Right when we were planning my first visit to one of the foundation centers, we had another issue that took priority.

It started when news broke of Lourdes being suspended due to ‘possession of illicit substances prohibited on school grounds’. Somehow, the press had gotten hold of her record and that was how school administration had registered that she was caught with the group of kids smoking.

“Cigarettes!” She complained. “They make it sound like cocaine!”

Suddenly, day time shows were having whole panels debating the ‘issue’. Think pieces were written about teenagers smoking earlier and earlier. Op-eds were released about, and I quote, the ‘fragility of the Monarchy when one of the King’s daughters leans towards a life of consequences and the other must lead from a life of no consequence.’

“Poetic.” I said, sarcastic, in the meeting where my father and I were given the details on how the press was reacting to it even days after it broke.

“I’m afraid if there aren’t consequences, this might grow bigger, sir.” Said Edwald Dupont, Head of Palace Communications.

“What consequences?” I asked, “she’s a teenager. It was cigarettes.”

“Unfortunately, ma’am, if the Palace isn’t at least seen as strongly discouraging the Princess’ behavior, the negative impact of the story could affect His Majesty, as well.”

My father sighed, heavily.

“Send the plane for the Princess.”

“So, as punishment for being suspended for cutting class and hanging out with kids who were smoking last month, you’re… keeping Lourdes home from school again? How does that help anyone?”

My father looked at Mr. Dupont, who nodded, taking notes.

“We can strongly imply the message that our intention is separating the Princess from negative influences.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I said. “Lourdes can’t be influenced. She’s too strong headed.”

“They don’t know that.” My father said. “Besides, she’s always asking to be homeschooled.”

Although the plan was ridiculous, it opened an interesting door.

After Lourdes got home from school, we got caught up while walking my dogs through the Palace Gardens. She didn’t seem to be upset about our father dragging her from school because of bad publicity. She didn’t seem to be upset that mom wasn’t even consulted, as she was now too engulfed into planning a way to memorialize our brother. In fact, my sister didn’t seem bothered about anything at all. She seemed… perfectly absent from herself.

She wasn’t even upset that I had gotten her an extra protection officer – which made her safer but, sure enough, was very invasive.

It shouldn’t have been surprising when she told me she wasn’t going to go back to ice skating.

“It’s been months… I don’t really have the energy to make up for lost time.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to mask the utter despair her words and general demeanor awakened in me. “But, you’re home for a few days so you could spend a lot of time doing it.”

“I just don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of it.” She shrugged.

“But… but you love it.”

“It was a hobby. I outgrew it.”

“Lourdes, you love skating. You were going to the Olympics.”

She smiled, so utterly humorless it terrified me.

“That was a dream, Maggie. I’m over it.”

I had no idea what to do.

My father just seemed so tired, all the time, about Louis, me, all of it, that discussing it with him was fruitless. I knew what the solution was.

I hadn’t had a proper conversation with my mother since my return from London. If her disapproving words after the proposal fiasco could be described as a talk, then that was the last time we spoke. After that, we exchanged a few words during meals, and nothing else. It made no sense that she didn’t berate me for running away in London, or for not seeing her when she came over. But not a lot about my mother made sense currently.

For instance, though she was out of her self-imposed exile after Louis died, she still spent all her time working on ways to memorialize him. Her lead ideas were a garden, a statue, or a new charitable organization in his memory – at times, it was all of it at the same time. All of her patronages and work had since been relegated to her Secretary, Madaleign Qadir, and on occasion, my father and me.

That day, after Lourdes went to her room after our walk, I marched to my mother’s office.

Ms. Qadir herself opened the door; it appeared she was doing some work from a table, while my mother was going over old pictures of my brother brought over by the Royal Archive.

“Maman.” I greeted. “Can we speak privately?”

“If it’s fast.” She granted. “I must finish these boxes today, Marie-Margueritte. I still have a lot to go through.”

Madaleign gathered her things and excused herself with a curtsey.

“Lourdes-Abigail is home.” I told her.

“I know, Qadir was telling me.” She replied, not looking up from the pictures. “Two weeks according to your father. Should be good for her, she likes staying home from school.”

“Yes, remember how many times she asked to be homeschooled and you said no?”

“I do.” She nodded. “Which is why I know she’ll enjoy it.”

“You wanted her to have a normal, full education.” I reminded her. “This isn’t very normal.”

“Not a lot we do is normal.”

“Maman.” I pleaded. “I don’t think she’s doing well. She’s… apathetic. Tired all the time. She’s… avoiding talking about her feelings, giving up things she enjoyed doing… that’s not normal.”

“Her grades are fine. She’s healthy, normal… she’s doing good.” “She wants to give up ice skating for good.” I told her.

“Your sister is fine.” She said, turning a page on a leather-bound album. “She’s a big girl, we can’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“Mom.” I said, forcefully. “Lourdes is hurting. She’s loved ice skating her whole life! This is – this is just her grief–”

“We’re all grieving, Maggie.” She sighed, removing her glasses to scratch her eyes. “We all have to do what we can right now, so if quitting will help your sister, then we have to support her.”

She closed the album after turning one last page, placing it inside a box, neatly. She got up, and moved to a shelf by the wall to find another photo album, which she brought back to the table, starting to flip it. She was finding the pictures of Louis; every time she found a new one, she admired it for a few seconds before making notes on a notebook.

‘She’s hurting too’, I reminded myself, trying to make conscientious choices to have compassion on her.

Instead, what I asked was, “Do you even want to help her?!”

She was quiet for long enough that I wondered if she had heard me. “…Of course I do. I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re doing what you can, and what you can do is shut yourself off and let us figure out our own problems.”

She looked at me, harshly. “You’re an adult, Margueritte. The attitude was cute as a child, but you’re just sounding petulant now.”

“I’m sorry, attitude?!”

“Yes, attitude. You don’t need me to hold your hand every hour of every day, I think you can take care of yourself.”

“Yes, I can!” I said, louder than I was able to control. “But Lourdes is a child! She’s not even fourteen, Maman! She needs you!”

“Your sister-” She returned, interrupting just as loudly, “is fine. Believe it or not, you are not needed to save the day, Margueritte.”

“Right. Because we’re all fine?!” I laughed, humorless. “Dad is shut off in his office, you’re shut off here, Lourdes is giving up the only thing she’s ever loved to do, and–” I felt more than heard my own voice break in a cry, “and my life is up in the air-”

“My son died!” She yelled, hands shaking, staring at the photos in front of her. “I’m sorry we’re not responding to it to your liking.”

She got up again, and walked over to a tea tray someone had left for her on a chest of drawers near the windows.

“You’re a big girl, Margueritte, you need to understand that there are mature ways to handle things you disagree with. You cannot confront everything you don’t like. Some things you can just accept.”

I laughed, sarcastic, “Are you serious?”

I felt… lonely. So desperately lonely as I realized our hearts were aching for the same reason, and yet she had no idea what I was feeling.

She poured herself tea and started to stir it. I marched to the tea tray just as she held up her own teacup, grabbed the tray and threw the whole thing out the window, watching the liquid, sugar and cream splash to the ground amid the broken china.

She was silent when I looked back, staring at me, wide eyes, mouth agape, and confused. I felt tears starting to pool in my eyes, but forced myself to stand firm.

“You are not the only one who lost him.” I said, on a low, slow, angry, trembling tone. “We’re hurting, too. And Lourdes, your daughter, is a child who needs you. You can’t do anything more for Louis, but you can help her. And every day that you shut yourself in your room, with pictures of him, instead of just asking how she’s feeling and how you can help, is another day she convinces herself you care more about Louis dead than about her alive.”

She walked over, slowly. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I shrugged. “How could we know? You’re not saying any different.”

A tear strolled down her cheek as she screamed now. “I am in pain!”

“So am I!” I yelled back, “You don’t think I wanted to stay in bed all day and open the door to no one?! You don’t think I wanted to cry for a whole week? You think I wanted to decide what fucking flowers to decorate the church with? Or what songs we sang to say goodbye to him? You think I cared which fucking priest did the readings?!”

“Language, Marg-” She sobbed.

“I was devastated! I was crushed! I was heartbroken!” I yelled over her, trying to dry the tears as they fell from my eyes, “I wanted to shut myself away in my room instead of having to force a smile and mediate Aunt Marilou and Aunt Katherine, and tell the staff how many rooms to prepare for the guests! But someone had to make the decisions, and you were not there!”

I stepped away, breathing heavily. I dried my face, sobbing slightly, and looked down the window, where the mess was still on the ground. I ran a hand over my hair, shutting my eyes forcefully.

“...Did it hit someone?”

I sighed. “I don’t think so.”

We were silent. 

“Is this you or your British boyfriend speaking, Margueritte?” I scoffed, humorless. “Really?” “Because it sounds an awful lot like him.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I agree with him. He was right, you know?”

“You think he was right to speak to me like that?” “I was there, Maman. I heard how hard he tried to be polite to you.”

“Where is this coming from, Maggie?” She asked, whispery. “You’re not like this.”

I walked over to where she stood near the sofa.

“Like this what, Maman? Honest?”

“You’re my lovely girl.” She said, shaking her head. “You don’t… pick fights, try to hurt people-”

I scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just didn’t realize you were still capable of feeling anything that was unrelated to Louis-”

“Maggie-” She sighed, drying her own tears. “This isn’t your brother’s fault.”

“I’m aware.” I replied, quickly. “It’s yours. And dad’s. You’re the parents! You were supposed to know you don’t have just one child to take care of!”

She sat down; not in her usual, stiff, shoulders back way. She looked… defeated. Tired. I felt the same way.

Before my brother died, my parents had always been so loving. My mother in particular had strived to give us a normal childhood, without the cold, traditional ways of the monarchy. In her house, we weren’t sent to eat in a separate room just because we hadn’t learnt table manners yet. We weren’t put to bed or bathed by nannies. She didn’t just take those tasks at hand, as she would had she married a normal man, she made my father do them, too. She might have married a future king, she said, but he married her, too. He married a normal woman and she couldn’t be the only one to adapt. 

My parents couldn’t do it every day, but they always tried to put us to bed, read us a story, kiss us goodnight. They kissed our wounds and hugged us in celebration when we won a game. A lot of my family thought badly of my mother for these commoner traits. But she stood her ground. The way she saw it, she had to teach us etiquette, but her most important job was to teach us love. 

Now I couldn’t remember the last time she hugged me. It was in the hospital, I thought. Before she started hiding away from everything and everyone -- including us.

She sighed, longingly. “I love you and your sister more than-”

“Then why aren’t you fighting for her?!” I screamed, crying again and angry at myself for it. “She is not okay! Did you even know that she was starving herself when Louis died?! Did you know she slept in his bed every night after he went to the hospital?!”

I looked at the coffee table now, just to avoid looking at her, and my eyes fell on a picture of myself sitting on an armchair, holding baby Louis in my arms.

“And me? Well.” I laughed again, sniffing. “Let’s see, did you hear I had to sit through a Council meeting just hours after he died? Dad’s new heir, so I had to just… sit there as if my heart wasn’t being ripped from my chest! Did dad tell you he sent me to my work so I could quit my job and everyone could know, just to distract the press from the Adrien-Faye fiasco?! Did my security tell you about the condescending looks and wishes of success I had to take from everyone?! Have you heard that the press has been writing a new article almost every day about how I am not good enough to be Queen?! Apparently I’m the talk of the country! Sources close to the Prime Minister say there is a high level of apprehension among elected officials about the new Crown Princess!”

She was looking at me, finally, but now I couldn’t look at her.

“Did you hear they rearranged my security team? They took Joyce, who had been working with me for years, and gave me two guys with the training necessary to protect a member of this family that actually matters now, apparently.”

“Maggie...” She sniffed.

“Did Papa show you the threats? Apparently we have always received them, but they have increased now. They have creepy pictures of me. The unlisted numbers from inside the palace. My routine down to the minutes and where I used to park my car! And now, apparently, I need security that is actually properly trained. Fuck Lourdes, though, I guess.” “Marie-Margueritte! I--”

“And as to me not picking fights, mom, I don’t know what to tell you.” I shrugged. “I spent my whole life doing exactly what you needed me to do. I spoke softly, I wore dresses, I smiled, I said no to almost every party I was invited to thinking it was too much of a risk. Can’t risk people finding out a member of the royal family is just a normal girl inside! I–” I stuttered, stifling a sob, “I kept every opinion to myself, I studied hard, I said no to jobs and trips, I never even took a selfie in my life, all because I kept telling myself that there would be time for that later! I could be young and fun later! Just be the good, well behaved girl now, so Louis can live his life, and as soon as he is back it’ll be my turn! I’ll be able to live my life, finally! And now he’s gone and the life I spent years planning, dreaming, has been taken from me, and I have never and will never do anything! Did you know that?!”

I couldn’t see her reaction; my vision was too fuzzy with the tears. There was a knot on my throat that made breathing too hard.

“So, yeah, I’m sorry for the terrible offense of… having an opinion, Mom, but I’ve been making sure I am not a problem all my life, because I figured you had enough on your plate, so I am sorry, but it is a little upsetting that you can’t pay attention to the one child you have left that still actually needs you– what, I–”

She walked over to me, and pulled me into a hug I fought. But even in my state, even as I yelled about doing what I was taught to do, I couldn’t push her away. Not just because if felt… indelicate, but because she hadn’t held me like this since we were standing around Louis’ bed in the hospital. I missed it.

“I’m sorry, my baby.” She whispered, holding me tightly as I let myself sob. “I’m so sorry.”

She pulled me in until we sat on the sofa, but her arms only tightened more around me. I laid in her lap as she caressed my hair, whispering calming words in french until my sobs slowed and my breathing started to even out.

“I’m so tired.” I confessed. “I know.” She replied. “Me too.”

I couldn’t tell how much time passed, but my cheeks had nearly dried when I took in a long breath.

“What are we going to do about Lourdes?” I asked.

“Sh, It’s okay, my love,” she whispered, caressing my hair, “we’ll figure it out. We’re taking care of you now.”

--- ---- ---

In March, Harry announced his Invictus Games. In March, my mother hugged me -- really hugged me -- for the first time in many months.

In April, I attended my first engagement as the Crown Princess of Savoy. It was a visit to the Claire Bauton Foundation Center in Neunant, where I publicly met with the staff and some former  survivors who had now become volunteers. I wore a purple dress and shoes, the color of the Foundation’s logo, and shook from head to toe from the moment we left the Palace to the moment we were back.

Somehow, after our dramatic moment, my mother had decided it was time to become overly invested in my life again. So, she gave me a lot of suggestions on what to wear, to which my only response was trying to go to the other end of the spectrum completely and end up looking bizarrely like a punk teen version of myself. 

“I want to try to work with a stylist.” I told my team -- at this point, just Auguste and Cadie. “I don’t know if starting to wear a lot of designer brands would be a positive change, ma’am.” Auguste said.

“Stylists work with the client’s taste, don’t just make them wear something they do not want.” Cadie interjected. “I think I need help figuring out what my taste is. I’m either too traditional, or too modern. I have no idea.” “I’ll make some calls.” Cadie promised.

The engagement went well, if their recollection of it was to be believed. I was so nervous throughout the whole thing I could barely remember most of it. I had once been good at it, but now it just felt like there was too much riding in the balance. Too many people were watching. Too many people were even there.

I remember arriving, almost twisting my foot getting out of the car, having to force myself to smile through the flashes of photographers standing by, and breathing a sigh of relief once inside. I remembered the itinerary more than the actual event, which is how I knew I must have received a tour of the center, before meeting former survivors who were current volunteers. I remembered vaguely sitting down with a woman who told me her story -- a story of physical violence slow but steady, with no one believing her and the eventual kidnapping of her children by her ex-husband. I remember having to dab my eyes more than once to keep the tears from falling, looking away from where I knew we were being watched by the accompanying press. I remember the visceral reaction from hearing from the on-call lawyers about the times they had to run to a hospital in the middle of the night to assist clients who were attacked after a judge denied them restraining orders.

I remember looking down, knowing the press couldn’t see me losing it so much in my first outing.

I spent at least half an hour before leaving shaking the hands of well-wishers who came by to watch me in and out of the center. It was both terrifying and heartwarming -- seeing the faces of people who, for reasons I couldn’t understand, seemed to believe in me.

“I’m so sorry about your brother.” A lot of them said. “You’re doing a really good job.”

It didn’t feel like it.

My father agreed that the numerous pictures of me tearing up were too dramatic. My mother still thought I should have dressed more elegantly. But the results spoke for themselves: in the press, there was a lot of positive commentary of my ‘connection with the public’, my ‘sensitivity towards the delicate issue’, and even my ‘bright, modern look’, a ‘departure from more modest, boring choices of the past’.

It only made my stomach turn more. It only made me want to text Harry more. But my father was so pleasantly surprised he started talking about announcing my confirmation ceremony.

“Do I need one?” I asked, struggling against a tug of anxiety in my stomach. “That’s for heirs at 21 years-old, isn’t it?” “You weren’t the heir at 21. But you still need a confirmation if you’re the heir now.” He replied. “We’ll do it when you come home from the Olympics.”

“That should give us enough time to plan it, sir.” Montennon agreed. “And do some research on public opinion.”

My father rose from his chair behind the desk and walked around it towards us. Wordlessly, Montennon got up from his chair and stood back. My father took his seat.

“What is it?” He asked me, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

I sighed, smoothing the fabric of my dress with my hands. “I don’t know.” “You looked wonderful, regardless of what your mother thinks, you connected with the people, you highlighted the work… you did a great job, Margueritte.” I smiled, sheepishly. “I… I guess.” “Do you miss the law?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not--” I sighed. “It just feels… wrong.” “Helping an organization that helps people?”

“No, just…” I whispered, fidgeting with my hands, trying to stop them from shaking. “Just all of it… Him not being here. Being praised for the work he should have done. It feels wrong.”

He looked down, at his hands. He fidgeted, too.

“It’s not your fault he isn’t here to do that work, Margueritte.”

“I know.” I nodded. “I think I know… I just… I hate the way they talk about it. The press, I mean… the critics sound like they just don’t think I’m cut out for this because I’m not Louis. The praise sounds as if they’re just glad I’m not Louis... It doesn’t feel like a win.”

My father rose from his chair, slightly, and dragged it forward, nearer to me. He held my hand. “Margueritte, you will make a lot of mistakes in the road ahead.” He started. “But this is not one of them. I know you were nervous, I know it was tough, but you went there, you stood tall, you listened… you did a good job. You did better than any of us thought you would, if I’m being honest.” “That doesn’t help.” He grinned. “You’ll be fine, chérie. I am so confident about it that I want to release the statement about the confirmation next week.” “Already?” “Yes.” He sighed, letting go of my hand to lean back in his chair. “And I think we can do better than that. The V. E. Day celebration in May. Montennon?” “Yes, sir?” “Let’s have the Crown Princess make a speech.” “Me?” He smiled. “Yes, Marie-Margueritte. You. You’re doing a good job. Just keep at it.”

Keep at it. I can do that, I thought. I can be a good Crown Princess. I can keep learning, researching, working hard to highlight the good work of the people of Savoy. I can continue to look good and connect with the people. I can make a speech on V. E. Day. about the importance of the world coming together, about how much stronger we are together. I can do that. It’s a military ceremony about World War II, reasonably one of the things most of the world agrees on is that winning World War II was a good thing. I can do it. What could go wrong?

For instance, what are the odds that of all his family members, the chosen representative the British Royal Family would send to the V. E. Day celebration on Savoy would be… the one my whole family wanted me to stay as far away from as possible?

--- ---- ---

Outfit!

“Heard you’re leaving.” I bit my lower lip, focused on the task at hand. Slowly, I pushed her pajama pants into the bag and looked at him. “It’s time to get to work. But I need to be there to work.” He nodded, slowly. “How was it?” He asked, nodding slightly to the staits. I sighed, looking inward. “It was… Well, I’m not sure. I don’t think I expected anything specific. But I was able to say what I needed, I think.” He nodded. In the awkward silence, I grabbed Lourdes’ pajama shirt and started folding it. “I think I left a bunch of stuff in your bathroom.” I said, before squeezing past him towards his room.

There, I grabbed mine and my sister’s travel toothbrush and hairbrush from the sink cabinet, as well as the nearly empty, tiny travel bottles with shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap. I committed the name of his L’Occitane things to memory one last time, and made my way out.

In his room, my eyes fell on the bobby pins still in his bedside table. My feet froze in place. I made my way back to the bathroom and placed my toothbrush back next to his in the cabinet, closing it and making my way out feeling as if I had a secret.

It wasn’t a big, nefarious plot. I just thought, maybe, it would make him think of me every time he went to brush his teeth.

Back in the guest room, Lourdes was exchanging a sweater for a denim jacket.

“I’m ready.” She told me. “How was the gallery?” I asked, handing her the toiletries bag. “It’s a gallery in a palace.” She shrugged. “So, full of big paintings of posh, white people in gold frames. Mostly with horses.” She closed her bag, grabbed it and made her way out of the room. “I’m waiting downstairs.” “Okay.” I called, putting my own toiletries bag in my travel bag, and looking around. “I guess that’s it… Oh.” Looking down, I realized I was still wearing Harry’s shirt. “Sorry, I forgot.” “Keep it.” He smiled. “Are you sure?” I looked down again. The shirt wasn’t new, but it wasn’t that old, either. “It looks better on you, anyway.” He shrugged, still smiling to his own feet. I bit my lip, trying to ignore the flutter of butterflies on my stomach. “Does that mean I can keep the sweatpants, too? Because they’re super comfortable.” He chuckled. “Sure.”

Grinning, I opened my bag again and shoved the pants I had left folded on the bed inside. I pulled a knit sweater over his shirt and grabbed the big coat I was wearing when I had first arrived. Sighing, I looked at him again. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, avoiding my eyes.

I grabbed my coat, and held on to my bag’s handle. I remembered the feeling of his lips on my forehead as he whispered the words ‘don’t marry him’. My heart ached as it beat rapidly in my chest, so I sat on the bed next to the bag, the coat in my lap.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “About what?” “…making you an accidental accomplice into… whatever this was?” I said, uncertain. He grinned. “Hey, whenever you need an accomplice, call me.” We laughed. “You’ll be the first I call.” “Good.” He waited a bit, before adding. “…Will you be okay?” I let out a long breath. “I… I’m not sure. But I’ll try.” He nodded. “For whatever’s worth, I think you will.” “Yeah?” He smiled. “Yeah… I think you’re gonna be great.” “I think you have too much faith in me.” I said, giggling. “I think I have the right amount of faith in you.” He returned. “Which is to say… I think, as long as you continue to fight for yourself, you’re unstoppable.”

I gulped, looking down at my own hands, overwhelmed with a gratitude I could barely express.

“I have a question.” I said, bravely. “Truth or dare?” He asked, cheeky, making me smile. “Sure.” I said. “Okay?” He asked. “Truth.” “…that day,” I gulped, forcing myself to say the actual words, “the day of the funeral… afterwards, on the stairs, when I–When I tried to kiss you…” He gulped, looking down again. “Why… why didn’t you let me?”

I had been trying to word the question in my mind for the past three days; in all honesty, I had been wondering about it for the past five months. It wasn’t a bold assumption thinking he had been interested in me – he did ask me on a date. At the very least, it was safe to assume it was because he was attracted to me. I had always thought he hadn’t kissed me back because I was the heir, then. He had been interested in me when I was the second in line to the throne. Not when I was Queen-to-be.

But the very night before – mere hours before – he had told me his heart was mine. I didn’t dream it, at least I didn’t think so. Not if his red cheeks and eyes avoiding mine were any indication. So, what did it mean? Had he started liking me again after being disinterested after Louis died? Or had he liked me since then, and just… felt discouraged because of my new title?

“You…” He started. As much as I wanted to avoid his eyes, he took long enough that I forced myself to look up. He was looking behind him, making sure we were alone. “You had a boyfriend.” He half-shrugged. “And I remember… You know, the years after my mother died… I did a lot of things because of the hurt, and the confusion, and the anger that… that I wish I could take back. I guess I just…” he sighed. “I didn’t want to be something you regretted.”

The answer inexplicably brought tears to my eyes. The idea that… that it wasn’t about not wanting me. That really, he was thinking of me, trying to protect me from myself. It just felt like too much. But something else jumped out at me.

“I didn’t, though.” I told him. “Have a boyfriend, I mean. I didn’t get back with Christopher until after the funeral.” “Oh.” He said, thoughtfully, brows furrowed. “Why did you–?” “Well,” he sighed, running a hand over his face, “I read a lot on the news about you that week… you weren’t really answering your phone, so I just… I wanted to know if you were… okay… and they… they made it sound like it was a sure thing.” “Right.” I nodded. “I mean, the press always does that, though, they make a big deal out of nothing… and he had been seen coming over a lot, to support us. His family and mine are friends, so…” “Right,” he nodded, “Of course… I should–I should have known better. And then, later, when we were talking with your sister before the ceremony, she asked about your boyfriend, and you said ‘Christopher’–” “Oh.” I sighed. “Lourdes just… she assumed. Well, I think she mostly hoped… She was really young when Chris and I started dating, so she was hoping we would get back together… I guess most of my family was. And friends. And the press… they sort of seemed to think of it as inevitable.” “…Oh.” He nodded, and sighed. “…was it?” “…what do you mean?” “Well, if…” He looked back again, “If I had, you know… If I had kissed you… do you think it would have been inevitable?”

We exchanged a long look, unable to break our eyes apart. My mouth felt dry and there seemed to be a painful knot on my stomach. Then I couldn’t look at him anymore. Everything in me answered his question even though I couldn’t voice it. I was rehearsing a reply when we heard, from the bottom of the stairs, making us jump in place:

“Maggie?!” Lourdes called. “We have to go!” “Coming!” I shouted back, voice trembling.

I got to my feet, hurriedly, grabbing the coat with one hand and the bag with the other. Harry took the bag from me, and stepped back to let me go first. I turned back at the door, and quickly took the half step needed to him, wrapping my arms around his waist in a hug. Surprised, he didn’t need much time to hug me back, arching down to hide in the crook of my neck. I didn’t know how much freedom from the eyes of my father and sister I would have downstairs, so I took this time to try and commit to memory his smell, the warmth of his sweatshirt, and the feeling of his chest and back. Then, I let out a long sigh and stepped back, slowly, avoiding his eyes.

Downstairs, I put on my coat methodically avoiding anyone’s eyes as my father and Lourdes got to their feet from their seats on the kitchen table.

“Well, girls, thank your host for his kindness and hospitality.” My father said. Lourdes stepped towards Harry, offering him her hand, formally. “Thank you, host, for your kindness and hospitality.” She said, robotically, making Harry smile. “You’re welcome, ma’am.” He said, bowing his head. “You’re welcome anytime.” She smiled, stepping forward to give him a quick hug, before stepping away again. “And text me when you finish Avatar.” She said. “I want to know your thoughts.” He chuckled. “Will do.” My father approached Harry, Lourdes’ bag hanging from his shoulder. He They shook hands. “Thank you for looking after them.” He said. “And I apologize for the… confusion.” “It was nothing.” Harry nodded, politely. “Have a safe flight.” With a smile, my father grabbed my bag, which Harry handed mhim, and turned around to follow Lourdes to the door. “I’ll be right outside.” I told them. Lourdes left. My father looked at me, and at Harry, before slowly following her out. “Let me know when you’re home.” He told me, with a smile. “You know, just so I know you got home safe.” I nodded. “Sure.” I looked around, desperate for something else to say. But there was really nothing left. “Well,” he started, smiling, “whenever you need an accomplice, you know where I live now.”

I took two steps towards him and hugged him again, just as tightly as before, breathing him in as much as I could. But I knew I had to step away. Hugging him didn’t change what had happened on the day of the funeral, or my title, or, really, anything. So once more, I let him go, and stepped away.

“Thank you for everything.” I said, weakly. “Of course.” He whispered.

Against my better judgement, but following my every wish, I took two steps forward and hugged him again. This time his arms wrap around me almost at the same time, almost as if the hug was his idea. Maybe it was; maybe his mind and mine were in tune.

All I know is this: with his arms around me, I could feel his every muscle, I could feel his chest move as he breathed, I could hear his heartbeat. I felt his lips on the top of my head, and breathed him in, his scent taking me over, making me forget there was anything else out there. But I knew that wasn’t true, and that was the scariest part.

I knew, and perhaps that was why I couldn’t let him go: I knew the moment I walked out the door this had to be over. I had to hold my head high and accept that my life had changed. I had a responsibility to something bigger than myself. The moment I walked out the door, I could never hug him like this again.

So I lingered. I memorized his smell, his touch, his warm breath on my hair, the way his hand rubbed down my back, while his other cupped my neck, under my ear, caressing my hair with his thumb.

And that was why, ultimately, pulling away only slightly, I looked at him, sad but utterly happy all the same. Then, I pressed down on my tiptoes and closed the gap between us, touching his lips with mine slowly, tentatively. I wanted it to be a statement, a confession, but fear turned it into a question. His hand fell down from my neck; scared, I pulled away, but he wrapped it around my waist and kept me firm in place, pulling me even closer as his lips reframed themselves around mine, an answering question of his own, as our noses pressed against each other. His hand flat and steady on my back, the other on my waist, it was impossible to want to move. I didn’t.

Did my lips part first or did his? Did his tongue reach for mine first or was it me? Had my hand been under his sweater all this time? How long did I spend trying to remind myself of the urgency of leaving, but instead just wrapping my arms around him tighter?

I had to leave; so I forced myself to stare down, breaking the kiss. His breath on my skin was as warm as I felt, his hold around me as tight as mine around him. But I had to leave. The longer I stayed, the more I wanted.

“I could never regret you.” I confessed, while our foreheads rested on one another; his eyes were closed, but they opened as he heard me.

I stepped back, painfully, and turned around to leave Nottingham Cottage as fast as I could, knowing it wouldn’t take much to make me stay forever.

--- ---- ---

On the plane, I was greeted by my father’s secretary, Montennon, and my security officers, whom I hadn’t seen in three days. They formally bowed their heads in greeting, to which I said a cheery hello before settling in my seat as quietly as possible.

Also on the plane, I discovered we weren’t flying back to Corsilla, but to the capital, Neunant, since our parents had returned to their home, Callois Palace, when the ‘crisis’ broke. The Crisis, I soon understood, is the name they had given to my little leave of absence.

We had lunch on the plane too, and by the time we arrived home it was the middle of the afternoon. Mr. Doucet received us in the private entrance as usual, with a polite welcoming smile.

Lourdes attempted to run up the stone stairs before us, but my father yelled after her,

“To your room until dinner, Lourdes-Abigail! You’re grounded.” She gasped, all outrage. “I have never in my life seen you ever ground Maggie!” “Your sister never got into trouble,” he replied, before adding, on a much lower tone, “…at school.”

She continued up the stairs, steps much heavier in anger.

“The Queen?” My father asked Doucet as I got my bag from the truck. “In her room, sir.” The butler replied. “She’s asked to warn you dinner will be served at six, and it’ll be formal attire.” “Black tie?” I asked, exchanging a look with him. “Are we expecting guests?” “The staff was told to expect three guests, ma’am.” “Must be your Aunt Annette with Adrien and Natalie.” Dad told me, closing the car door so we could lead the way upstairs. “And my dogs?” I asked Doucet. “On the East Lawn with Martha for their afternoon walk, ma’am.” He replied, making me break in place and hand my bag to the nearest footman. “Oh, would you please drop this off at my apartment? I’ll go meet them.” “Don’t be late for dinner.” My father called, but I was already skipping in the opposite direction, towards the gardens.

Heathy, Nick and Tony were all beside themselves when they saw me, almost dancing from the way their entire bodies moved when they wiggled their tails. I thanked Martha profusely for looking after them in my absence and followed her to the kitchens to thank the others who had helped, making a mental note to get them something as a thank you gift.

The dogs skipped happily up the stairs ahead of me as we made our way to the apartment; for a brief moment, I considered going to say hello to my mother, but I figured showing up sweaty and covered in dog hairs after disappearing for three days wasn’t a good way to extend the figurative Olive branch, so I went straight to my apartment.

I gave the dogs freshwater and they immediately all found their ways to their little beds, ready for a late afternoon nap. In my room, I started going through my bag and separating laundry from things to go back into the closet. The first thing that caught my attention, though, was a book tucked into the side of the bag. When I picked it up, I recognized it as the Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone edition from Harry’s bookcase.

Smiling, I opened it to find a handwritten note in a blue post-it inside.

‘’It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.’ You can do this! - H’

He must have sneaked it in there when I was in the bathroom grabbing my toiletries. I grabbed my cellphone from where I had left it on the vanity, and took a picture, ready to text it to him. But then my fingers froze, and I found myself dropping the phone on the bed, blindly. I caressed the book, delicately, and placed it on my bedside table.

It felt wrong, texting him as if nothing had changed. Last time I had texted him was to show up to his house out of nowhere. The time before that, Louis was still alive. And now I had kissed him. While I still had a boyfriend.

I sat on the bed, and laid back, wanting the blankets to drown me; feeling… lost. Just then Martha knocked on the door.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” She walked in with a smile, “Just dropping off your dress for dinner.” “For dinner?” “Yes, it was being steamed.” She said, walking over to the closet. I followed. “Who sent it to be steamed?” “The Queen, ma’am.” “Oh.” I nodded, walking closer to inspect the dress. It was a deep green, organza, tea length, off-the-shoulders dress with ruffles and black tulle around the neckline, and a wavy skirt with some puff. “She said you should be in green tonight.” She explained. “Thank you, Martha.”

As she left, I grabbed my phone again. It was still opened on Harry’s contact, which now had a photo of him I had sneaked on our last day there. I looked at him, heart aching to talk to him, and closed the message app.

I spent the afternoon on my computer, doing some research into royal work and the things that I wanted, in order to prepare for my meeting the following day. There was so much I could do, and so much I knew Louis would have wanted me to, I just needed to find the right way to ask for it.

Right before dinner time, Lourdes walked into my room wearing a Gucci dress with a bow necktie, and matching tights, asking me to ‘do something cool’ with her hair, so she hang around, throwing the dogs their balls, waiting for me to be done with my makeup.

“Truth or dare?” She asked, trying unsuccessfully to pull the ball from Nick’s mouth. “You don’t have to keep doing that, you can just ask your question.” “…will you answer if I ask?” “Maybe,” I sighed, “you’ll have to try to find out.” She sighed, threw the ball half-heartedly across the room, and walked over to lean against my vanity table. “You’re not going to marry Christopher, are you?” I paused, staring at myself in the mirror, watching in horror as my cheeks became a lot paler, even though I had already applied blush. Lourdes didn’t look at me, but she didn’t seem impatient for an answer. “I–” I stuttered, breathless. “Why–? What makes you think that?” She leaned down to Tony, who’d been walking around trying to follow the other two younger and bigger dogs in their play time, but seemed to be tired now. She picked him up in her arms, gently. “We’ve been home for a few hours.” She started. “Have you called him, yet?” “Oh. Well, no, but–” “Has he called you?” “No. But, Lourdes–” “You’re not obliged to marry a guy just because he asks, Maggie.” I sighed. “I know that. But that’s not– Christopher and I–” “You know I used to sleep like a rock every night?” She interrupted. “No matter how much I had slept the night before, or how late I woke up, or how long did I nap, I could always fall asleep soon after my head hit the pillow.” “…okay?” “And now,” she kissed Tony, and put him back on the floor. “Now I can almost never sleep before tossing and turning for one hour or two, and I usually wake up in the middle of the night, with a nightmare. I never used to have nightmares.” “That’s… that’s stress, dollface.” I replied. “I know.” She shrugged. “And then this thing started happening, where I woke up but it’s like my brain woke up before my body? And I can hear and see everything, but I can’t move yet no matter how hard I try. And these shadows around keep moving…” “Sleep paralysis.” I told her. “That’s also stress. I know it sucks, but it goes away.” “I know, I googled it. What I mean to say is… I used to love sleeping. Now I don’t.” She looked at me, serious. “People change… all the time, about everything. You’re allowed to have a change of heart about someone.”

I finished my makeup in silence, and patted the seat cushion for her to sit down. As I pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, I let her words echo in my head. Finally, just as I finished hiding one last flyaway with a bobby pin, I looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“No.” I said. “I’m not going to marry Christopher.” She nodded, looking slightly disappointed. “It’s good that you made your mind. Now you’ll know how to answer.” “Answer what?” She looked at me. “Him.” As I remained confused, she sighed. “Oh. You don’t know.” “Know what?” She turned around in her chair to look at me. “Tonight’s guests? It’s Christopher and his parents.” She said. “I think he might propose tonight.”

I felt myself walking backwards, blindly, until my legs hit the bed and I sat down.

“No.” I said, shaking my head. “It’s too soon. Dad told him to wait.” “Maybe they changed their minds.” She shrugged. “Maybe they think he can stop you from going off the rocket again.” I pouted, hating the way it sounded like I was getting a nanny, not a future husband. “No…” I mumbled. “I don’t know how to tell him, yet. I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to say. I barely just started standing up for myself, I’m not strong enough yet!” “‘I don’t want to marry you’ is a good start.” I groaned, laying back on the bed with a start. “Or just lie.” She suggested. “Say it’s not him, it’s you.” “I’m trying to be a braver person, lying isn’t brave.” I said. “Well, then I don’t know.” She said, sighing. “Let’s hope he doesn’t pop the question, then. I mean, a family dinner it’s not an ideal proposing scenario.” “I don’t mind that.” “Seriously?” “I don’t know… I guess, with the lives we lead… family is our job, our whole lives, and marrying me is marrying the whole family, the whole country really… so, I guess it’s symbolic.” “Even if he didn’t choose it?” She asked. “Because it sounds like Maman got so upset you were losing it she decided to drag him in here and make it happen before things get too out of hand.” I groaned again, louder. Heathy barked. “Come on, it’s time.” Lourdes said, getting to her feet. “At least it’ll be over soon.” “How is that supposed to help?” She shrugged again. “You’ll either finish tonight engaged, or as his ex… again.”

— ---- —

We went downstairs with me wearing a different dress from the one my mother picked out. It was still green, so she couldn’t complain, but it was a velvet halter high neck. And I was wearing open toed sandals to go with it. I figured I was going to need to disappoint her tonight anyway, might as well look the way I want to.

“Margueritte.” My mother greeted, already talking to Christopher’s mother, Patricia. “How cute you look.” “Thank you, Maman. I was told green was the color choice for tonight.” “It sure is.” Patricia said, smiling wildly as she leaned forward to kiss my cheeks. “You look lovely, honey.” On his end, Christopher didn’t yet seem to notice that we hadn’t spoken in three days. He greeted me with a charming smile and a quick kiss on the lips.

“How was your trip?” “It was okay.” He said, shrugging. “You know, Canada.” “Right.”

My mind was running a thousand miles an hour, and I felt breathless and week, but the night itself seemed so busy I didn’t have any time to think about what to do. First, Christopher’s dad was offering to get me a drink, and when, in nervousness, I forgot every drink I had ever had in my life, Christopher had to intervene and tell him I preferred white wine.

Then his mother asked if I was feeling okay, because I apparently ‘looked pale’, and I had to spend a great deal of effort to as casually as possible mumble something about cramps, to which Chris groaned, awkwardly walking away to go speak to my father and his. His mother seemed convinced, though, giving me an understanding look as she justified that her son could be ‘such a baby’.

Then Lourdes, maybe seeing my discomfort, maybe just trying to settle her own doubts, marched to where the men were with a determined look on her face, so I had to run as normally as possible to follow her, reaching her just in time to hear her ask Christopher:

“So, Chris, I never really understood what happened to you and my sister last year.” Chris gave her a confused look as I sighed. “What do you mean?” He asked. “Why did you break up?” My father and Mr. Ratté looked at him, expectant, but I looked at Lourdes. “Why do you want to know?” “Just curious.” She shrugged. Christopher chuckled, wrapping an arm around my waist. “It’s okay, bunny. Well, Lou, we were just traveling back and forth so much, having jobs in different cities.” He told her, adding, then, sweetly, before kissing my cheek. “It was just too hard to say goodbye.” “But didn’t you have a longer distance between you in America?” Lourdes insisted. “I mean, it’s what? One hour between here and Tallmound? That’s nothing.” “Well, one hour and a half, actually.” He corrected. “And that’s with no traffic.” “Still, you were seeing each other every weekend.” Lourdes insisted. “With busy jobs, there are couples who live together who see each other that much. So, what was really the issue?” “Lourdes-Abigail, you are being awfully rude.” My father chuckled, with Mr. Ratté. Secretly, even though I could hear my heart beat loudly in my head, and felt my palms sweaty, this discussion was very much of interest. Distance wasn’t quite the reason Chris had given me. “I was just wondering.” She shrugged, apologetic. Christopher grinned. “It’s alright, Lou. And, well, you’re right… The distance wasn’t so bad. Uh…” He sighed. “If I’m being honest, I had become really… uncomfortable by the constant presence of reporters, and the stories in the press, and everyone I knew asking questions, you know?” “What would people ask?” “Oh, ah…” He took a sip of his drink. “You know, ask about your sister, about your family, about her career, that kind of stuff. People I barely even knew, you know? People who knew me through Maggie, in the papers, before meeting me, so they felt they could just approach and ask whatever they wanted. I mean, I get it,” he tightened his grip around my waist, bringing me closer, “look at her! I’d want to know, too, you know? But it gets… weird. Like people don’t really see you, just who you know.”

She looked pensive, stared down at her hands and, when it looked like she was about to speak again, my father laughed.

“What does it matter, dollface? They’re together now.” He said, pulling Lourdes into a one armed hug. “You don’t need to worry for your sister anymore.” “It’s really sweet.” Chris added.

I found Lourdes’ eyes as the other changed the conversation topic, and I wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to convey, but she looked sad, so I knew I agreed. She looked sad enough that I started to feel angry at Christopher for not having better answers.

“What changed?” I asked Christopher, suddenly, causing an abrupt silence amongst the group. “What?” He asked. “The things you mentioned, the reasons we broke up,” I explained, “what changed? Why did we get back together?” “I don’t understand, what do you mean?” “Well, Chris–” I sighed, “You said you didn’t like that I got more attention than you–” “Well, no, that’s not what I meant!” He protested. “It’s what you said.” Lourdes told him. I raised a hand to her, trying to wordlessly ask her to let me handle this now. “Well, yes, in a way,” Chris told her, “I guess so. But what I meant is that… you know, it never seemed to matter what I did, like being promoted the youngest Portfolio Manager in my firm’s history… nobody cared! But Maggie attended a polo match with a president, and it was world news!” “I’m just asking,” I interrupted, “since… you know, that didn’t change… if anything, now that… that my title changed, that will only get worse, including the paparazzi harassment. So, why? Why did we get back together if that issue not only hasn’t been fixed, but will likely get worse?” He sighed. “Maggie, I–” he laughed, nervously, looking at the others, before smiling at me, sweetly. “Everything changed.” “Not everything.” I refuted. “Just one thing.” He sighed, longingly. “But that one thing changed everything else.” “What thing?!” Lourdes asked, impatient. I noticed our mothers had stopped talking and were now paying attention, too. “Your brother died.” He replied, rispid, before sighing, looking regretful. “It… it rocked me. It made me realize what a dumbass I’d been.” “Christopher.” His mother admonished. “Language.” “It’s true.” He shrugged, smiling at her, then at me. I returned his smile, sadly. “I was so stupid to care about all those things. And when Louis died, I realized I couldn’t handle being away from you, especially knowing you were going to go through this huge change in your life, in your career, in your future. It made me realize I knew I wanted to be by your side for all of it.”

Behind me, I heard someone say ‘aw’, but I didn’t know if it was my mother or his. Our fathers were smiling. Lourdes seemed even more confused now, and I couldn’t help her. With the eyes of our families on us, I leaned forward and kissed his lips, quickly.

The moment passed. We were ushered into the dining room, for dinner, and spoke of different topics. I didn’t feel like I ate anything, or even heard what any of the conversations were. All I remember was sitting there, Christopher’s hand on my leg as he sipped from his wine, talking joyfully with my father, all familiarity and friendliness, and then suddenly standing up to follow the others to the sitting room for tea.

Lourdes approached me, away from the others, when we were there.

“You know he basically just said he didn’t want to marry you until you became the future Queen, right?!” I sighed, avoiding her eyes. “Lourdes, please, I am begging you, let me handle this.” “Well, I just think it’s important you know that is what he meant.” “I was there, I heard him.” I told her. “I think he means it.” “…are you serious?” She asked. “Are you seriously buying this?” I looked at her. “What happened to ‘people change’? ‘You have a right to have a change of heart about someone’?” “I gave that advice to my sister,” she said, “not a guy that doesn’t seem to be happy unless he’s the sparklier thing in the room.”

The line was like magic. I was immediately reminded of another time I had heard it.

**

It was summer 2013, and we were on vacation in Mallorca with our friends. Savoy news had been overtaken for weeks with the story of a seemingly healthy little girl who died suddenly in bed; had her parents done it? Was it an intruder? Why did police take so long to get to the scene? On dinner one day, as we discussed it, someone asked aloud what we thought if we thought it was possible for them to charge the parents with the lack of abundant evidence?

Christopher said the evidence was stronger than it seemed, and as began to contradict him, he sighed, upset, and said in a joking way that I never let him finish saying anything. I apologized, and stayed quiet.

Later, at the yacht, Louis stood next to me as we watched our friends jump in the water and said I had to stop doing that.

“I was being polite.” I justified. “You were being stupid.” He returned. “You’re a lawyer. Unlike any of us, you have actual knowledge of what you’re talking about. He’s the one who was talking out of his ass.” “It’s not like anyone actually sees me as a lawyer.” I shrugged. “I’m just a princess to them.” “Even more reason to showcase your knowledge.” He said. “Seriously, Maggie, you have to stop putting down your light just because your dumbass boyfriend can’t handle not being the sparkliest thing in the room.”

**

“Margueritte?”

I shook my head, shaking away the memory of a distant summer in exchange for the grim winter.

“I’m sorry?” I looked around, realizing they were all looking at me. “Christopher called you, honey.” Patricia said, smiling sweetly, sitting on a two seat sofa with my mother.

Chris approached, held my hand, and walked me over to the middle of the room.

“Maggie,” he started, “Bunny,” He laughed, nervously, before sighing. “When we were kids, during some… birthday dinner party, I think, we were in this room while the adults talked on the next room over… and we were all talking, and I think some kids were trying to play poker, and me and some others were talking by the windows over there,”

As he looked at the windows across the room, I followed his eyes, realizing we were being watched, and most likely overheard, by our families, who all but Lourdes had sweet, excited looks on their faces.

“And I remember looking at you,” he continued, “and you were over here with your cousin, Natalie, and you guys were doing some dance that you saw on a music video, and you were laughing like crazy…” he laughed to himself, a romantic look on his eyes. “And someone, I think it was Todd Berger, probed me with his elbows and started teasing me about it. Apparently…” He sighed, looking at me, “Apparently I was smiling watching you. And that day I was too young to tell Todd that he’d so lucky to feel what I did, but that was the day I knew I liked you.”

I could hear another sound of ‘aaw’ in the room, but couldn’t look. I could only look at the wall behind him, feeling my legs shake and my stomach hurt.

“We’ve been through so much, Bunny–” “Chris.” I interrupted, partly because I had finally realized where this was going, partly because hearing him call me ‘Bunny’ was getting too hard. “Can we talk outside?” “Margueritte!” My mother stage-whispered, angrily. “Don’t be rude, you’re interrupting.” Chris grinned. “We’ve been through highs and lows and through it all we’ve stood by each other and only grew into more love for each other.”

His hand was still holding mine. My other hand, shaking, was nervously fixing my hair.

“You make me a better man. You inspire me. And I just can’t imagine the rest of my life without you.” “Christopher.” I tried again, realizing my voice was barely a whisper. He ignored me – or possibly didn’t hear me. “I know this last year was impossibly difficult. We were apart. We went through so much pain. But, at the end, the pain brought you back to me.”

Did he, once again, imply my brother dying is what made us get back together?

“I know things have changed, and I know you’re looking at an unimaginably difficult task ahead of you, and it’ll be the greatest honor of my life to be your partner as we learn to lead our beautiful country together.”

Then, just as I thought it was all too much, he let go of my hand, only to kneel down and offer me a ring box, which he opened to reveal a large, sparkly, emerald-cut emerald engagement ring. It had a halo of baguette diamonds around it on a platinum pavé band, and the reason I knew so much about it was the same it took me so long to say anything.

It was Christopher’s family ring. It was an heirloom piece that had belonged to his great-grandmother, a gift from his great-grandfather, a marchioness who only had daughters – reason why the family hadn’t retained the title over the years.

It was a known ring in society circles. As a teenager, I had once giggled with my friends at the thought of one day having it. I had looked up pictures of it online, and imagined how much it would weigh, if it would look good on me, and what people would say.

Looking at the green sparkle – more impressive than anything I could have imagined – I remembered all of it: all of the time and energy I had spent over the course of nine years wondering if Christopher felt about me the same way I felt about him. More than nine, if included the years before we were ‘officially’ dating, but during which I thought of little else. It was only then that the weight of the amount of time wasted truly downed on me, and I wondered why couldn’t he have said those things before? Why couldn’t he have made me feel more sure in our relationship before?

And the sad thing was this: thinking of the look on his eyes when he told me that losing Louis had made him realize he was being stupid before, I realized that maybe he was being honest. Maybe he did change. But… that only meant that the nine years we spent together hadn’t been enough to make him realize he wanted to spend his life with me. It took my brother dying. It took my future changing. It took the role he would have as my husband receiving a considerable upgrade for it to be worth it.

“Maggie…” He smiled, “Will you marry me?”

I realized in this one moment, with our parents gasping excitedly just a few steps from us, that this would be… so much easier. Saying yes would be so much easier. Becoming his wife, like I had spent so many years dreaming of, would make my life so much easier.

But there was a note inside a book on my nightstand upstairs with the words ‘it takes bravery to stand up to our friends’. Or something. And as I looked at Christopher all I could really think of was Harry’s whispery voice as he said, ‘don’t marry him’.

“No.” Christopher chuckled, confused. “What?” I sighed. “Chris… Can we talk outside?” “I think what Margueritte means is–” “I think she was clear enough.” Mrs. Ratté interrupted my mother, angrily. “Maggie.” Christopher said, softly. “I’m asking you to marry me.” I nodded, gulping. “I know. The answer is no.” He looked down, no longer smiling. “Margueritte is right.” My father interrupted, an authoritative tone in his voice. “So much has happened in such a short time. Perhaps, it’s just too soon.” “Yes.” Mr. Ratté agreed. “We should wait a few months, and then revisit the future of the relationship–” “No.” I interrupted, louder now, feeling my eyes water. “We’re not getting engaged, now or in a few months.” I looked at Christopher, apologetically. “We’re breaking up.” He got to his feet, slowly. “Maggie, I don’t understand.” “Chris…” I started, scratching my palms as hard as I could to stop from crying. “I spent the past several years wishing almost every day to be your wife, completely unable to imagine my future without you in it… But when you broke up with me last year, I had to.” “But you don’t have to anymore.” He said, holding on to my shoulders. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m back.” “On your time.” I contested. “After I spent years asking you for some sort of guidance on where we stood, on what you wanted, and you gave me nothing to go by. You allowed me to spend every day wondering what I was doing wrong. Wondering if there was something more I could be doing, when you were the one who didn’t know what you wanted.” “But I do now.” He insisted. “I told you, I was an idiot. I want this. All of this. I want you.” “Margueritte, I think maybe the past few days have been a lot–” My father tried. “This doesn’t concern you.” I said, loudly, looking at them now. “Don’t think I don’t know you had told him to wait until the end of the year to do this. Why the change, dad? Why did this get pushed to now? And, please, someone tell me, does what I want and what I feel matter to anyone anymore?!”

They were silent. Patricia placed her glass on a center table, and stood up.

“Perhaps it’s time to go.” “I don’t understand.” Christopher shook his head. “You’re the one who wanted to get back together.” “No, I didn’t.” I shook my head. “I was never even asked. You just… came back one day. Don’t you think it’s weird that we never even talked about our relationship? We never talked about the breakup?” “No, Maggie, you wanted us to get back together!” He insisted, louder now. “You’re the one who kissed me and dragged me into your room to fuck you on the day of your brother’s funeral.”

There was a collective, sharp gasp from the rest of the room.

“Christopher.” His mother admonished. “Language.” “That was unnecessary.” I told him, seriously. “Well, now it’s done. Explain that, Maggie.” “I… I was grieving.” I shrugged, now feeling a tear roll down my cheeks. “I was in pain. I just wanted to feel like things could be good again. I just wanted something that reminded me from life before–” “So you used me?!” “I don’t think you get to complain about that.” I replied. “Not when not even two hours ago you said that me being more known than you made you uncomfortable.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Why did you change your mind, Chris?!” I asked. “One day I’m the second in line to the throne and you hate the idea of royal life, then I’m Crown Princess and you suddenly find a way to deal with all those issues. Why?!” He nodded, looking down at his hands. He closed the ring box. “Wow.” He said, biting his lower lip. “Wow, Margueritte. So that is what you think of me? After nine years?” “I don’t think you did it on purpose.” I shrugged, feeling another tear roll down my cheek. “I think you just… got used to me. Like I got used to you, because we got together too young. So every time you saw even a hint of a reason to break up, you did.” “And now I’m asking you to be my wife.” He repeated, stepping closer to me. “And when some time passes, and you look back on it, I honestly think you’ll be glad I said no.” “Well, I already am.” Patricia said, walking over to us and grabbing the ring box from him. Chris laughed, humorlessly. His mother looked at my parents. “Sir, ma’am, thank you for a lovely dinner. We should go.” Mr. Ratté got to his feet, and gave my father an apologetic look. “Let’s give it a few weeks.” He said, shaking my father’s hand. “The kids’ll come around.” My father nodded, somber. “Maggie.” Chris whispered, holding my hand. “Please.” “What exactly is your goal here?” Lourdes asked, more to herself than to him. “Argue her into marrying you?” My parents stared her down. “Maggie. I know I was being stupid, but I changed. I want you.” He said, softly. “I’ll keep your points in mind, and I’ll call you in a couple of days, so we can talk about this.” I squeezed his hand, gently; sadly. Sighing, I looked up at him, decided I owed him honesty even if he wouldn’t give me the same. “I don’t love you,” I confessed, “anymore.” Though I whispered it as gently as possible, he took a step back as if I had cursed his mother. “Did--Did you start seeing someone else after we broke up?!” “Chris, this is… this is my choice. No one made me do it.” He shook his head, angrily. “Are you in love with someone else?!”

To this, there was an answer. But I couldn’t in good conscience give it to him. I stared at my feet, remembering the kiss only that morning.

“Who?!” He asked, loudly, to my silence. He looked at my father then. “Who?!” My father had his hair hung, eyes closed, pinching his nose with his hand. My mother had one hand covering her mouth, staring at the floor. “Christopher.” His father called, sternly. “Time to go, son.” He left without looking at me, and they closed the door behind them.

I dabbed my hands to dry my cheeks in the heavy, awful silence that followed.

“Really, Margueritte?!” My mother asked, in a terrifyingly low tone. “This is the rudest I’ve ever seen you. I am so disappointed in you.” “I tried to talk to him in private.” I reminded her. “And you shouldn’t have ambushed me.” “So, helping your long-time boyfriend plan a surprise proposal is ambushing you now?!” “You only did it because she spent three days at Harry’s.” Lourdes intervened. My mother shot her an angry look. “And you, Lourdes-Abigail! What got into you to say such a thing to him?!” “How is this my fault?!” She asked. “Maggie is the one who accused him of being a gold-digger. Or, I guess attention-whore is more fitting.” “Room! Now!” Mom yelled, walking over and holding her by the elbow. “You are grounded and I do not want you out of your room for the rest of the week unless you have permission!” I could hear my sister arguing all the way down the hall.

I stood in place. Feeling a mixture of sad, angry, and relieved all at once. I wanted to cry again, but really didn’t feel like doing it in front of my father. So I turned around and made for the door. I stopped, heaving a long sigh. It also didn’t feel right to leave like this.

“I think you want what’s best for me.” I said, looking at him, who still looked defeated, frozen in place. “And I appreciate you wanted to help… but I need you to understand that I am the one who’ll decide what that is. No one else… And he wasn’t it, Papa.” He stared at me, then nodded, tiredly. I was almost at the door when he spoke again. “Is it true?” I turned back to him. “Are you in love with him?” Closing my eyes, now slightly embarrassed to have said it in front of so many people, I felt another tear roll down my cheek. “Because, chérie, I do want what’s best for you…” He said, softly, walking over to me. “Which is why it pains me, but I need to know you understand that he… that’s not… possible. It’s simply not attainable, Maggie.” I nodded, biting a lip to try and keep my composure. “Well,” I sighed, looking at him, “then I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, right?”

--- ---- ---

The outfits Marie-Margueritte wears!