#OPITCphff

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 28. Switzerland

‘I did think, let’s go about this slowly. This is important. This should take some really deep thought. We should take small thoughtful steps.

But, bless us, we didn’t.’ -Mary Oliver

“By the way…” I added, breathlessly, as he kissed my neck, “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

I felt his hand aggressively grip my tight in response as he pulled my hip into him. He released a heavy breath on my neck and paused, leaning back slightly to look at me.

“You are?”

I smiled. “Where’s all that confidence, Your Royal Highness?”

He grinned and leaned forward grabbing my lower lip with his teeth on a gentle nip. I tightened the hold of my legs around his.

He kissed me again, this time his hands slid up to my jaw, steadying my face in place so his mouth could frame mine strongly, his tongue and mine dancing together as our hips moved as one trying to get impossibly closer.

He nibbled my lower lip again, breaking the kiss; I moaned a complaint, feeling his lips grin against my neck. His hands hovered hungrily around my back, then slid down to pull down the fabric on my waist. He leaned back, looking at my body.

"I don't know how to get you out of this thing." He complained, making me chuckle.

I pushed him back so I could jump down from the table. I gave my back to him, moving my hair to the front, pointing to the flap of fabric on my back hiding a zipper. He undid it quickly, pulling my jumpsuit down to my feet in one swift, fast move. He stayed crouched down as he did, his hands held onto my legs and he slid them up slowly, making my entire body shiver.

When they reached my hips, I felt his mouth on my ass, biting it gently as his hands slid to my crotch as he stood up again, his lips grazing my back slowly as he did. One of his hands made their way up across my stomach, touching my belly button up until the area under my breasts, as the other slid further down between my legs, over my underwear.

Breathless, I pressed my hips back into him just as his hand grabbed a firm hold over my breast; I let my head fall back on his shoulder, bringing one arm up to grab a fistful of his hair.  While his other hand rubbed strongly against my cunt, over my underwear, his lips traced down my neck. The feeling of his stubble against my skin, his hands over my body in the exact way I had fantasized about so many times, it made my legs tremble, my breath weaken, my clit pulsate in anticipation.

"Fuck..." I moaned out, weakly.

"Language, Mary." He whispered, his lips on my ear.

"Fuck you." I replied, smiling, tugging on his hair.

In one fast move, his hands left my body to untie my bra; he  gently spun me around to face him, now almost completely naked.

Self-conscious, I pulled him closer again, but he held my arms in place. Stepping back, he looked at me, an appreciative, seductive grin in his lips as his eyes hovered down my chest, my stomach, my hips, my legs...

"What?!" I asked, impatiently, feeling my cheeks blush as I rubbed my thighs together; every inch of my body already missing his hands.

"I just want to look at you." He said, hands running down his hair.

"This is embarrassing." I complained, shyly, crossing my arms over my chest.

He chuckled, biting his lower lip. He took a step closer, and pulled my arms down, still watching every piece of my skin.

"Why?"

"Because!" I laughed, nervously. "I'm naked! And you're watching me."

"I'm not watching you." He corrected, his hands lightly grazing my body as they found their way to my breasts. "I'm worshiping you..." His eyes found mine, serious, just as his fingers gently pinched my nipples. "The way you deserve."

His hands held onto my chest, firmly, and his thumbs started rubbing circles around my nipples, just as his mouth found mine again. He started slowly, gently, but it was exactly enough to send waves of inciting pleasure down my body. I pushed my body against his, and his leg flexed between mine. I mounted one leg over his hip, feeling his thigh under my cunt.

"This isn't fair." I complained, my arms around his neck, still covered by his shirt. It was unbuttoned, so just as he leaned back I pulled it down, and he shrugged it off to the floor.

I grabbed a hold of his muscly shoulders, sliding my hands down slowly down his torso. I leaned closer, laying a gentle kiss over his skin, covering his chest with kisses until I reached his neck. His hand grabbed a firm hold onto my hair, the other traveled lightly down my body to squeeze my hips closer to his. His hands were too big on me, nearly covering the whole of my back.

I kissed his neck allowing my hands to get to know his body; I had spent so long wondering what he would feel like under my palms, it felt exhilarating to be able to freely touch him, so I did. I touched every inch of his chest, his stomach, the curve of his hips, until my hands found his belt, which I unceremoniously undid.

"Curious?" He asked, his voice still as teasing, but now strained, lower.

I answered by letting his pants fall to the floor, reaching down to allow my hand to hover over his bulge. He bit my neck in response, a little stronger, a puff of heavy breath down my skin. I moved my hand down, gulping at the touch of him, thick, strong, hard, on my hand. He kissed my clavicle, panting. I moved my hand up, firmly; I felt him getting harder as I did, but just as I was moving my hand more firmly around him, his hands gripped my thighs again and pulled me up to the table, making me lose my reach.

His hands slid down my legs to my knees, pulling them apart slowly, around his waist, dragging me closer as he pressed his hips against mine. He reached behind me and pushed whatever was on the table to the floor, leaning down to lay me against it, his mouth trailing kisses down my neck, my clavicle, and my breasts, kissing one while one of his hands gripped the other. I squeezed my legs tighter around him, enjoying the feeling of his hardened dick against me.

His hands grabbed hold of my hips, strongly pushing them down in place.

"So impatient..." He teased.

"Shut up." I complained, weakly, trying to sit up to kiss him, but before I could his hands held onto my neck, pulling my mouth onto his, lowering me down to the table again.

I felt one of his arms slide down my body, over my stomach, reaching down below my navel and over my lace panties to hover my labia; his hand was so big it covered my whole pussy as he pressed more firmly against it.

"Is this okay?" He asked, whispery, looking up from my breasts.

I smiled in response and he pressed his middle finger down, starting to move up and down slowly, making strained moans leave me against my will.

"Good?" He asked, now sounding definitely teasing. I pulled him more firmly against me with my legs in response.

"God--" I let out, breathless, as his finger found my clit. "There--" I begged.

My back arching, my legs trembling, he reached his other hand over to hold onto my neck, lightly holding it over my throat. He moved my underwear out of the way and fingered me down, feeling just how wet I'd become.

I saw the grin taking over his lips, and pulled him up for a kiss before he could tease me about it, biting his lips mercilessly the more his fingers moved in me. I came with a spasm of pleasure with his mouth to my neck, sweating weakly.

He kissed me again, slowly. His hand between my legs continued to run all over my cunt, now delicately, as if just enjoying the feeling of it.

He leaned back, pulling my lower lip between his. "Can I taste you?"

I nodded, kissing him again, deeper now. I barely knew what he asked; I would have said yes to anything.

He reached down, pulling my panties off. He spread my legs wider, and traced down my body with his lips until they were over my labia; he kissed me slowly, from below to the top, letting his tongue get to know every nook and cranny. When he found my clit again, a moan escaped before I could stop it, it was the only sign he needed. He kept his mouth over it, his tongue circling it, first with kitty licks, then strongly while his finger reached down from below to enter me again, sliding in easily, familiar. He fastened the rhythm and waited until I was moaning breathlessly again before adding one more finger while his tongue continued to add pressure to my center, circling, sucking, until I was thrusting myself into him.

When I looked down, desperately, his eyes found mine, hungry, but I didn't feel the need to look away. I felt an overwhelming wave wash over me, taking over control of my every movement while I came with a strained, high pitched moan; his face between my shaky, weakened legs.

Panting, I fell back down on the table, eyes closed as I breathed quickly, wishing time would stop. He gave my navel one final kiss before making his way up my body. He laid his head between my breasts as his hands found mine, intertwining our fingers.

When I felt I might not fall back down again, I sat us both up slowly. I felt myself dripping over his table, and his hard cock between my legs, but his eyes were all I saw while he rested his forehead on mine.

We remained like this for longer than felt appropriate, just nuzzling our noses together as our breaths evened out together.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, eventually.

I smiled; “If I say truth, will you ask me to rate your performance?”

He chuckled, his cheeks reddening slightly. “No.”

“Okay. Truth.”

He let out a deep breath. “Did you mean it?”

For a moment I thought he was asking if I was faking it, but his expression was too serious.

“When you said you were falling in love with me.” He explained, whispery, probably finding the confusion on my face. “You know you don’t have to say it just because I did?”

I smiled, and leaned over to lay a quick kiss over his lips.

“I meant it.”

‘Falling in love’ already felt like the wrong way to put it; there was no falling to it. I was there, I fell. But it felt like too much to say it then.

He smiled, nodded, and gulped. His smile disappeared.

“What are we going to do?” He asked, softly, worried.

I heaved a sigh, and looked at the clock over his kitchen window, doing the math in my head.

“I have… two hours before I need to leave for the train station for the last train to Savoy.” I told him. “So, I guess we have two hours to figure that out.”

I traced the spiderman band aid on his cheek lightly; his arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled my off the table, mounting me to his lap.

“Okay.” He said. “We can do a lot in two hours.”

Smiling, he walked us upstairs to his room. We could maybe fit a whole universe in two hours.

--- ---- ---

I had never been touched like this: sexually, yet in a non-sexual way. Harry had his hand over my breast, caressing it lightly, innocently, but purposefully, analyzing every inch as if trying to commit it to memory.

“Does this feel good?” He asked, causally, if slightly concerned.

“Yes.” I said, smiling, eyes closed, nearly falling asleep.

He leaned closer and raised himself on his elbow to lay a quick kiss on the side of my breast. He left another over my tattoo, on my shoulder, and then nuzzled my hair with his nose as he settled back down on the pillow.

I had a little less than one hour before I had to get up and get dressed, but I didn’t want to move. My legs still felt too dangerously numb, and the feeling of his embrace behind me under the covers felt so perfect the smallest movement felt like it might destroy it.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, whispery, tracing my neck with his lips.

I smiled. “Truth.” I said, just because the idea of having to move for a dare was too much.

He raised himself on his arm again, resting his chin on his hand to look at me. “…Did–did you ever think about me?”

I looked back at him, amused. “Of course. It’s kind of what you do when falling for someone.”

“What I mean is,” he corrected himself, with an eyeroll, “did you ever think about fucking me?”

To this, I bit my lower lip and stared back at the wall. Harry leaned down, kissing my arm.

“Did you ever, you know… at night… think about what it would be like?”

His hand squeezed my breast a little tighter.

“Yes.” I confessed.

He leaned closer to whisper in my ear.

“Really?” He asked, gently biting my earlobe. “What did you think about?”

I turned to him, grinning.

“No follow up questions, Your Royal Highness.”

He smiled, sighing.

“Truth or dare?” I asked.

“Why do I feel like you just want to get back at me for this question?”

“Pick truth and find out.” I shrugged.

“Truth.”

“…did you?” I asked, simply.

He gave me a long look, still smiling, and then leaned down to touch my lips with his.

“Almost every day.” He said. “When you stayed here, every night I wanted nothing more than to just turn you around and kiss you.”

I smiled. “You were very restrained.”

“Thank you.” He said, seriously, sounding touched, making me laugh.

“You only told me to dump my boyfriend once.”

He grinned. “And I didn’t even call him a fucker like I wanted to.”

I giggled; he leaned down again, capturing my mouth with his.

“I thought about this a lot.” I confessed, just because. Touching my nose to his, I folded one leg up to rest between both of his. “I couldn’t help it. But it always made me sad.”

He touched my forehead with his lips, and stayed there.

“I don’t want this to be it.” He said, still to my forehead.

“Me neither.” I whispered.

“…how much do your parents hate me? Just, you know, ballpark?”

“They–they don’t hate you exactly.” I said, unsure. “They just hate everything you represent.”

“Well, that’s much better.” He teased, making me smile.

I leaned back, looking up at him.

“It’s not about you personally.”

“I did yell at your mother and went against them all when I let you stay here.”

I sighed. “Yeah, that–that was good at the time, but unproductive now.”

He stretched his arm back under his head and looked up at the ceiling.

“What do we do?” He asked, pensive.

I took in a deep breath and pushed myself upwards, kicking off the covers as I got up.

“Hey!” He protested. “Come back, I only have you for another hour.”

“I think better on my feet.” I explained.

I opened his wardrobe and opened a drawer.

“Can I borrow a shirt?”

“Okay, first you get out of bed, now you want to get dressed? What have I done?” He complained; I smiled, picked the first, simple, cotton shirt I could find, and put it on.

“Nevermind, you still look hot.” He sighed, almost sounding disappointed.

“Focus!” I demanded. “Let’s think. What can we do?”

He sighed, and sat up against the headboard.

“Well. What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, what is the problem here? Why can’t we just date?”

“Well, I’m the first in line for the throne of Savoy.” I started. “You’re the fourth in line for the throne of the United Kingdom.”

“And why is that a problem?” He asked, didactic.

“Because the press needs profit, and they achieve it by writing stories about us, real or not, and one of their favorite topics to speculate about is who we will marry one day, so as soon as they know we are together, they’re going to start running every possibility about our future–”

“Exactly.” He interrupted. “The whole problem about us being together is what it could mean for the future.”

“…okay?” I nodded. “So, maybe we should talk about the–future?”

I winced; our relationship was 50 minutes old and we were talking about the future? We were doomed.

“No, wait–that’s not–I don’t mean–”

“No, I–I get it.”

“So…?”

He sighed, and sat up, running both hands up his face and through his hair.

“This is hard.”

“Just–” I started. “What if we just… focused on the present?”

He considered this. “What do you mean?”

I perked up, “Well, what if we just refuse to let this affect us? We just… we pretend we’re normal people. Normal people who just started dating and who don’t need to talk about the future yet, because it’s too soon.”

He nodded. “That sounds good… except–”

“Yes?”

“We’re not the problem.” He argued. “We can do that, sure. I’m sure we can. But, what about the press? Nobody controls them. Also, and I feel like that’s an even worse problem, what about our families? They would never buy into ‘we are focusing on the now’.”

“There’s a simple solution for that… We don’t tell them.” I shrugged. “We don’t have to. We know how they feel. Why should we invite them into our…?” I struggled against the word ‘relationship’. “Stuff?”

“Because they control our lives?”

“Good point.” I sighed.

“Also, how could we keep this from them? My neighbours are all family members and employees of my grandmother. And you literally live with your parents.”

“Yes, but!” I said, excited, kneeling onto the bed. “We live in different countries! So, we’ll only be able to see each other every other weekend, anyway, if we can get our security to keep their mouths shut, we can meet in secret.”

Silent, he thought about this as his eyes hovered around the room. I waited, tense. It felt like asking too much. I knew I was the problem, my situation was the problem. Had we started dating before Louis died, people would complain, yes, but they wouldn’t have nearly as much to say about it.

“If only we lived a century or half ago.” He said. “Then this would just be considered a ‘good match’.”

I grinned. “I know… It’s bizarre.”

When monarchies had transitioned from being only a symbol, to being a working force for the country, they had realized the need for members to help. After all, with modernization, social media and the 24 hours news cycle, there’s only so much one monarch can do. They eventually need family members to help. So, today, ‘spares’ were no longer seen as trading chips to other kingdoms. They were more needed at home, for support.

If Louis was alive, and I was still a spare myself, we would still have had a few hills to climb, but the idea of our future wouldn’t be a huge unknown: I would move to England, take Harry’s title, and sometimes visit my family. We might even be able to work for both countries.

But now, considering we even made it that far, if Harry and I were to marry, he would have to move to Savoy, which would be extremely frowned upon by his family, not only because they would be losing a valuable member of their workforce, but because they already had a history with a family member walking out for love before (Edward VIII, who then became Duke of Windsor). Not only that, the woman he walked out for was also a foreigner. The ripple effect it caused in British history was so big it was still a sensitive subject.

Crucially, the marriage laws for British royalty dictated Harry would lose his titles and place in the line of succession should he marry a catholic. Which I was.

“I forgot about that.” I groaned when Harry reminded me.

“They want to change that law, but even if they do, if we were to get married, wouldn’t the Savoy government expect me to abdicate my position in the British line of succession?”

“I…” I stuttered. “I don’t know.” I did know. And the answer was yes, probably. But the idea would be so utterly destructive for his family I couldn’t bear to say it aloud.

“My grandfather had to, when he married my grandmother.”

“Those were different times.” I argued.

“We both know if there’s one place time doesn’t pass that fast is inside a monarchy.” He smiled, sadly.

In my family, the problem would be Savoy’s historic animosity towards England, Harry not being catholic, his polemic party past, and, of course, the risk that our future children would link us forever to Britain, meaning should some people die, it was likely that in a few years the only descendant to the Savoy throne was a British monarch.

Revolutions had started for less.

I sighed. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

He looked at me, but averted his eyes soon after.

“…It is.”

I turned around, and sat facing the window, giving my back to him, pulling my legs up to my chest.

“Maybe we should cut our losses, then.”

He didn’t say anything. I bit my lower lip and tightened my arms around my knees, to try and stop myself from saying anything else.

I knew what he must be feeling, I knew because I used to be a spare. I knew how hard it was to be in that constant limbo of not being important enough, but not being normal, either. And if I knew dating someone would make my life even more of a public debate, I would run away screaming in the other direction.

He was falling for me, sure. But he wasn’t stupid. If we started a relationship and things went south, he would be the one to draw the short straw. Not only was he not an heir, he had a past that people would point to when trying to find the guilty party of our doom. My people would have my back in the press and pull out all the stops in order to try and save my reputation and image. His might not do the same.

“Is that what you want to do?” he asked, calmly.

I didn’t just feel guilty; I felt very mindful of the fact that on top of everything else, the fact that I outranked him was also a problem. Theoretically, he should follow my orders because my word was worth more than his; or at least, it’s how it would be for people who cared about that stuff. I didn’t think he did, but still, it felt wrong to tell him something that could affect his own choices.

To put it simply: I didn’t want to influence him into getting into something that might hurt him in the long run.

“I want…” I started, “I just want you to be happy.”

I heard him sigh, heavily, and get out of bed. I looked back to see him putting on his boxer briefs.

He scratched the back of his head with a hand, the other on his hips, and looked at me.

“I will be happy, whatever we decide. But right now I want to know what you want.”

“Well, what you want matters, too.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t, but I–”

“I asked first.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does–”

“This is not truth or dare!” He said, loudly, exasperated, making me flinch.

I avoided his eyes, self-conscious.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, calmer.

He walked over to me, and sat by my side in bed, facing the window.

“Why can’t you just tell me what you want?” He asked, strained. “You won’t upset me. I get it, so much has happened in so little time for you.” He gulped, winping his palms on the sheets. “I don’t mean to… pressure you into anything. I understand if a serious relationship would be too much right now, we can take it slow if you want, keep it casual, you know? I don’t... I don’t need to be your boyfriend or anything.”

I shook my head, confused.

“I don’t–that’s not–You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But I do.” He insisted. “I don’t want to be one more thing you have to stress over.”

I sighed, heart aching in affection for him. I lowered my legs, and turned to the side to face him.

“Harry…” I started, smiling, “Okay. If this will work, I think we need to always be honest and open with each other… So, in honor of that…” I took in a deep breath, bracing myself. “I want you to be my boyfriend.” I immediately felt a little juvenile for it, especially as he took a while to respond. Then he looked at me, surprised. “Really?” I smiled, embarrassed. “Yes!”

He smiled to the floor, blushing, and threw an arm around me to pull me closer into a tight hug, before laying back down in the bed, pulling me with him. He turned to the side to face me, touching his nose to mine, still smiling.

“You’re blushing.” I teased, whispery.

“Shut up.” I laughed. “So, you’re my girlfriend now...” He added, in a teasing voice.

I sighed, happily. “I am.”

“So stupid... What are we, in elementary school?”

“Oh, okay, if you don’t want to--” I said, getting up, but he held me down. I laughed, letting him.

“And… all the other stuff? We never got to a solution.”

I gulped, realizing he was right. I got so caught up on my own fears that I forgot to think of a solution for the actual problem, which was, of course, that it didn’t matter if we could have an actual, serious relationship, where we were responsible and considerate of the issues we faced, but just… ignored them.

“What if we just try to focus on the present?” I asked, tentative. “A serious, real relationship, but… We let them worry about it if they want. We live each day at a time. Nothing else.”

“And you think they’ll let us?” He asked. “I don’t know how your family works, but mine will need to know what I plan to do about all of those issues.”

“Then we insist. We tell them, listen, we’re Switzerland.”

“Switzerland?” He asked, amused.

“Swiss neutrality,” I started, “is one of the main principles of Switzerland's foreign policy.”

“Tell me more, counselor.” He teased.

I turned to lay on my back to better look at him, going through my brain for all the info I remembered from my political science classes so I could better defend my metaphor.

“Their policy states that Switzerland is not to be involved in armed or political conflicts between other states, but they have armed neutrality! Which means it is self-imposed, permanent, and armed.”

“Armed? I thought you said they were neutral.” He asked, sounding almost bored.

I got on my knees, but leaned down to him. “Armed neutrality means they have no alliance with either side in a war, but will defend themselves if necessary.” I smiled, throwing one leg up to straddle him. His hands slid up my thighs. “I think that should be our official policy.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, grinning. He thrust his hips slightly higher, adjusting himself under me. By coincidence or design, his dick was now perfectly aligned under me.

“Did you even pay attention to what I said?”

He sat up, pulling me closer by the back of my knees. I rested my hands on his shoulders.

“Yes. I like the part about defending ourselves.” He kissed the tip of my nose, lightly. “So we stay neutral to everyone else, and whatever they have to say about us, but defend ourselves if necessary.”

“And it will be.” I reminded.

“I’m in if you are.” He said. “You’re the heir. You’re the one who’ll be expected to pick a side.”

“And you’re the man.” I shrugged. “Your family will never be okay with the idea of you giving up power for a lowly woman.”

He laughed, “Well, they’ll have to learn not to underestimate you.”

I grinned, biting my lower lip. His arms wrapped around me.

“Even if we can stay neutral, our families won’t. The press won’t. They’ll pull us in different directions with all they’ve got.”

I nodded, slowly. I held my hands to his jaw, still filled with affection at the bandaid I had put in his cheek only that night.

“So we don’t tell them.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “Are you suggesting we keep our relationship a secret? Mary, do you have an invisibility cape? How come you never told me?”

“Ha-ha.”

“Seriously, there’s no way to keep something like this a secret. We take security everywhere we go. You live with your parents. Half of my family are my neighbors.”

“Okay, so, we have some kinks to figure out.” I shrugged. “But we live in different countries, so we can meet in the middle, somewhere they won’t suspect. We just need to make sure we’ve got our security on our side…” I smiled, and leaned closer to kiss him.

He allowed me to part his lips and deepen the kiss, slow, agonizingly and frustratingly slow. He groaned, his hands finding my backside, and pulled into him. Then I pulled on his lower lip, breaking the kiss.

“Truth or dare?” He grinned, eyes still closed. “Truth.” “Wrong, pick again.” He laughed. “Dare?” “…I dare you to be my secret boyfriend, Your Royal Highness.” Still smiling, he leaned in again and kissed me. “Done.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: :)))))))))))))))) ]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 29. Borrowed Time

‘Harder days are coming. The loan of borrowed time will be due on the horizon. (...)’ - Ingeborg Bachmann

The most northern village in Savoy was Valois-Narcisse, so small that it wasn’t actually reachable by any form of public transportation. Not a lot of people in Savoy even knew Valois-Narcisse by name; Bayona, on the East Coast, was the closest reference point, a beach village considered an under-rated touristic spot. Historically, Valois-Narcisse was populated by sheep and eggplant farmers, not a very sexy niche, and it was still how the village’s only export to local and regional farmer’s markets.

For the following few weeks after Ascot, every time Harry tried to talk about it, his phone corrected the name to ‘value narcissism’, so by the time I drove past the small, rusted iron sign that read its name, I couldn’t help but smile.

One of the reasons Valois-Narcisse was so abandoned was that it was mostly situated up a mountain. Not at the top of the mountain, exactly, although parts of it were. The village just stretched along the mountain, with most of its commerce and eateries, however scarce, down below, and the houses built towards the top, including a couple of small hostels and, lucky for us, one very odd Airbnb.

The houses, bridges and streets were all built of stone and wood, with wildflowers and weeds growing in between, and across the mountain, beyond the village, stood the vast, beautiful Celtic Sea. On days of low tide, locals swore they could see the outline of the Irish coast on the horizon, at least according to the description on Airbnb.

But even if that was an exaggeration, we wouldn’t have cared, because what drew Harry and I to Valois-Narcisse that weekend was how desolate and empty it was. Paparazzi wouldn’t dream of finding us there, so it was there that we scheduled our first getaway. Our first secret rendezvous. Or, as Harry kept reminding me, our first date.

We had been texting non-stop since I left his house after Ascot, about what happened, and also about all things around us, what we were doing or not, and a lot of nothing. It was over text that we made the plans to meet in Vallois-Narcisse for the first time since getting together, it was over text that we discussed the latest of the Adrien saga (he’d been seen out in a club with the singer-girlfriend and their friends), and it was over text that he informed me that since we never got to go on our date the previous year, during our weekend in Vallois-Narcisse, he was going to pull all the stops to ‘take me out’’.

“Are we going out for dinner?” I asked, in our Airbnb, while I got ready in the middle of the afternoon.

“Not really.” He replied, from the small sitting room right outside our suite. “And stop trying to guess, just get ready.”

He had refused to tell me anything about the date, claiming it was supposed to be as real as the real one would have been and in the real one, it would have been a surprise.

“It’s very hard to get ready when I don’t know what we’re doing.” I sighed. “How casual am I supposed to look?”

“Casual.” He replied, unhelpful. “Maybe wear sneakers.”

“Well, that’s one decision off my conscience.” I mumbled to myself, staring at my options laid out in the bed, my small suitcase open on the floor.

I had chosen a preppy, plaid short skirt in shades of white and blue, and I had all the tops I had brought in the bed as possible options. For shoes, I removed the flats from the lineup, and put on my white Nike’s, turning around to look at the tops again.

“Are you ready? It’s time.” Harry called from the other room.

“Just–! Just give me ten minutes!” I shouted back, nervously.

I realized how ridiculous it was. It was just a gesture – a sweet, romantic, gesture – to have a first date when we had already slept together more than once. More than twice. The previous night, for instance. It made no sense, it was just sweet. So there was no reason to be nervous, and I knew that. Rationally, I knew that.

Still, as I looked at the clothes I brought, I hated every single one. I threw the Jurassic Park tee back into the suitcase – too casual –, and looked at the Kimono top, a greenish blue shade, long, loose sleeves, a nice, laidback fit to contrast with the skirt. The other two options, a tight, square neckline, navy blue, crop top, and a loose, green, blouse with spaghetti sleeves, both matched the skirt and were casual enough, but seemed more appropriate for the weather.

“…It’s been ten minutes.” Harry’s voice came back from the other room, patiently cautious.

“Coming!”

In one panicked move, I grabbed the green, strappy blouse and put it on. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly applied some tinted sunblock to my face. I wanted to apply actual makeup, but convinced myself it was silly. He’d seen me without makeup many times already. It wasn’t a real first date, no matter how big the knot on my stomach was, so I just grabbed a pair of earrings, my every-day necklace, and sunglasses, and burst through the door in a hurry, ready to run as if we had an actual reservation, even though I was perfectly aware that no restaurant in this village town worked like that.

“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go!” I said, looking at him, who startled up from the couch and looked me up and down, appreciatively.

“Mary, wow.” He smiled, slowly, approaching me with careful steps. “You look…”

“What are you doing?!” I laughed, blushing. “You saw me five minutes ago. I look the same. I just put on a different, very casual, outfit.���

“Will you just pretend with me? Please?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “We never got to have our first date, just… let’s just pretend we’re a normal couple today.”

I shook my head, grinning. “…Fine.”

He took another step towards me and, from seemingly thin air, produced a white daisy.

I sighed. I wanted to say ‘really?’, but I bit down my sarcasm, and took my flower.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful!” I said, adding a little more emotion than necessary.

He sighed heavily, making me laugh. “Come on, ma’am, we have a date.”

“Yes, sir.”

Our Airbnb was in a secluded property at the end of a dead-end granite driveway off of the main road. Instead of taking that direction, however, we walked towards the hike trail in the opposite direction. I wanted to ask what was on the huge backpack he’d brought, but I knew he was just waiting for the opportunity to tell me it was a surprise, so I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He announced we had arrived when we reached a clearing amongst the trees. The grass and weeds were a little high, but nothing that made it impossible for us to sit down and enjoy ourselves. Especially because, as I soon discovered, Harry had a picnic blanket in his backpack. Because Harry had a whole picnic in his backpack.

“A picnic?!” I asked, excited.

“You like picnics?” He smiled, setting the blanket down.

“I love picnics!” I said, excitedly. “Don’t go to many, because… you know, outside, not very safe.”

“Yes, I do know.” He nodded, going through his bag, “Fortunately this place has enough privacy for us.”

“How did you even know to come here?”

“I googled it.” He replied, simply.

From his bag, he took out a bottle of sparkly wine and two ceramic looking plastic plates, which he sat down at opposite ends of the blanket. He then placed two linen napkins, folded, on top, with a set of cutlery over each.

“You thought this through.” I noticed.

“Of course I did.” He shrugged, removing a piece of paper from his pocket and reading it quickly. “I do have visual aids, though.”

In his bag, he also had acrylic Tupperware with a number of cheeses, which he then laid out on a wooden board. In another container, he had brought an assortment of cut veggies with a smaller cup inside, with ranch, which he remembered was my favorite. For our main course, he dramatically revealed large sandwiches from his favorite London restaurant, perfectly packaged and cut, for easier consumption. And for dessert, there were also a number of fruits and two small pots with what looked like cheesecakes.

“This is… incredible.”

He seemed the most flattered I had ever seen him.

“Thank you!” He said, folding his note quickly.

“Can I see that?”

“What? Oh, no, it’s just a little reminder of where things go–Oh–okay.”

I walked over to him and grabbed the paper before he could return it to his pocket; it was a list of instructions on how to set up the picnic, in his own handwriting. It even said ‘transfer cheese to wooden board’ and included a drawing of how to set up the napkins on top of the plates, with the cutlery on top of the napkins.

“This is… so sweet.” I gushed, watching him blush. “Where did you get this from?”

“I googled picnics.” He shrugged. “Well, first I googled first date ideas. Then saw the picnic idea and went on google street view to see if this place would be good for one. Then googled how to do a picnic.” He shrugged, grabbing the paper back and folding it. “Not a big deal.”

It was the way he blushed slightly and still made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal that he put in that much effort into giving us one afternoon where we could pretend we were a normal couple, untouched by tragedy. That’s what made my heart swoon for him.

I didn’t even have time to kiss him, though. He was so adamant to continue as if nothing was the problem that he just held my hand and sat down, pulling me with him.

“So…” He started, smiling. “So good that we are finally able to do this.”

“It is.” I agreed, amused.

“Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

“So, tell me, what is it that you do?” I laughed so loudly he reluctantly joined me.

“I’m sorry, it’s just too weird.”

“Come on!” He complained. “Like a normal first date, just go with it.”

“Okay, okay…” I sighed, still smiling. “What I do for a living… I… I am a lawyer.” He gave me an annoyed look. “What? If I’m talking to someone who doesn’t know what I do for a living, I’m not gonna tell them.”

“Fair. But be honest.”

I sighed. “Alright. I have a law degree from Harvard, which I’m really proud of, and I mostly have experience with copyright law… But I am not practicing right now.”

“Really? How so?”

I gave him an annoyed look this time. “I… I made a career change last year towards working on my… family business.”

He grinned. “How interesting.”

“Thank you. It’s been very rewarding.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice to make.”

My smile faltered slightly. “It wasn’t fully my choice… But I’m happy with it, regardless.” I added, to assuage his reaction.

He nodded, silently. After a while, he added, “Are you?”

I shifted the position of my legs under me, using the time it took to think it through.

“Yes. Yes? I think so.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t really stopped to figure that out… Not exactly a priority.”

“It should be.”

I smiled. Not knowing how to change the subject, I reached out to the platter next to me and grabbed a piece of cheese.

“This is really good.” I added.

He smiled, accepting of the change of subject.

“Alright, time for you to ask something.”

“Oh. Okay… Uhm.” I finished chewing slowly as I thought about it. “Where… are you from? Originally?”

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m from England.”

“Oh, really? Interesting.” I said, overly impressed. “Where in England?”

“London.” He added, grinning. “I was born and raised in Central London.”

“Fancy.” I added, appreciatively, making him chuckle. “Do you like living there?”

He considered this. “…not particularly.”

I stopped chewing. “Really?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know… I mean, I liked it, yes, in that… generic, mandatory way you always feel you must like the place you are from. Like, I will defend it if I must. But… if I had a choice, would I want to spend the rest of my life there? I’m not sure I would.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Well.”

“Go on.” He said, grinning.

“Oh, I just mean… I love New York, it was one of the best experiences of my life living there for a year after law school, even if those memories are tainted with the presence of my ex… But as much as I love New York, and a lot of other places I’ve been to… coming home to Savoy is just…” I shrugged. “I don’t know, I couldn’t imagine staying away forever, you know? It’s home.”

He nodded. “I don’t know, I just don’t have that sense of attachment to England. To my family and friends, sure. But to the place? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

We were silent for a while, eating cheese and drinking wine, and pondering over the words said. Then he perked up again, cheerily, and said,

“Tell me about your family.”

I gave the sky an eye roll. “…Fine.”

“Wow. So aggressive.” He noted, chuckling.

“Shut up.” I said. “Okay. Well, I’m the oldest of three. My brother was the middle child, but he passed away last year. He was three years younger than me and we got along really well. My sister is about eleven years younger than me, so we are not as close, though we’ve gotten a lot closer recently.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He smiled.

“My mother was born in Northern Savoy, her father is French, her mother is Savoyen. My grandfather has a property management and consultancy business, and my grandmother was always a stay-at-home mother. My mother only has one sister, Aunt Katherine, who’s now taken over my grandfather’s business, though her husband, Merlin, who is a Lord, seems to be making most of the calls. That is the root of most of the disagreements between my mother and Aunt, currently.”

“Tough.” He noted.

“Aunt Katherine has two children, Camille is the eldest, she’s been married to Hamilton Costeau for a few years, he’s a hotshot nightclub owner from the capital, and they’re expecting their first child currently. Her brother, Adam, is a freelance graphic designer, he’s married to a writer named Marcia. They’re probably my most normal relatives except that they’re wild, crazy hippies.”

He laughed. “How so?”

“They had a fully vegan wedding in a bowling alley and they live in a boat.”

He almost spit out his wine laughing. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna need more information.”

“There’s not really that much more to it. To be fair, the vegan menu was actually pretty good and bowling is fun. Haven’t been bowling since, so it’s a good memory. We don’t see them a lot, because of the boat.”

“When you say boat…?”

“Not a yatch or anything like that. It’s one of those small, house boats, like in Amsterdam? Except they actually use it to sail around since they’re both freelance and can work from anywhere.”

“Honestly… that sounds great.”

“They’re cool.” I nodded. “Let’s see… on my father’s side, he has two older sisters. Marilou Bondy is in her sixties, her husband is a Vice Admiral in the navy, and they have two kids in their mid-thirties. Zaccharie, married to Amber, they have two kids who are three and five years-old. Zacc is a business manager in a shipping company, his wife has a graduate degree in Psychology, but now is a stay-at-home mom. Zacc’s sister, Heloise, is CEO of a multinational company, and her husband is a doctor. They’re by far my relatives who’ve got it together the most.”

“Sounds like it, those are some big jobs. They have kids?”

“A two year old, adorable. All my cousin’s children are. We have good genes.” He laughed. “Let me see, what else? My father’s second oldest sister, Stephanie, married a Lord of Luxembourg, uncle Ellis, so they live there. They have three kids, Josephine, Klaus, and Catarina.”

“Klaus! I know Klaus!” He said, happily, “Love Klaus. He’s fun!”

“Yes, he’s… very you.” I noted, amused. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“Oh, he met a friend of mine during gap year, so my friend introduced us at a festival later on.”

“Of course.” I nodded. “As you know, he works for an investment firm. His youngest sister, Catarina, is twenty-three, she took a few years after school to figure it out, so she’s still finishing her degree. And the oldest, Josephine, is an interior designer, and she’s actually getting married next month, to Marius Allard, who owns a network of gyms in Luxembourg.”

“Royal wedding?” He asked.

“A small one, but yes.”

“You going?”

 “Yes.” I smiled. “Anyway. Then, there’s my father, the middle child, oldest brother, and they also have two youngest brothers. Or, had. Adrien’s father died many years ago of lymphoma, so now Adrien is next in line for the throne after Lourdes. You know him, so no need to go into it.”

“How is he doing in New York, by the way?” He asked, pouring us more wine. “I read he and the singer were seen partying in a boat?”

“For the fourth of July, yes.” I nodded. “My father and the advisors are… how can I say it? Pissed.” He chuckled. “Celebrating an American holiday, half naked, in a boat, with a bunch of celebrities, including his pink-haired girlfriend… they want him to come back.”

“Of course they do.”

“Adrien has a younger sister, Natalie, who’s my favorite.” I said, gushing. “She’s awesome, sweet, positive, always down for a good chat, though not big into parties or crowds–”

“So, the opposite of Adrien?”

“Yes.” I laughed. “Nat is getting her masters in Sorbonne, she studies literature and communications. Their mom, Princess Annette, has been a working royal for many years. Finally, my youngest uncle, Prince Albert, is also a working royal. He divorced his wife about five years ago, which was a huge scandal at the time, but we’ve managed to ride it out, and now everyone gets along fine. His ex-wife is even still a working royal, as well.”

“Woah.” He said, brows raised. “We could learn a thing or two from about how to handle divorce in a healthy way.”

“Agreed.” I said, teasing. “They have three kids. Maryanne is eighteen, currently serving her minimum military course post-graduation. Her brother James is sixteen, he’s in boarding school in Switzerland, and Sarah, who’s ten, attends the same boarding school as Lourdes… and that’s it. Unless you want to hear about my extended family, in which case we might be here a while.”

He nodded. While he digested the info-dump I’d just given him, I took the time to finish my wine and have some veggies and ranch.

“Question.” He said, unwrapping our sandwiches, “Why did you only mention two or three working royals?”

“My father’s oldest sisters lost their title upon marriage, and Aunt Stephanie lives in Luxembourg. Aunt Marilou and her husband do work sometimes, but that’s mostly because of her husband’s Admiral job. So, it’s mostly my father and his brothers who work for the Crown. Since Uncle James died, Adrien and his mom work, too, although he’s in New York now. His sister is still in school, so she’s excused. And that leaves uncle Albert and his ex-wife, and their kids are too young. There’s also some cousins of my father who are working royals, though they also have private careers.”

He nodded. “So that’s why you said you would have to become a working royal eventually.”

“Yep. That’s why a lot of the burden was already mine before, and also why I knew it would eventually be mine again. I just… I had hoped I’d have some time in-between.”

“Well,” he took the cheese platter and moved it to the side, leaning in closer to me. “You have time now.”

“I do, don’t I?” I smiled. “What should I do with it?”

“I have an idea.” He grinned, leaning in the rest of the way to touch his lips to mine.

His hand cupped my jaw as we kissed, my skin warm either from the sun or his touch. I put my glass down, mindlessly, not caring when I felt it fall to the grass. I slid my hand across his hair and laid back down, pulling him on top of me.

It was just one afternoon of borrowed time, but it was ours.

— ---- —

It was a cloudy summey day, not great weather for a royal wedding, but it would have to do because Princess Josephine Anne-Marie Elyse of Luxembourg was ready to become Mrs. Marius Allard.

Normally, we wouldn’t all go to a royal wedding just because we were royals, but we were family this time, so we arrived, my family and I, in Luxembourg two nights before. The rehearsal dinner went without a hitch, and so the following morning we got ready in our hotel and waited with other foreign family members for the shutles that would drive us to the church.

I had changed Harry’s contact on my phone to Hedwig – a name I took from Harry Potter – just in case someone saw me texting him, which was bound to happen as were texting so much more often. This didn’t stop my heart from nearly freezing when I received a photo from him. It was a mirror selfie showcasing him in his ceremony military uniform, black and red, with medals to his chest. The text read: ‘beautiful day for a wedding’.

I sighed; A few weeks prior to this, Harry had excitedly informed me during a late-night facetime call, that his family had assigned him to represent them to Josephine’s wedding.

“Why?!” I asked then, astonished.

“Ouch.” He said, sarcastic. “I’m great at weddings.”

“I’m not saying you’re not.” I said, rolling my eyes. “And of course I want to see you! But… my whole family is going to be there! Isn’t your father supposed to do these things? Or your uncle?”

“My father will be busy, my uncle was going to go, yes, but turns out his son has pneumonia so he’s staying put.” He shrugged. “And since I know Klaus, they figured I would be more familiar to the bride and groom than my brother.”

I was quiet, biting my lower lip nervously.

“What? This is good! I’m excited I get to see you all dolled up so soon!”

But I couldn’t get my excitement to match his – and I tried. It was just too risky, not to mention it felt like the day would be torture. To be near him again and have to pretend I didn’t want to hold his hand? Kiss his lips? Rip the clothes right off his body? It was too much.

Sighing, I went to the bathroom and discreetly took my own mirror selfie showcasing my light pink dress with a darker pink on a slit falling from my hips, and my large disc fascinator, and texted it to him.

‘It is unfair how perfect you look’, he replied. It made me smile, and I tried to hold on to that feeling as we rode to the church.

As family, we were close to the last group to arrive, so when I walked down the red carpeted entrance towards the church behind my parents, all I could think was that Harry must already be inside.

We trotted behind, stopping to salute the military battalion in formation under the country’s flag – a Luxembourg tradition. Military personnel saluted, civilians lowered their heads or curtsied. Since mandatory minimum service was still considered service, I saluted with my father, as mom and Lourdes curtsied.

Inside, we were ushered to the front of the church by a palace aide. Because of the odd number of seats, our parents and I were seated one row in front of Lourdes, who found herself sitting between, of all people, Adrien and Harry.

My parents greeted Adrien, who was there fresh from a plane from New York, and then looked at Harry, who received from then a curt nod before they turned to the front.

"How's...? Uhm?" I started, as my cousin kissed my cheeks.

"Sienna?" He asked, sighing. "Her name is Sienna."

"Right. Sienna."

"She's good. She's recording a new album." He replied.

"How... fortuitous." I nodded, as he took his seat again.

Before I sat down, Harry managed to give me a sneaky wink. I blushed, and turned to the front.

We seemed to be the last frontier between family and important guests, as next to Harry sat other royals and in front of us, were mostly empty seats that filled quickly after we arrived.

Just as the music started, Lourdes, who'd been chatting excitedly between Adrien and Harry, sighed loudly and stage-whispered,

"Ah, damn, I'll barely be able to see Josephine from here." She complained. “Margueritte’s hat is too big.”

As calm as I could, I turned to her, taking the care to make myself sound annoyed. "Do you want to trade seats?"

"Really?" She asked, "Is that allowed?"

I looked at my parents, who were already discreetly looking at us.

"Is it?" I asked.

"I believe so." My father said.

Mom leaned closer to me. "Are you sure you don't mind, chérie?"

I smiled, already getting to my feet. "It's fine. At least this way she'll be quiet."

"I heard that." Lourdes said as she passed me by.

I took her seat and crossed my legs at my ankles, holding my head high facing forward, pretending I didn't see the grin on Harry's face. 

Josephine looked breathtaking; lace bodice, three quarter sleeves, flowy, tulle, ball gown skirt, hair pinned back in a low hairdo, a long veil falling down from her family’s tiara – a Luxembourg tiara –, matching diamond earrings. It was difficult to take my eyes from her, except from one thing.

Harry was touching my hand. His fingers very gently grazed mine, slowly stretching until our middle fingers were enlaced. It was such a simple gesture. Such a light touch. But so many people around who were not meant to know about us. My heart beat faster on my chest and I felt my skin warmer as I remembered all the other ways in which that hand had touched me. I risked a look at him, who stared ahead determinedly.

As the song came to a slow end, I pulled my hand from his, startled, thinking for some reason the silence would make us more visible.

The priest began to speak in a monotone, calm voice up front. By my side, Harry adjusted himself in his seat, leaving his left knee to lightly, but very deliberately, touch mine.

I bit down a grin, sighing. Thinking two could play this game, I reached for the neckline of my dress with my hand, adjusting it slightly as if to fix something, but ‘accidentally’ pulling it down sligthly. As it was V shaped, this enlarged my cleavage only slightly, especially as I crossed my arms over my lap, pulling my breasts together.

I stared ahead, ignoring Harry, but I felt his leg press harder against mine.

“Beautiful wedding, isn’t it?” I whispered to him, pointing my chest in his direction.

“Is this another catholic tradition?” He whispered very lightly leaning closer to me. I smiled, blushing.

I looked down at my lap, fiddling with the program. I had no idea where we were on it, which is why I startled again as suddenly everyone rose from their seats to sing another hymn. I followed, pulling my dress up nervously, but I did leave my arm down hoping Harry would touch my hand again.

It took him what felt like the whole song, but then he finally did. I allowed my own fingers to caress his this time, missing being able to touch him, feeling my palms sweating as the thought.

When we sat down again, and someone else started speaking, he leaned down slowly and asked, whispery:

“Truth or dare?”

I sighed dramatically, and gave him a stern look, hiding my amusement.

“Truth.” I mouthed.

He grinned, and leaned down again. “What were you thinking about during the song?”

What he was asking was, of course, ‘what were you thinking about while our hands touched secretly in the middle of this very full church?’

I leaned to him, but starting ahead, said, “About how good it felt last time you fingered me–”

He sighed, heavily, leaning away from me, adjusting his tie as if it was the most important thing in the world.

He didn’t allow me to ask it back, his eyes stared firmly and frustratingly ahead for the rest of the – very long – service.

When Josephine and Marius walked out as husband and wife, we all waited for their close families to follow and then to the aides to guide us away at the right time. Harry continued to deliberately look away from me at all times. 

We were ushered back into the shuttles with the rest of the family, everyone talking excitedly about their favorite moments of the ceremony. I kept my comments to the dress, the only part I remembered in detail.

The reception was held in the palace; I didn’t see Harry again for a very long time. No one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, other than Lourdes who asked if I was mad at him because we seemed to have ‘barely spoken’.

As all the guests were in their seats, I finally found Harry in a distant table with other foreign royals who weren’t family. There were speeches, there were dances, there were entrées and champagne, and Harry’s eyes continued to find mine whenever I looked at him. Luckily, I was able to distract myself by my family grilling Adrien about his inappropriate girlfriend.

Conversation was the sound of the night in between courses when I decided to find a bathroom to re-apply my lipstick.

“If you pass by a waiter, would you ask for someone to bring me more water?” Lourdes asked as I left.

“I’m not your maid.”

“Really? It’ll cost nothing–”

“Shut up, of course I’ll do it.”

She rolled her eyes in response.

I was distracted, looking around for a waiter, when my eyes found Harry’s again. This time, too intense to look away. He put his hands in his pocket and pointedly walked out of the hall.

I sighed. It was too idiotic a choice to follow him. Yet, there I was. My feet moving of their own accord.

He walked off down the hallway, calm as can be, stopping only to ask an aide for directions. Down another hallway, he turned to the right, before confidently opening a door, turning back to lock his eyes on mine, and walk inside.

I bit my lower lip and looked around. There was a staff member walking off in the distance, but no one around other than that. I didn’t know if that would last. I walked to the door,  and casually looked around one more time. No one was watching. No one around. I took in a deep breath, and walked inside.

I quickly closed the door behind me, but I had no time to notice anything else. Harry’s lips were on mine, strongly, arms framing me in place against the door. One hand turned the lock, the other traveled up and down my side, his heavy breath on my skin.

“That was not okay.” He said, voice low, anguished, against my neck. “Back there.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, innocently. “All I remember is a lovely ceremony.”

He grinned against my neck in between kisses. “Fuck you.”

"It's true.”

“You liked when I fingered you, right?” He asked, lightly biting my earlobe. “Maybe I should do it again, then.”

My whole body trembled at the thought of going back outside, pretending nothing had happened, still pulsating with his touch on me.

“…maybe you should.” I said, weakly, feeling his large hand grasp my breast. “Right here. Right now.”

“…that would be really stupid, now, wouldn’t it?” He asked, reaching down for the hem of my dress, pulling it upwards. “We wouldn’t want to be caught… what would they think?”

“It would be such a scandal.” I agreed, feeling his hands now grip my thighs, pulling me up in one quick move.

He pinned against the wall, legs around his waist, leaving me in the perfect position to feel him thrusting his hardened dick against my crotch.

He touched his forehead to mine, and grinned.

“You’re fucking torture, Your Royal Highness.”

I grinned, happily, wrapping my legs tighter around him.

“You like it.”

He smiled in response, his hands rounded my thighs to reach below in between my legs, finding a path under my wet underwear.

“I do.” He confessed, touching me like it was the very first time. “I like it a lot.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: Well. This was a lot. LOL what do you think??? A lot of...stuff coming so I wanted to take a chapter for happiness only. Also, I promise all that family tree stuff is important. THANK YOU FOR READING AND SORRY I’M LATE! Have a grat week! Next chapter: invictus games! harry’s birthday! MM and Harry get careless... tune in to find out what happens ;) ]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 25: Timing

‘my soul chose yours and a soul doesn't just forget that’ - b. m.

Lourdes showed up right then. We stepped away from each other, startled, struggling to look like we weren’t caught doing something wrong.

Lourdes didn’t seem to notice.

“There you are!”‌‌ She smiled. “Finally made it out?”

I‌ looked down, shyly.‌ “Yes. I‌ was just about to go back in.”

“What? Why? Let’s get out of here before someone comes to find you to do more work.”

I‌ smiled.‌ “Lou, I‌ have to work.”

She rolled her eyes, and looked at Harry. “This used to be our favorite holiday. We don’t live here, but the Palace is full of little secret places. We should take Harry on a tour.”

“I’d love that.” He said. “Palaces are fun when I don’t have to live in them.”

Lourdes laughed.‌ “Where should we start?”

“Again, I–I have to work.”

Lourdes gave me an exasperated look. “Stop, the day is basically over.”

“You know there’s a black tie dinner tonight, right?”

She sighed. “Tonight! Hours away! Besides, if they really need you, they’ll come find you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Harry, some help?”‌ She grinned at him. “You want Maggie to come, right?”

He looked at me, and sighed, longingly. “Always.”

There was no going back after that.

I ‌grabbed my shoes and ran towards the opposite end of the hallway, away from the reception hall. 

“Fine, but let’s run before someone catches us.”

We took the staff’s passageways to avoid being seen while we made our way. Unlike the rest of the Palace, they were mostly all old cement and industrial lights, with wooden or backsplash floors that needed fixing. Places that weren’t seen by the people who ‘mattered’, only used by servants to stay out of the family’s way or make their way faster through the palace.

The spiral, stone steps were steep upwards to the Clock tower. We climbed it slowly, out of breath from the long walk. The Clock tower wasn’t meant as a place to be visited; as we explained to Harry, though the Clock was now a hugely popular touristic attraction, it was created to be functional, and the tower where it was situated merely a place for maintenance.

Therefore, it was simple. A round room of barely even wooden floorboards and high top ceilings. Clean, but empty. Across from the door we walked through was the clock; it’s lowest end was below the floor we were on, and it’s highest point out of reach even to Harry in all his height.

“I don’t know why but I pictured it a lot smaller.”‌ Harry noted, leaning on the railing separating the room from the clock itself. 

Standing by his side, I‌ pointed down to the river below. 

“Perfect view.”‌

He smiled.‌‌ “Can they see us?” He asked, reasonably, noticing the public gathering to watch the boat parade and the separate stand for the press.

“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!

We’re nearing phase 2 of the story and I am excited to share with you! THANK YOU FOR READING! And.......HAPPY NEW YEAR!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 27. Ice and Band Aids

'You deserve to be fought for, remember that’ - The Better Man Project

I prayed that it looked innocent from afar, because from where I was standing it felt very dangerous. Harry to one side, hand to his locked jaw, looking away. To the other, Christopher, hands in his pockets, eyes going from me to the ginger, brows furrowed.

Both men looked hostile, shoulders squared back, an annoyed, aggressive look on their eyes.

The silence was tense.

“Christopher?”

“Bonjour.” He greeted, spinning his hat in his hands. His hair was longer, but other than that, he looked the same.

“Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I may not be royalty, but I’m not trailer trash, either, bunny. I know people.” He said.

It was definitely the old nickname that shook me out of my shock, and brought me straight back into reality: my ex-boyfriend, almost fiancé, standing next to me in a place swimming with the upper class and the world’s press, while the man I was in love with watched.

“That’s not what I meant.” I explained, rispid.

“So this is it, huh?” He asked, coldly, looking between me and Harry, his grin, hostile.

“This is what?” I asked.

“Him.” He replied, pointing his chin at Harry in a dismissive manner. “He’s the one?”

“Chris.” I sighed, already dreading where this was going.

“May I help you?” Harry asked, his tone dripping with disgust.

“Oh, you’ve helped me plenty.” Chris replied, his tone matching Harry’s. “Helped me dodge a fucking bullet.” He added, looking at me, sarcasm all over his manner.

“Christopher, I–” I stuttered, trying to think of something to say that would end this as fast as possible.

“No need to explain, bunny, I get it. Clear as day.”

“I think it’s time for you to go, man.” Harry interrupted, stepping closer, putting himself between me and my ex.

“Yeah, go on.” Christopher said, stepping closer to Harry himself until he was staring up at him. “Really easy to play the big man after you steal someone else’s girl, isn’t it?”

“Christopher!” I interrupted, outraged, but whispery, terrified people would notice how deeply darker the energy had gotten around us. “That is not what happened.”

“I’m sure you’re so used to getting your way your whole life,” Chris added, mocking, “nothing’s out of reach for the little prince, right?”

“You’re really embarrassing yourself here, dude. I’d take my losses and go if I were you.” Harry told him, voice steady.

“Oh, but you’re not. You people couldn’t take a day in the life of a normal person, not after being coddled your whole life. But here’s the thing, buddy,” Christopher said, somehow managing to take one more step closer to Harry, “you think you can do what you want because of that little silver spoon you were born with, but never forget you might have lucked out being born at the right family, but you were born in the wrong order, my guy. At the end of the day you're too down the line to matter.”

“Chris!”

“Any room you walk into, people don't see you, they just see granny, don't they? You got nothing else. You are nothing else.”

I braced myself, took in a deep breath, and stepped closer to them. “That’s enough.”

They both ignored me.

“And I think you know that, too, don’t you? That you’re nothing?” Christopher asked. “No wonder you had to go after Maggie, conveniently right after her brother died, of course–”

I sighed, staring around, feeling useless.

“I think it’s time for you to shut up.” Harry told him, louder now.

“–how else would you make yourself feel you have anything to offer? Not work, surely, little prince is too good for that, so let’s latch on to a royal who actually lucked out and got some power now.”

“Ma’am, maybe we should go?” Joyce asked, lowly, to my ear.

I looked back. Though our staff had stayed behind when we moved to the hallway, our security had followed, as it was their job to keep an eye on us at all times, even if by far. Harry’s security, for example, were watching from a few meters behind us. They didn’t seem to notice how badly things had progressed – as both Harry and Christopher were keeping their tone very low – but they were still standing in a way to shield us from view to other people.

“Get Harry’s security.” I asked Joyce.

“I will, but you should come with.” She replied. “Wait back inside with the others while we handle this–”

“Joyce, now.” I demanded, and she hurried away.

“I think we’re done here.” Harry added, looking past him, down the hallway, and already reaching out his hand for mine.

Christopher stepped up between us, blocking his way.

“Did you try to cozy up to Louis too, before he died? You were his type.” He looked at me, now grinning, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. I leaned back. “Pity the throne isn't made of dick, right? Lou would have loved it then, right, bunny?”

Harry shoved himself back between me and Christopher. “Okay, this is over.”

Chris shoved him back one step. “Oh, is it, little prince?” He asked, laughing, humorless. “If you say, we must obey, right? God forbid you encounter someone who doesn’t bow to your every wish!”

At this, Harry’s security finally showed up.

“Sir?”

He raised a hand, stopping them in place. They didn’t approach more. I wanted to punch someone.

“You really are a fucking dick, huh?” Harry asked him. The light of anger in his eyes was the only thing that betrayed his calm.

“Shouldn’t have stolen my girlfriend if you wanted me to kiss your ass, asshole.”

At this, he shoved Harry again, but this time Harry wasted no time in returning a punch directly to Christopher’s face.

“Oh, my God.” I gasped.

A lot of things happened at the same time: Joyce pulled me back. Harry’s security officer stepped in, but wasn’t quick enough to stop Christopher from returning a punch against Harry. Next thing I know, we’re all being held back, one or two meters apart from each other, each by a security officer.

“That’s assault! I’m going to fucking sue you so hard your fucking grandchildren will be paying up!” Chris spit out, clenching a hand to his left eye.

I looked at Harry, who’s cheekbone had a small scratch; he was flexing his hand from the punch.

I stepped towards Christopher, shaking off Joyce’s hand on my arm.

“Try.” I dared him. “There’s four witnesses here who saw you shove him twice and call him names multiple times. Harry was acting in self-defense. Any court will find you guilty of inciting violence, intimidation, maybe even assault of the third degree. I don’t know what you learned in Law School, Christopher, but I think you may even serve time for that.”

“Maybe you’ll go to jail, and then you’ll be someone’s bunny.” Harry said.

Christopher attempted to lunge at him again, but Harry’s officer held him in place, and he gave up quickly enough.

“Breaking up with you was my choice, Chris.” I told him, stronger now. “If you don’t think I am able of making my own choices without another man being involved, then that’s on me for taking so long to realize how little regard you have for me.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffed, and gave Harry another dirty look. Then he shoved off Harry’s security officer’s hold on him, and took off towards the elevators.

“Jesus Christ.”

I looked back at Harry, whose face was being held in place by one of his security officers. He gently shrugged the man’s hands off.

“I’m fine.” He said.

“Harry, I am so sorry.” I said, pushing past Joyce towards him. “This is–He is–I mean.” I sighed and groaned at the same time. “I am so sorry.”

His hand gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, Mary. At all.”

“Stil, what are we going to do? You have a scratch on your cheekbone, that’s going to swell and get red, it may look like you have a black eye.”

“Relax, I can handle it.”

“That’s not what I mean!”

“Sir, we should probably leave.” His security interrupted. “We can’t be sure who witnessed this, and the longer we stay the clearer your wound will be.”

“That’s what I mean!” I said.

“Okay, I get it.” Harry sighed. “For the record, he barely touched me. It’s not that bad.”

“Her Royal Highness is correct, it’ll get worse, especially the longer you don’t ice it.” His officer added. “If we wait, they’ll have you pictured arriving normally, and leaving with scratches.”

“Scratch, one scrath!” Harry corrected. “Fine. Get Edward and secure a way out.”

Joyce approached me again. “Ma’am, we should go back inside.”

“What? No, I–”

“It’s okay.” Harry said. “It’s okay, Mary. You should go ahead, you don’t want to be associated with this.”

My heart sank with guilt. “I should be. It’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t–”

“How isn’t this my fault, Harry?! He’s my ex. This whole thing was about me!”

His secretary arrived right then, interrupting his rebuttal.

“We should leave right now.” He said. “While the race is on and fewer reporters will be expecting exits.”

Harry looked at me, longingly.

“Ma’am,” Joyce insisted, “we should join the others.”

I looked at Harry, whose eyes were still on me, feeling my heartbeat heavy in my throat.

His security officer came back.

“We’re ready to leave, sir.” He said. “We’ll take the stairs down.”

Harry continued to look at me in a desperately sad way. Finally, he sighed, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry, again.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I get it.”

I wondered, briefly, if he thought I was apologizing for something else. Maybe the thing he had just said that was still echoing in my head.

“We should really get going.” His secretary insisted.

“Fine.” Harry said, rispid, before giving me another quick smile. He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. “Take care.” He said, before being quickly escorted to the stairs by his team.

Joyce cleared her throat after they were all gone.

“We should go back, ma’am, before you’re missed.”

“Yes, thank you, Joyce. I get it.” I replied, instantly feeling guilty over my tone, but filing out quickly, without looking back.

I had a few certainties for the rest of the afternoon: one, my outfit was, apparently, a statement. I knew this because I overheard two women talking about me in the bathroom when they didn’t know I was in one of the stalls.

Two, Cadie and Auguste, and everyone else, knew nothing about what had occurred with Harry and Christopher. I even asked Joyce if my other security officer, Pierre, had seen anything, but apparently he’d been guarding the doors. And, as Joyce assured me of her silence, I didn’t have any explanations to give to anyone.

And three, I had to talk to him. There was simply no way I could go home without talking to Harry about, well, not about what had happened exactly, but definitely about what he had said. And I knew, even as I spent all the following hours thinking it over, I knew exactly why I shouldn’t talk to him. It was impossible not to know when I had been told over and over before.

And yet, there I was: outside Kensington Palace, barely a couple of hours after he had left Ascot, sitting in the car trying to decide if I should follow my heart, or if I could go back home and live with the regret.

My phone chimed once, letting me know I had a new message. It was from Cadie:

‘Guards have been informed and taken your ID. You can go in.’

I sighed. She and Auguste were in a separate car, and I had another with my two security officers. I had sent Cadie to the gate to inform them I was here and give them my passport.

‘BTW Auguste is really insisting we go home.’

I rolled my eyes to the dark and made my choice. I typed a reply for her:

‘Go home, I’ll be fast, but there’s no need for you to wait.’

I waited for her reply on the edge of my seat, wondering if whatever Auguste had to say would make me change my mind. But the reply never came. We just saw their car take off. Then Joyce and Pierre looked at me.

“Ma’am?” Joyce asked.

“Let’s go in.” I decided.

The guards let us in, and took a look at the car just to confirm we were who they had been told we were. We were then pointed in the direction of Harry’s Cottage.

When we parked in front of the cottage, I realized I wouldn’t need to knock. I felt stupid – of course security would tell him he had a visitor. So I stepped out of the car, and met him in the sidewalk. Each step closer gave me more dread.

The area around his left cheekbone was slightly swollen, and redder. The scratch was red enough that left me no doubts that it was bleeding, even if just a little.

“I’m fine.” He said as a greeting.

I shrugged. “I’m sure you are. I only came for a drink.”

He grinned, nodded, and ushered me inside.

Strangely, it felt like coming home. I walked into his house, his slightly messy house, with the jacket he’d worn today thrown over the couch, dishes still to wash in the sink, and fresh, unfolded laundry on a basket by the stairs, and I felt an immediate sense of relief. Like I could stop being proper and regal. As if now it was safe to step off of my heels and be myself.

It was a dangerous thing to feel at home with a man I wasn’t supposed to love.

“Make yourself at home.” He said, unknowingly rubbing salt to my every wound.

“Okay.” I replied, kicking off my shoes, and leaving them by the door with my handbag. “Why aren’t you icing that?”

He sighed. “It’s just a scratch, Mary.”

I quickly pulled off my hat, and the half-a-dozen bobby pins keeping it in place, and made my way to the kitchen, finding an ice tray in the fridge.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal. I know it was scary and all, but–”

“Don’t tell me it wasn’t a big deal!” I said, knocking the tray to the sink after washing it. I looked back at him, softly as an apology of sorts for the loud tone. “It was awful. He dragged you into something that has nothing to do with you, put you in a terrible and dangerous position, not to mention being horribly rude and offensive!”

“I can handle it–” He started, but stopped himself when I groaned in response and turned back to the sink to get a handful of ice out of the tray.

“I don’t care that you can handle it. Of course you can! I can, too! That’s not the point!” I said. I found a clean kitchen towel to wrap the ice in.

Harry walked to me, and leaned against the kitchen sink.

“You’re right. It sucked.” He said. “But, can I ask you a qu–God, what–!” He complained when I touched the ice to his face.

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“It hurts!”

“Just keep the ice to it.” I insisted, holding his hand in place. “Or else it’ll stay swollen longer.”

“You’re right. It sucked.” He said. “But, can I ask you a qu–God, what–!” He complained when I touched the ice to his face.

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“It hurts!”

“Just keep the ice to it.” I insisted, taking his hand and holding it over the ice to keep it in place. “Or else it’ll stay swollen longer.”

I held my hand to his jaw, keeping his head in place, adjusting his hand holding the ice to the wound as he winced. I held my hand over his for a moment, then removed both to look at the scratch.

“We should clean it.” I said, my voice coming out softer than I had intended it. “To be safe.”

His eyes were on my lips, which they didn’t leave as he nodded, gulping.

I stepped back and grabbed his first aid kit from where I knew it was, under the sink. As I went through it, looking for gauze and, well, really just doing nothing to give myself time to breathe, he moved closer to me, leaning on his side against the counter by my side, facing me.

“I’m sorry.” I said, looking down at the box. “I’m just really angry right now and I… I don’t don’t know what to do with that, and I know it’s not your fault, of course, but it frustrates me to no end that you’re not.”

“Who says I’m not?!”

I looked at him, finally. He was closer than I had realized.

“You’re too calm to be angry.” I complained.

“I’m calm because you keep apologizing to me.” He said. “And if there’s one person here who I know did not ask for this, it’s you.”

“You didn’t, either–”

“No, I kind of did.” He said, scratching his brow with his free hand, avoiding my eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, even if you disregard the countless times I wished I could punch that guy in the face before today, I did punch him first.”

“After he said a thousand horrible things.” I countered.

“No, I think if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been kind of hoping for the chance to punch him for a long time.” He sighed. “So I wasn’t exactly eager to diffuse the situation today.”

I regarded him, silent, trying to understand what he’d just said.

“Why did–” I started, weakly; confused. “Why would you want to punch him? I mean, you know what? Nevermind.” I shrugged. “You should feel proud you saw him for who he was before I did.”

I wet a piece of gauze in the sink, and pulled him by the arm to the kitchen table, sitting him in a chair facing me.

“As sexy as it is when having you man-handle me like this,” he said, smiling charmingly, “I can tell you’re still mad.”

I touched his hand, removing it from the scratch, and dabbed the gauze over it to clean it. He winced.

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.” I teased.

“Shut up.” He grinned. “But, please, continue. You were saying I was so smart for seeing him for who he was before anyone else.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Maybe it’s less about you being so smart, and more about me just being dumb.”

“You’re not dumb.” He said, simply.

I sighed, tapping the scratch with a dry piece of gauze now. “Well, what would you call it?”

He seemed confused. I sighed, tired.

“I’ve known Christopher for most of my life. He was my first crush, my first kiss, my first boyfriend. Hell, my only boyfriend! I was going to marry that guy! You know how serious that kind of decision is for people like us! And I was, for like, the last two years of college up until last year, I thought I was going to marry him!”

The ice was dripping on the table now, so I grabbed his hand, placed it over the gauze, and took the ice to the sink, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly on the way.

“I wasn’t just in love with him, I genuinely liked him. I thought of him as a good, cool person.” I looked back at him, “I don’t know that guy that we saw today, and I don’t believe people can change that dramatically that fast, which means he’s always been a dick, and I just didn’t see. I didn’t see it! So much so that I almost married him. How stupid is that?!”

I bit my lip, feeling my nails scratching my palms in frustration. I took in a deep breath again, and found a bandaid box in the first aid kit. I walked back over to Harry.

“And I didn’t even do anything while he went off on you like that.” I shook my head in disappointment. “I was such a coward.”

He reached out and held my hand in his. “You did nothing wrong.”

I smiled at him. “I thought we established saying that didn’t help.”

“I’ll keep saying it until it does.”

I sighed, still smiling, but still frustrated as Chris’ words swirled around my head. I removed Harry’s hand with the gauze from the scratch, taking a step closer to him so I could see it better from up close. I felt his eyes on me, and a warm puff of air as his breathing grew heavier. I avoided his eyes. It felt safer.

I grabbed the ice from him, a little more forcefully than necessary. Remembering just how absurdly offensive Chris had been, I let out a huff of anger. Harry blinked, patiently.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” I said, quickly. “It's not worth it.”

“You’re right. But you’re angry.” He insisted. Still, I was quiet. “Okay. Truth or dare?”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Not now, Harry.”

“Oh, we can refuse to play, can we?”

“…we never discussed that specific rule.”

“Okay, then pick.”

I sighed. “Truth?”

“Talk to me. What are you thinking about?”

I straightened up, allowing my bubbling anger to come to surface.

“Fine! I’m thinking about what would have happened if we hadn’t broken up. I’m thinking that that part of him would have come out eventually, and what would have set him off? Me? Our children? What would he have done? Who would he have hit if you weren’t there? And more importantly,” I heaved a heavy sigh, “how dare he accuse you of all those things?! He doesn’t know you! He doesn’t know us, or our story, and everything that happened between us! He said all of that bullshit based solely on me breaking up with him, and seeing us talking! Nothing else!”

The kitchen was silent as I breathed heavily, still holding the ice to his cheek.

“…I just need to say it.”

I looked down at him, who was staring off into the wall.

“I think I know what you’ll say, but I need to say it, anyway…” He gulped. “It’s not true. What he said. You know that, right?”

He looked up at me, tentatively. I let my hand fall from his face.

“Harry…” I started, weakly. “Of course. Of course, I know. He–Christop–Ugh!” I put–no, threw the ice down at the table, angrily. “How could I have been so blind?!”

I ran both hands through my hair in frustration, pulling it a little. I looked back at Harry, took a deep breath, and let my arms fall to my sides.

“Harry.” I started, softer, pleading, “He was projecting. He was probably trying to save face, because that’s what I accused him of doing when we broke up.”

His brows furrowed up at me. “Really?”

I sighed. “He… I don’t think he did it on purpose. I don’t think it was a big, evil plan, or anything like that… I don’t think he realizes that’s what he did. But he… He didn’t seem to care about me or our relationship until after Louis died. Like the sacrifices he would have had to make weren’t worth it unless I had a title that held actual power.”

His expression grew from confusion, to anger. “Are you literally fucking kidding me?!”

“…no. Again, I don’t think he knew that’s what he was doing… But he didn’t want to marry me until it meant he would have a bigger role within the royal family. And I said that when he proposed.”

“Wait, he proposed?!”

“Oh, man, we really need to catch up.” I joked. “In front of both our parents, and my sister.”

“I think I read something about that in the press, it seemed too ridiculous to be true.”

I smiled, humorless. “Believe me, the real thing was worse.”

“That fucking…” he mumbled. “Dick. That fucking dick.”

“Relax, it’s over.” I shrugged.

“Now I wish I had punched him harder.” He added.

I watched him for a few seconds, biting my lip, before it became too hard to stop myself from breaking into a smile.

“Well, at least you punched him.” I said, taking another step closer, standing between both his legs to ice his cheek again. “I just stood there, like an idiot.” I framed his jaw with my other hand, pulling his face slightly up so I could see the wound better.

Though my eyes were firmly in his cheek, I could feel his on me.

“I should have done more.” He complained, sounding strained. “I should have stopped him before he talked about your brother. That was way over the line.”

I bit my lip, gulping, wishing like hell I could tell him the truth about Louis’ sexuality, and about how confused I was, wondering if Chris knew something about it he had never told me.

But then, I realized. “Louis would have laughed in his face.” I told him, smiling myself. It made him smile, too.

“What do you think he would have said?” Harry asked. “If you told him about what Christopher did today.”

I considered this for a few seconds.

“He would have found the nearest bottle of booze and had us toast to the bullet I dodged.”

I was being sincere, but the minute Harry laughed, I did, too.

“And then would have spent the rest of his life asking for praise for being right about him.”

“Really?” He asked, serious. “I thought he liked him. Your whole family seems to.”

“Chris is just part of our context…” I shrugged. “But after the second time we broke up, Lou never defended him the same way the others did. He always said I deserved better.”

I took the ice from his cheek, and dried it with the clean part of the towel.

“I think it’s better.” I declared. “I think we should go with a band aid and maybe icing it a little more.”

I opened the band aid box, realizing it was all kids’ band aids. I looked at him, inquisitive.

“It’s my nephew’s.” He shrugged, blushing.

“Right.” I nodded, unconvinced, and slightly amused. I took out two, and offered it to him. “Trucks or superheroes?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

I carefully placed a spiderman band aid over his cheekbone, coming closer to make sure none of the glue was touching his scratch.

“A superhero for the hero who defended my honor today.” I teased, making him smile.

Making sure the band aid was secure in place, I caressed his cheek, and then continued to do so a little more than necessary. It was just… It was so easy to look at him like this, standing right over him, his legs around mine, his face in my hands, a perfectly innocent excuse for it all.

I allowed my thumb to travel from his cheekbone to his nose, and then down to the corner of his lips.

“I’d defend your honor anyday.” He added, whispery, his warm breath joining mine.

I didn’t remember being this close to him before, but he certainly felt close now.

“There’s something I’m wondering.” He said, still just as softly, just as carefully.

“Yes?”

“Before… you said…” He gulped, eyes going between mine and my lips, blinking rapidly. “You said he dragged me into something that had nothing to do with me.”

I nodded, slowly, hands still framind his jaw, thumb to his lower lip.

“He shouldn’t have accused you of anything.” I said. “You did nothing wrong. What happened between Christopher and I, it had nothing to do with you.”

He nodded only slightly. His eyes traveled to mine, too close now.

“So it had… nothing to do with me?” He asked. “At all?”

I bit my lower lip, closing my eyes in frustration.

“I…” I sighed. “We had a lot of problems. Problems I had been ignoring for a long time.”

When I looked back at him, he had a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips; it felt nice under my thumb. His skin was warm now, all traces of the icing gone.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He said.

Feeling way too weak for this, throwing all caution to the wind, I traced his lower lip with my thumb, my eyes following the line attentively.

“I forgot your question.” I whispered, watching as his smile grew, teasingly, into a grin.

I felt him lean forward, closer to me.

“Should I ask again?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as his nose touched mine, delicate.

With one short move, easier than it should have been, I touched my lips to his, softly. Two seconds, then gone. I pulled back, only slightly, opening my eyes to see his closed.

“Does this answer your question?”

He didn’t answer mine; one swift move and his hands pulled me by my waist to him, just as he stood up, crashing my lips into his in a fury. His arms wrapped around my waist, hands splattered on my back, up and down, as if getting to know each centimeter of me they could reach.

My hands slide down his jaw to the back of his beck, tugging at his hair, allowing my walls to come falling down as his body met every inch of mine as he kissed me strong and fast. His hands, wide and firm in my back, rubbed against my sides, but stopped at my hips, questioning.

I pulled back, leaving my forehead on his, a breathless smile on my lips.

Bringing my hands back down, I traced his lapel, finding the first button of his shirt. I undid it, and looked at him, before undoing the next one. And the next.

His lips stretched into a smile and he leaned down, tugging me closer, kissing me again, with renewed energy. His hands slid down my hips, finding my buttcheeks, and with one firm move he lifted me towards him, to sit on top of the table. I wrapped my legs around him.

“By the way,” I added, as his lips found their way to my neck, “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: Y’all. I know I’ve dropped the ball here. I totally stopped with the previews and have been posting very late on mondays (technically tuesdays I guess), thank you SO MUCH for your patience! Being an adult sucks balls. BUT AT LEAST WE ARE FINALLY HERE! WHAT DO YOU THINK????? PLEASE LET ME KNOW. Also, what do you like? you know, seggs scene wise, full details or fade-to-black? I’m flexible. I love reading them (and writing them) but always feel super self-conscious writing them, so let me know? And thank you for reading, as always! Two last things:

1. Last week I forgot to ask, what do you think of Harry’s poem?? 2. Has anyone noticed anything familiar about Adrien’s storyline in NY, dating a celebrity out of nowhere? Just wondering.

DROP ME A MESSAGE THANKS FOR READING AND FOR BEING YOU AND FOR BEING HERE HAVE A GREAT WEEK!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters #i have work in 5 hours #LOL #god help me

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 26. The Heart Wants What It Wants

'chaos is only understood when it is loved by the wild, not the weak’ - Zachry K. Douglas

I wondered, briefly, if my parents were as nervous as I was about that day. None of us had planned on me being back in England anytime soon, but there I was anyway. I suppose I should thank Adrien for continually attracting scandal and, therefore, needing me to distract the media from his wild American adventures.

In May, soon after my sister had returned to her previous insane schedule of ice skating training, there was a report from TMZ, of all places, that Prince Adrien of Savoy was now dating Sienna Lapa, a wannabe singer who’d come in second in X Factor a few years prior. This, we came to find out after asking Adrien what was happening, was the friend who had helped him find an apartment in New York when he decided to relocate there.

My parents and Adrien’s mother deemed it a ‘completely inappropriate choice’. Adrien’s sister, Natalie, seemed to be trying to keep an open mind -- she was and had always been her brother’s biggest defender, after all. Lourdes immediately pulled up all the videos from her X Factor journey to show anyone who’d listen, but that only made our family hate the girl more, as most of her performances involved her with too much energy and very few clothes.

“You can all be so close minded…” my sister complained, rolling her eyes, as Natalie watched the video over her shoulder with furrowed brows when she and our aunt came over for tea after the news broke. “We’re just looking out for him.” Our cousin told her. “So you’re on their side now?” Lourdes asked her. Natalie shrugged, defensive. “I think if Adrien likes her, she must be nice.” Her mother scoffed. “We all know your brother’s record with women is not stellar, chérie.” “He dated Faye!” “Exactly.” My father sentenced. “Maggie, what do you think?” Natalie asked.

As they all looked at me, expectantly, I took a moment to ponder how much this had been happening lately. I had been used to speaking softly before, to remarking carefully on things, in case someone would hear me. But as the Crown Princess, my opinion mattered in more ways than I had immediately realized. It wasn’t just the press that suddenly cared about me, my family, too, seemed more invested in my thoughts. As if my verdict could make or break anything within the family just because I was bound to be queen one day.

“I… I don’t think being an artist should mean she will inevitably ruin this family.” I said. My mother shook her head, and my Aunt sighed, but nobody disagreed.

After tea, my father asked me to stay behind as the others left, and sat me down to remind me, sternly, that being the heir – and, one day, the Monarch –, meant it was my duty to safeguard our family from anyone who, purposefully or not, my damage it.

“You think this girl will damage us?” I asked, suppressing an eyeroll. “Papa, she’s just a girl.” “She’s American. They don’t understand monarchies.” He replied. “Not to mention she belongs to an industry that thrives on scandal and notoriety, things that do not have a place in this family.” “We don’t even know her!” I said, smiling, amused against my better judgement. “We know she wants fame.” He replied, seriously. “That doesn’t have a place here.” “We don’t even know if it’s true.” I argued.

Unfortunately, it was. I texted Adrien after this conversation, and he was as frustrated as we were, but for other reasons. ‘Its so new’, he said, ‘we just wanted to enjoy each other before inviting the whole world into it and now here we are’.

According to him, it ‘just happened’. They’d been friends for a long time, she was really supportive after his breakup and helped him adapt to New York. He moved into the same building she lives in, and they started spending more time together; before they knew it, it was more than friendship.

He also made clear he knew perfectly well how unsuitable the relationship was: ‘she’s been trying to establish her music career for a long time, so her future lies in America’, he said. ‘She also has pink hair and a lot of tattoos… can you even imagine her in mass with the rest of the family?’

I could not.

The world couldn’t, either. Press and public alike had a lot of opinions on this relationship, which became everything anyone could talk about. It wasn’t just me that gained notoriety with Louis’ death, Adrien did, too, and, with him, any girl he could one day turn into a princess.

And that was the main reason I was sent to England. An invitation for Royal Ascot was issued every year to our family, we tended not to go simply because it was far and we had other commitments. But we needed to change the conversation, so if it took putting me under a hat and in the same picture as the British royals, so be it.

I could see my parents’ tension about this plan in the way they exchanged silent glances while we talked it through, but they didn’t voice any of it. Of course, they couldn’t. Not if they wanted me to do as I was told. So, they didn’t mention Harry, and I didn’t bring him up, either.

Regardless of this, he was very much in my thoughts essentially 100% of the time, even before the Ascot plan was born. All I had to do was just keep that to myself and, if my parents did the same, we could hopefully hold onto the lie that the issue was over.

So, on that day in mid-June, I took the train early with Cadie and Auguste and my security, headed to England, with a fancy outfit safely packed away in a weekend bag, which I changed into before we arrived.

I was wearing a salmon pink, wide-legged jumpsuit that my mother had deemed ‘too modern’, with my hair styled in vintage waves under a flowery disc fascinator.

The Royal Ascot races were a society event, with the actual races taking a backseat to… pretty much everything else: the fashion, the high profile guests, the arrival of the queen and royal family later on… honestly, it was everything but horses.

As a guest, I didn’t arrive with the other royals in a very much televised carriage ride into the main front lawn, and I was glad to be able to skip it, hoping I might be able to go straight to the viewing area, free of press. Unfortunately, that was the opposite of the goal.

So, even though I arrived privately, I was then escorted to the entry lawn for socializing before the race started. Though Cadie didn’t seem to think it was necessary – which I tended to agree with –, Auguste made sure to find me a pin with my name on it, a must-wear for every guest no matter how high ranked.

“A drink would be actually helpful.” I told them. “Not until the enclosure, I’m afraid.” Cadie replied. Auguste leaned in closer. “Though my colleague may have a different view, ma’am, I feel being seen with alcohol might not be the best course of action for what we’re here to do.” “Boss.” Cadie whispered his way, rispid. “I’m your boss, Mr. Authier. Not colleague.” “Is it appropriate to discuss that at this time, boss?”

I sighed, walking further away from them and into the crowded, sun soaked lawn. One thing I hadn’t grown used to yet was the looks. Every step taken through a public area, particularly one with such a high concentration of high class people, was the target of laser focused glances from almost anyone around. I was forced to develop the ability of confidently aiming my eyes at something abstract, so I was seen as being busy, but didn’t accidentally lock eyes with anyone. It was a perfect recipe for disaster. Which is why I should have expected it.

I didn’t bump into him, that kind of thing didn’t happen at highly planned events like this, especially when you had a large entourage of people with you whose job it was to make sure you went to the right place at the right time to meet the right people. It was more accurate to say our eyes bumped into each other.

There I was, walking slowly through the crowd, avoiding one pair of eyes after the other. First using the far away stands as a distraction point. Then using the awkwardly placed decorative flowers as a distraction point. Which led to using the one very weird hat as a distraction point, as its owner was standing right next to it. But then the hat was so weird I had to see the face of the person wearing it, but she was already looking at me, so I felt awkward and looked away as quickly as possible and, in my hurry, didn’t think too much about it, so instead of a safe distraction point, my eyes found… Harry.

“Ma’am,” Cadie leaned closer, “shall we go greet the president of the Ascot association?” “What? I–” I stuttered, barely able to take my eyes off of Harry. “Sure.”

Heaving a sigh, I allowed myself to be walked around to meet the people it was important for me to meet, doing what I had been doing every day since the last time I had seen him: smiling politely, making smart, appropriate conversation, representing an entire country. All things that were painful reminders of what kept us apart.

I woke up early, I worked hard every day to hold myself accountable to my new role, keeping busy the best I could, but every night when I closed my eyes to sleep, it was his eyes that I saw. It was his voice saying ‘don’t marry him’, the tap of his hand on mine above his heart as he told me ‘it’s yours’, and every time I thought about it my whole body shivered with joy and I wanted to cry of frustration, sadness and anger that I couldn’t just embrace something that was meant to just be a happy thing.

“Yes, my parents were so sad they couldn’t make it.” I told a trustee of the event, sustaining a neutral smile as though my entire body wasn’t shaking.

Sometimes, hypocritically, I wondered why Harry hadn’t reached out, either. I knew, rationally, that it was better that he didn’t, but he had made a point of saying he didn’t have to listen to his advisors when they told him to stay away from me, but he had. Whenever I started to feel sad about this, I reminded myself it was better this way. Safer. Healthier. Then I googled him to make sure he wasn’t dating anyone new, ‘just in case.’

But now there he was, in Ascot. Because of course of the five days of this event we would both go to the same one, believing differently was something only my parents did to help them sleep at night. On my end, I knew it was going to be this way.

It’s like I was fated to always run into him after weeks or months of absence, just to remind my heart of what it was leaving behind. Destined to try and forget him just to see him again, the man I could see, but not feel. Love, but not have. At arm's length, but worlds away.

As I turned away from the U.N. Ambassador, assuring him I would transmit his best wishes to my parents, I startled.

“Harry.” He startled, too; looked me up and down, closed his eyes in frustration, and sighed. “Damn, Mary, really?” He asked, sounding tired. “Wh-what?!” I asked, nervously, drying my sweaty palms in the pants of my jumpsuit. I’d been nervous all day they were a choice too ‘out there’. “Where do you find the audacity to look this beautiful?!” He asked, seriously.

It took me maybe two seconds to understand this flattery, and that he wasn’t actually criticizing my fashion choices, and when I did I was washed by such a deep wave of relief I was almost angry.

“Seriously?!” I slapped my handbag playfully against his arms, rolling my eyes, and turned away to walk into the building, leaving him as well as my team to catch up. “What?! It was a compliment!” He said, hurrying after me, suppressing a chuckle. I was smiling in spite of myself. “Maybe, but your tone was very misleading.” He smiled. “I apologize about my tone, Mary. May I try again?” I blinked, slowly, grinning now, and he went on. “You look beautiful.”

His second attempt was all that it shouldn’t have been: intense, yearning, full of a double meaning only we seemed to hear.

Bashfully, I gulped. “Thank you… I wish I could say the same.” “Ouch?” He laughed, taking a step back. “It’s not your fault, coats and tails is just not flattering on anyone.” “Well, that’s it.” He took off his hat and immediately started unbuttoning his vest. “What are you doing?” I asked, laughing. “I will go naked before I let you see me in something unflattering.” I took one step closer and stopped his hands with mine. “Oh, my God.” I said, looking around. “Stop!”

The main building was guests only, no press, so we were pretty safe there. But there were still guests around.

“What? You started it.” He chuckled but, at least for now, stopped undressing himself. Someone behind him cleared his throat. “Sir, you should probably button up before we go upstairs.” Harry nodded, serious. “Of course. Thank you, Edward.” He subtly buttoned his shirt while I looked around; some people had their eyes on us, but nothing too out of ordinary. “My secretary.” He explained. “Trying to keep me from trouble is literally his job, so I try to listen to him sometimes, throw him a bone, you know how it is.” “I hope you pay him enough.” I told him, teasing. “Sounds like an impossible mission.” “Touché.” Harry giggled, the sight making my stomach flutter.

We exchanged a long look, the whisper of our smiles still holding on to our lips dreamily.  

“So, how have you been?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. Well. Merci.” I nodded. “You?” “Awful, thanks for asking.” He smiled, so it was tough to know if he meant it or not. “Oh?” “Nothing that we can fix, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Should I escort you upstairs?” “Oh. Uhm. Sure.”

He led the way to the elevators, our team right behind us. With our security, we crowded one elevator with no room for anyone else. Though this was a pretty safe environment, I didn’t feel safe enough to inquire about what he meant.

“So, how’s Lourdes?” He asked, upbeat. “Pretty good.” I said, nodding. “She’s skating again.” “Nice!” He broke into such a huge smile it was hard not to smile as well. “I want to see her skating, do you have any videos?” “More than I need.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll–”

I was about to say I’d send him some, when I stopped myself.

“You have her number, right? You should ask her, trust me, she’ll be delighted. She loves showing her routines to people.” He nodded, “I will.”

Though it was a very big building, the elevator stopped on every floor, where both our security alerted people it was crowded before the doors closed again. We were headed to the last, highest floor, the Royal Enclosure, which was the best viewing point for the races. It was also highly exclusive and invite only, and a person could online invite someone else after attending for four years. Divorcées weren’t even allowed in until 1955.

So the elevator ride took a long minute, which may be what gave me the courage to surrender and lean in closer to him to ask:

“Truth or dare?” He smiled to the ground, biting his lower lip, but leaned in to me as well and whispered, “Dare.” Smiling in return, only slightly annoyed I’d have to wait to ask why he said he’d been ‘awful’, I went through my head for a good dare idea. “Let’s see….” “May I remind you we are in a very public, heavily press-present event?” He whispered, still close. “Sounds like something you should have thought of before choosing dare.” I shrugged, whispering back. “Okay… get someone in this elevator to slap you.” He leaned back. “What?!” “Go on.” “How?” “I don’t know.” “Mary… I–” He sighed, looking around. His eyes paused on every person present, my staff, his staff, the security… and then it paused on the tall, slender man who he had referred to as his secretary before. “Hey, Edward, I need a favor.” “Yes, sir?” The man replied, while I suppressed a giggle. “Slap me.” The whole group looked at them for a moment, before looking away, pretending not to be overhearing. “S-sir?” “It’s not a big deal, just slap me. It doesn’t need to be strong.” Harry insisted. “Sir, I–I don’t understand!” “It’s a long story,” Harry lied, “I’ll explain later, but I need you to slap me now. Go on, I promise I won’t mind.” I bit my lip strongly to stop myself from laughing. Edward looked truly concerned, and Harry sounded increasingly more desperate. “Harry, no!” Edward said, shaking his head.

The elevator stopped in place with a melodic ‘ding’, and Harry sighed as the others filed out before us – Edward leading the way.

“Any chance you’ll slap me?” He asked, making me laugh. “Ask me again later.” I said, walking out. “But then I’ll have already lost.” He lamented. “Well, then you’ll have to live with the defeat.” He groaned, following me to a table of drinks and appetizers. There were no cameras in this enclosure, and no one else I had to be formally introduced to. As I didn’t know anyone else, this left me free to grab a drink and something to eat.

Harry, however, waved a quick hello to a handful of people as soon as we walked into the room, but continued to follow me.

“Okay, rematch.” He started. “Give me another dare, I must redeem my honor.” “God, men… it must be so exhausting feeling you have to prove yourself constantly.” He grinned. “We both know you’re judging me for not doing a dare. Go on, give me another one.” I giggled, and sighed. “Alright, remember you insisted… I dare you to…” I thought about it deeply, looking around.

There was a couple of girls a few meters away looking at us – more particularly, at him – with jealousy and desire in their eyes. I smiled in spite of myself, feeling oddly powerful.

“To improvise a poem.” He looked so confused it made me smile again. “A poem? Like, like poetry?” “Yes.” I nodded. “Take your time.”

As I took a sip of my sparkling wine, he put his hands in his pockets, looking around. I could see his mouth silently moving as he talked quietly with himself. It was an amusing sight, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how handsome he looked deep in thought like this.

“Okay.” He nodded, seriously, approaching.

He removed his hat, brushed his hair to the side with his hand and stood unnervingly close to me.

“You're a vision in pink, I might need a drink…” He risked a look at me, but his cheeks were reddening, so he looked away again. “And I might pass out, if you gave me a wink…” I tried to suppress a giggle, as I thought any sudden movements might dissuade him from this dare. “Every day I remember, when the leaves were ember… In blue, you breezed through… your skin, warm and tender, In all of your splendor…” he looked at me again, still pink in the cheeks, but with renowned intensity in his eyes, “Waking up with me, your legs between my knees. I woke up desperate to please, and tease, with ease…”

His eyes locked on mine, intense, he recovered his color just as I felt my cheeks heaten up. He said each word slowly now, over-enunciating double meaning into each syllable.

“And squeeze, your hills, give you chills, thrills, until… Your daisy became daffodils… Asleep and awake, three days of bliss, give and take… Slow, sweet, fast or rough. Forever wouldn't be enough.”

His eyes hovered over my face, slowly lowering towards my lips, pausing there for the longest minute as I felt breathless. To the silence, I realized it was over, and struggled to think of something teasing, light-hearted enough to say to this. How to hide the way his voice – his words – made me feel?

I bit down an embarrassed grin thinking of his words. Walking in wearing blue when the leaves were ember? That was when we met last fall. Waking up with my legs between his knees? When I ran away to his home and we slept in the same bed. ‘Squeeze your hills, give you thrills, slow, fast, or rough, forever wouldn’t be enough’? That, that was… an alternate reality that felt the more tempting the more he continued to look at me.

“I don’t want to break the moment, because I feel there’s a moment here… but that was really good, right?” He asked, sounding honestly shocked.

It made me laugh out loud.

“Oh, my God, did I… write that?” He added, looking around, seemingly astonished with himself. “Did I maybe hear this somewhere? Did I accidentally plagiarized someone?” Laughing, I held on to his arm to steady myself. “Honestly, it was very good.” I managed to say. “I know! It was incredible!” “I mean, it started just okay… but it got… really interesting in the end.” “Interesting?! I think I’m a poetry miracle!”

I laughed again; throwing my head back, I had to hold on to my hat so it stayed in place.

“I need a pen and paper to write that all down before I forget it!” he added, patting his pockets. “Oh, my God, shut up.” I begged, still laughing. “Alright, alright…” He smiled. “My turn. Truth or dare?” I sighed, “Dare.” He grinned, surprised. “Oh, wow. Okay… I dare you to…” He considered it for a few seconds, looking around the room.

Silently, he grabbed my half-drank wine glass and moved to the drinks. He picked a bottle of whisky, and poured some into my glass.

“Hey!” I protested.

He did the same with the scotch, the vodka, the mango liquor, and every other bottle in the table until my glass was almost full to the brim.

“I dare you.” He said, handing me the glass. “Are you s–? This is so unoriginal.” “Just drink it.” He grinned. I smelled the contents of the glass, which smelled oddly of citric coca cola, and took a quick sip. “Oh, my God.” I complained, trying to remind myself not to yell in disgust. “You can do better, come on.” “No, I think this is enough.” “What? You drank nothing!” “Yes, but you never said I had to drink a lot, just that I had to drink.” I shrugged. He closed his eyes, and smiled, annoyed. “Wow. Such a lawyer.” I laughed. “My turn.” “Fine. Truth.” He said, rolling his eyes. I gulped, placed the disgusting concoction in my glass back on the table, but kept the smile in my lips as I asked, “Why did you say you were awful before?” His smile faltered. “Oh. You know…” He shrugged, nonchalant. “No, Harry… I don’t.” I said, softly. He avoided my eyes, but his lips sustained a humorless, emotionless smile. He took in a long breath, and looked at me. “Do you maybe have another question?” “What? No. Harry…” I shook my head, confused. “That’s the question.” He sighed. “It’s just work.” “Work?” “Yes, Marie. Work. I have a lot to do to get Invictus ready for September…” “Okay. Is that all it is? Because your tone says differently.” Still smiling coldly, he looked around, and brushed a hand through his hair, nervously. “Speaking of work, how’s your work?” He asked. “Is royal work as an heir any different?” “Harry.” I insisted, seriously, now feeling my heart beating increasingly heavier in my chest.

Finally, something snapped. He bit his lip, avoiding my eyes, then closed his eyes, muttered ‘hallway’, and walked off without affording me a second glance.

Chilled to the bone, I waited a couple of seconds before following him out, strategically avoiding Cadie and Auguste’s worried glances from nearby.

We walked out of the enclosure to the elevator hallway. It was emptier now than when we had come in, but still had a couple of people in it. So Harry passed them towards other doors, where it was emptier.

He stopped by a window, hands in his pocket, and heaved a sigh, brows creased, eyes pained. My heart ached just to watch him.

“Look, I–” He started, avoiding my eyes still. “I…” He laughed, humorless still. “Harry,” I tried, softly, “you’re worrying me.”

He closed his eyes, painfully. After a couple of seconds he opened them and stared right into mine. When our blues connected, I felt again that old chill down my spine; that feeling of being seen for all I was, that chill of knowing there was a lot being said, even if we weren’t speaking.

“Work is hard, yes, but–” He licked his lips, pausing. “I can handle it. What makes it harder, though, is that I can’t go very long without thinking about you.” I gulped. “W-what?” He smiled, a little more honestly now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mary. I know that sucks to hear. I just…” He sighed, heavily, and took a step closer to me. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Feeling my stomach do a cartwheel inside, I gulped. “I… W-what?!” His smile grew now, amused. “I look around my house, and all I can think is I miss having you there. I miss waking up with you, cooking with you, talking with you all day long...” He took another step closer, now in a way where his smell was all I could breathe; still the same citric L'Occitane smell I could never forget. “I think about you every time I open my bathroom cabinet and see the toothbrush you forgot.” He shrugged. “It’s pathetic. And even now as I say it, I know it’s pointless. I know just looking at you that it’s a lost cause. And it’s not your fault, even if sometimes I wish it were. It might be easier if I had a reason to be angry at you… But you didn’t ask for this. Neither did I. I just…” he shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” I sighed, breathless. “Harry. I…” “I know.” He nodded, staring at the ground. “I understand better than most. You have a duty. You have rules to follow and a huge number of people around ready to remind you why this would be a terrible idea, and I get it. I have the same. Lower stakes, maybe, but I do, and I hate it.” He smiled, in a sad, desperate way; eyes full of yearning as they looked at me. “The truth is I think about that kiss every day.” He whispered, gently. “The truth is I think about that date we never had every day, and about everything that could have been different… The truth…” He sighed, longingly. “The truth is I think I’m falling in love with you.”

My mind was both completely blank and going a thousand miles an hour. I felt my hands… shaken. My legs felt weak. I thought of Louis’ funeral again, of trying to kiss him at the worst of times, of how much it hurt when he pulled away, of when he told he didn’t want to be something I might regret.

I remembered sleeping with Chris right after, getting back together with him without even realizing it. Of the proposal and the yelling and the months of headlines about it.

If my brother was still here, Harry and I might have been just a complicated, unique love story. But he wasn’t, and because of that everything was such a mess. I was such a mess.

And yet, here he was: loving me anyway. In spite of it all. What was the universe thinking?

“Maggie?”

My fragile, already shaken up heart went cold. I looked back to find…

“Christopher?

--- ---- ---

Royal Ascot Outfit

[A/N: I know what you’re thinking, ‘how dare you not post for 2 weeks and then leave us with a cliff hanger????’. Guys, I’m SORRY! In my defence, 2020 was a hell of a year, I had to move, the holidays were a lot, I had a guest over, and I GOT A DOG! So...........a lot has happened! But things should calm down now, so I promise to try my hardest so this doesnt happen again! Spoilers: the story is going into its next phase! Secret-relationship-angst kind of next phase. But anyway, enough about me... how have YOU been? Tell me all about it, oh and also your thoughts on the chapter? hopes for the next ones? notes? criticisms? I’ll take it all! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND STICKING WITH ME AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE! PS: Lola, my fur child, is a 2 years old rescue, loves munching ice and guilting me into petting her instead of writing/working. I also accidentally scard her out of going to the bathroom where shes supposed to so now I’m slowly moving a pet-mat through the apartment back there. Tips? LOVE YOU HAVE A GOOD WEEK! BYE!

PS 2: I PROMISE I’LL COMPRISE ALL THE CHAPTERS INTO A MASTERPOST LIKE ONE OF YOU ASKED ME TO, I JUST NEED TO FIND THE TIME BUT I WILL! Thanks for the suggestion <3 ]

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[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 20. Courage

‘Her courage was her crown and she wore it like a Queen.' Atticus

When I walked inside after waving goodbye to Adrien, Harry and Lourdes were still in the kitchen. They looked at me, as if waiting for an idea of what came next.

“Well, I, for one, need a drink.” I said, trying my best to give them a smile.

Harry got to his feet and poured us some wine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lourdes asked.

“I don’t think we can.” I told her. “I don’t know what happens next. All we can do is wait.”

She avoided my eyes, and mumbled, “I know how much you love that.”

“Shut up.” I said, grabbing the glass Harry offered and drinking most of it in one sip. “Distractions, right? That’s what I need.” I said, looking at him.

“Oh, Harry! Do you have Amazon or iTunes or something?” Lourdes asked, excitedly.

“I think I have both. Why?”

“I know what we should watch!” She smiled, jumping up and going to his TV. “It’ll get your mind off things!”

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.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: Extra long, meaty chapter! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT ‘DONT MARRY HIM’ MOMENT???? And MM finally standing up for herself??? But now she has to leaaaaaaave??????????? Let me know what you think??? Thank you SO MUCH for reading, I cant thank you enough! What do you want to see next? <3 ]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 21. Regret

‘I’m not sorry for wanting what I deserve

and I’m not afraid to walk away to find it' r. h. Sin

My plan was to take the train the following day. Unfortunately, and yes, I am an adult, my father said no.

“You want to be taken seriously as the Crown Princess? Fine.” He said. “You can start by understanding how dangerous it is for you to even be here right now. It’ll be worse if you’re seen leaving by yourself.”

So I had to agree to fly back with him and my sister on a private flight. Lourdes and Harry got back from the Kensington Gallery when I was almost done packing our bags. As the house was so small, I could hear all of it. Lourdes snarkily asking if we were done or if she needed to pretend to be busy some more, my father telling her we were leaving, and Harry’s slow, steady steps on the stairs as he made his way up. I squared my shoulders back, and folded Lourdes’ pajamas more methodically than before in anticipation. I couldn’t hear his steps anymore, but I could somehow feel his eyes on me from the door.

“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!

[A/N: Whew! What a chapter, huh? Whats your favorite part?! And really, I wanted to give you a meaty chapter to make up for the long wait! Sorry about that everyone, can’t tell you how much I appreciate your patience! The american elections were too hard to watch for my brazilian ass and my job is not going too great, and then a move I thought was gonna be next year got moved for TWO WEEKS FROM THEN! Now I’m at my new apartment, full of stuff, no idea where to put any of it, but I LOVE IT! And now I can write with a much clearer head, so I’m excited! Thoughts? Critics? Suggestions? Let me know! Thanks for reading!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 23. Grief is just love with nowhere to go

‘These are the days that must happen to you.' Walt Whitman

One week later, Cadie was still confused about how I managed to pull it off. I was too.

But as grateful as she was to have her old job back, and as respectful as Auguste was of hierarchy, neither was happy to be working together. Auguste was still a little too liberal with his passive aggressiveness, and Cadie was not above having him do small tasks in revenge.

My father’s staff, on their end, now managed to look at me with even more judgement on their faces, and less of an effort to conceal it. Unfortunately for them, I was around more now. Unfortunately for all of us, it was due to bad news.

The first happened that first week, days after our big meeting. The Savoy Express online published an article detailing my breakup with Christopher in what they described as a 'dramatic shouting match the halls of Callois Palace hadn't seen since the days of World War II’. They seemed to know not only about the breakup, but also about the proposal that preceded it.

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!

[A/N: Hey, all! How have you been this week? I know what you’re thinking: Natalia, literally how dare you give us 2 chapters in a row without Harry?! I know, I know, I’m just as upset as you are! But here’s my excuse: this was all important stuff i had to get out of the way. NEXT WEEK: A HARRY FEST! I promise, there’ll be so much Harry! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I really appreciate it, and also if you could let me know your thoughts (suggestions? critics? all welcome!) it’d make me so happy! THANKS AND SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 18. Three’s a Party

‘Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined.' Ovean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

I don’t know how long we stayed in the bathtub, but it felt quick. Harry held me until I stopped crying, his hand caressing my hair, his smell bringing me peace – it was almost easy to allow my breath to slow. When it did, while he still held me to his chest, I told him everything.

I told him that there were days I barely said anything to anyone that wasn’t ‘good morning’ or ‘good night’. I told him about feeling bursts of anger towards everyone and everything. I told him about the many attempts to clarify with multiple people what I was supposed to be doing and receiving condescending dismissals. I told him about my mother’s general apathy, about my sister having swollen, bloodshot eyes so constantly I stopped thinking it was unusual, about her sudden parting with her lifelong dream. I told him things I hadn’t even realized I felt before I said it aloud.

Like the guilt of being alive when Louis was gone, like the guilt of sometimes forgetting he was, or feeling boredom, or even the slightest joy, when he wasn’t around anymore for any of it. Like feeling so guilty about inheriting his title that sometimes I googled myself to see the negative stories in the press as punishment.

Afterwards, I had a shower and when I stepped outside, there was a fresh glass of water in the nightstand on the side I had slept in the night before.

I had a few sips, feeling my eyes heavy – they were swollen from crying. It was early at night, but I had no desire for dinner or doing anything at all. So I just laid in bed, on my side, feeling the kind of tired sleep doesn’t cure, but still I closed my eyes, letting his smell in the pillow lull me to sleep.

I woke up – God only knows how long after – with his hand on my shoulder, warm and firm, slowly running down my arm almost until my elbow and back up, delicately.

I took in a deep breath and let it go, then I turned around in bed, to face him. His other arm was under his pillow. I didn’t look at his face, just laid my head on his pillow, over his shoulder, eyes closed to go back to sleep. A little thrown, it took him a second or two, but eventually he let his arm relax as it embraced me, before starting to caress my back.

I didn’t let the guilt in. I refused to. I was just… broken, an open wound, and he made me feel at peace. That was all that mattered.

In the night, I woke up to use the bathroom and when I returned, Harry, still in deep sleep, was facing the other side of the room. I laid next to him, and tentatively dropped my arm down his waist. When I raised up my knees, my legs fit into his, and I let it. I touched my nose to his back, letting his smell calm me again, and brought my hand across his chest to his heart. Feeling it beat, I was so close to sleep I didn’t hear or feel when he moved his hand until it was over mine. He interlaced our fingers together and sighed, content. With his fingers caressing mine, I fell asleep easily.

— ---- —

We slept in the following day. By the time I gave up trying to go back to sleep, it was almost noon. I turned in bed to find Harry scrolling through his phone, his face still slightly swollen from sleep.

“Morning.” I said, my voice lower than usual.

He smiled at me, letting his phone fall to the mattress and hugging his pillow to look at me upclose.

“Good morning.” He reached out with a hand to brush my hair out of my face. “Or should I say good afternoon.”

“Afternoon?!”

“It’s almost two.”

“What?!” I asked, slightly exasperated. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“What for?” He asked, shrugging. It was a good point. “Sometimes it’s good to sleep the day away… healthy.”

“I… I have been sleeping the day away a lot.” I confessed.

“I know.” He replied. I did tell him that the previous night. “It’s okay. Emotionally tired is still tired.”

I smiled, feeling less embarrassed than a second ago.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go back to…” I gestured vaguely with my eyes to his phone.

“I was just making some decisions for work. Nothing more for the rest of the day, though. Free to binge Orange is the New Black if you want.”

I let out a small, excited gasp. “Yay.” He laughed.

“Should we get something to eat first?” He asked. “I had breakfast earlier, but I was waiting for you for lunch.”

Faster than I could try to stop it, I felt my heart fill with affection for him.

Sighing, I smiled. “Sure. How about that indian place you mentioned?”

“Nice!” He smiled, picking up his phone.

He pulled up the menu and we chose our favorite kind of naan and chicken, so he sent a request to his security, who would then, apparently, order it themselves and receive it at the gate.

We stayed in bed for a while longer, talking about a lot of nothings, before he got a notification that the delivery guy had exited the restaurant. I then got up and went to the bathroom as he went downstairs to set the table.

When I got down, he was gone, though I quickly realized he was just outside picking up our food from one of his protection officers. He’d set up the coffee table in the TV room with plates, cutlery and cups over a white linen tablecloth with a small glass bottle in the center filled with colorful wildflowers I guessed he must have gotten from the garden outside.

I sat down on the floor with a smile on my face, biting my lip as my cheeks reddened.

We ate while Orange is the New Black played on the TV in front; the chicken was good, but the garlic naan was the best part of the meal. When we were done, I felt so satisfied I just stretched across the floor with one of the couch cushions as a pillow to watch the rest of the episode. Harry pushed the table to the side, pulled another cushion down and laid by my side, one arm under his head, closer to me than strictly necessary. I had issues paying attention to the plot.

Two, three, four episodes later we were still laying on the floor when I got up and told him I had to pee, so we decided to continue watching it upstairs. He took the dishes to the sink while I went to the bathroom. When I came back, I realized he’d brought the blanket and pillows from his bed so we could be more comfortable.

“Do you not have to work today?” I asked, just as he happily jumped into place.

“Nope!” He smiled. “I cleared my schedule to do nothing else today.”

“Nice.”

“Though I do have an engagement tomorrow.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“It’s something for the Endeavor Fund.” He explained. “I’m going to the tracks, in Sussex. Goodwood Motor Circuit. Some other servicemen and women will be there, that’s who the Fund works to help, you know?”

“Veterans?”

“Wounded, sick, injured…” He nodded. “So we’re having a bit of the day in the tracks and I think,” He grinned, “they’ll let me drive a jaguar.”

“Exciting.” I laughed.

“It is!” He nodded, enthusiastically.

“…that’s what you like to do more, isn’t it?” I asked. “Helping military personel… you look… energized when you talk about them.”

He sighed, smiling. “I guess I– I guess I feel I am one of them. Even if in a very different, much smaller way.”

“We’ve talked about this.” I corrected. “You were there, you’re one of them. Stop downplaying it.”

He smiled at me, before looking down, biting his lower lip. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“What?”

“…I’ve been working on something. Something cool, that I’m excited about… It’s… It’s not ready yet… but we’re so close to announcing it…”

“God, you sound so excited.” I noticed, chuckling. “What is it?!”

He seemed to consider me for a few seconds before getting up, quickly, and jumping over me to go to the kitchen, where he picked up his laptop from the table and brought it back, along with a thick, black, plastic folder.

“So, have you ever heard of the Warrior Games?!” He started. “It’s this military sports event in America, for injured military personnel… I was there last year and it just… it was amazing!”

“Okay?”

“So I kept thinking about it, and about how it should really be for everybody, not just the Americans, you know? It should be like the Olympics, global. I mean, it just makes sense, the benefits that it brings to them… it puts them back in a mindspace of self-worth, you know? And at the same time it inspires other people, too, civilians, I mean. It teaches them how impressive they are.”

“Sure.” I nodded.

“Well,” he opened his laptop and put in my lap, opening a slideshow with a couple of clicks of his finger. “So I… I am doing it. Well, we are. Me and my team. We’re creating a global military sports event for injured personnel.”

He clicked through the slides in his presentation summarizing his main idea – essentially, a military paralympics –, and the contacts he had made to get the event to happen in London. His connections involved everyone from the Mayor to the Obamas, as well as millions in investment from Jaguar Land Rover.

He smiled as he spoke with pride about every decision, showing me rejected design ideas for the logo, to the newest t-shirt mockup, which he had a printed version of in a chart on his folder. Eventually, his cheeks reddened as he realized he spoke for so long Netflix was asking if we were still watching Orange is the New Black.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I’ve just been so anxious about announcing it next month… And then they want us to plan it for September, which seems so close!”

“Well, it is. But it’s okay! You can totally pull it off.”

“You think?”

“Of course!” I smiled. “The secret is finding passionate, competent people and delegating so you don’t lose your mind, because, Harry… the idea is really good. You can totally pull it off.”

He smiled, sheepishly. “…I’m actually really excited.”

“You should be.” I told him, honest. “It’s a great idea, and you’ve clearly done your homework. I like everything about it.”

He looked at me. “Thanks, Mary.”

“…who knows? Maybe we’ll get some Savoy veterans in here, too.”

“That’d be cool!” He nodded. “You’d have to come support them, though. I mean,” he fixed his features into a serious expression, leaning in to me, conspiratorially, “as the Crown Princess, you would have to. Right?”

I smiled. “Makes sense. Duty is duty.” I shrugged.

“That’s right…” He agreed, closer still.

“Are you scared?”

“Of what?” His playful smile disappeared.

I shrugged. “All of it.”

He sighed. “I’m terrified. I mean, the amount of people I’ve managed to convince… the amount of people this would impact… the amount of money we need… Sometimes I’m—Well, most of the time I’m just so confused as to how no one has stopped me yet?!”

I giggled. “Because you’re good at this. You… care. You have talent and passion and you care. People see it.”

His cheeks were reddening again.

“Honestly?” I asked, with a sigh, “I wish I had this type of… connection to the work. Maybe I would feel less lost about giving up the only career I’ve ever wanted to be Crown Princess.”

We were silent for a while, as my words echoed in our minds.

“You know…” he started, carefully, his tone soft. “It wasn’t that easy… Getting to this... point. This… Place where I’m actually kind of okay at it.”

“We’ve established you are brilliant at it.” I corrected, making him blush as he tried to bite down a smile.

He closed the laptop and put it behind us, on the couch, before pulling his pillow closer to me.

“I spent most of my life feeling out of place.” He started slowly. “I mean, you know what is like. Being born into this, but not really having a place in it. I felt… useless and used. Being a soldier is the only thing I ever felt I earned and was actually good at… and even that I couldn’t do.”

“Too risky, right?”

He nodded. “It’s just… not a risk to my life, but I become a risk to others… I felt… robbed of the only thing I liked doing.”

I nodded. “I know what that’s like.”

“Yes, but you see, that’s not your case anymore.” He sat up, looking at me intently.

I scoffed, humorlessly laughing at the thought. “It doesn’t feel that different.” Harry sighed. “Would you rather go back to Litchfield?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

While Piper struggled with her soap business and navigating her own newfound identity, I laid closer to him until it was his shoulder and not the pillow I was resting my head on. The moment felt soft and fragile, but risky all the same. Having him around felt… powerful in ways that were scary and impossible to ignore at the same time. And although I felt moving away would be the smart thing to do, I couldn’t.

I was almost falling asleep when Mr. Healy ignored Pennsatucky threatening Piper, so I had to wake up to yell at the TV. We went from seasons one to two with Harry smiling at my reaction. When Piper was finally back at Litchfield, I started falling asleep again, so he said we should go upstairs, “just in case”.

On his bed, we seemed to drop all pretenses. He stretched his arm over me and I just laid my head inside his embrace with no preamble. It was getting harder to deny or try to rationalize it – that homecoming feeling that threatened to knock me out whenever I touched him.

— ---- —

Harry’s phone rang hours later, waking me up from a nap. He whispered an apology, and picked it up quickly, before telling me it was work and was going to take a while. So he went downstairs and I started paying attention to the show again. When I saw Piper out of prison and the mustache asshole back I replayed the previous episode from the start as it was clear I had missed a lot.

Three episodes later, there was a big storm brewing in Litchfield and I am not saying it was a sign, but it was in the middle of that episode that I decided Harry had been on the phone for a long time, and thought I should check on him.

Downstairs, he was on the kitchen table typing away on his laptop with a focused look over his eyes. Quietly, I watched him for a few seconds, half envious for his passion for the work, half appreciative of the way his jaw locked when he looked pensive.

I was smiling when I heard a knock on the door. Harry rose from his chair, closed the laptop, and made his way to it while I took two steps back into the stairs, to hide.

“Hi.”

There was a moment of shock while the house remained silent before I felt my legs move. I cut the distance through the kitchen and living room until I had one hand on a mouth-agape-Harry’s back, gently pulling him out of the way. He opened the door more as he did and soon both him and my sister were staring at me.

“Lourdes?!” I asked, in shock. “What are you doing here?!”

My sister was standing before him, still in her school uniform. She had no shock in her face, just an obnoxious looking smile. “Hey, Maggie.”

I looked at Harry, who couldn’t seem to decide where to look.

“Hey, would you mind–?” I started, but he didn’t need me to finish.

“Sure, yeah.” He nodded, hurriedly walking inside again.

I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

“Are you sure you don’t want your bodyguard to talk to me first?” Lourdes asked. “Maybe frisk me? I could be hiding a gun. What if I force you to follow me into the car and take you home by force?!”

Beyond her, I saw in the small, brick street of Kensington Palace a black SUV parked with the windows rolled down. The driver was Lourdes’ own security officer, who seemed to be accompanied by mine.

“What are you talking about?! What are you doing here?!”

“Well, from what I hear he’s been watching you like a guard dog.” She said. “Maman made it sound like she wasn’t even sure you were real anymore… ‘No one’s seen Marie-Margueritte in three days! She could have died and we wouldn’t know!’”, she mocked.

“That’s ridiculous.” I shook my head, almost amused. “She’s so dramatic.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Lourdes said, one brow perked up higher than the other. “Did you really run away from your security?”

“I didn’t–!” I started, choking on my words. “…run.”

“Wow, Maggie.” She laughed. “That’s insane.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “Lourdes, why are you here?!”

“Why do you think? Mom seems to think I would be better at dragging you home. I guess maybe she thought I would be faster at sneaking upstairs to find you… I don’t think she planned on you coming out of your own will.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, I’m fine. Go home, and tell mom and dad I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Oh, no.” She shrugged. “I’m staying.”

Quicker than I was able to follow, she reached behind me, opened the door and walked in. When I followed her, I realized she had a large weekend bag hanging from her shoulder, the one she usually used for weekend trips home.

“Woah, this place is… small.” She remarked, walking around as she took everything in, as if in a museum. “You live here?”

From the couch, Harry got to his feet and shrugged. “I live on my own, don’t need much space.”

“Bet you never thought you’d have to offer sanctuary to poor, runaway princesses, huh?”

“Lourdes, you’re not staying.”

She looked at me, one brow corked up in defiance. “What are you going to do, call your security in here to drag me out? Who’s to say they won’t take you with me?”

Harry interjected. “Okay, why don’t we all take a deep breath and–?”

“You need to relax.” She dropped her bag on the floor and walked by Harry to inspect the living room. “I’m on your side.”

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

“Seriously, Maggie, running away?! Badass. Never thought you had it in you.” She laughed.

“I did not run away!”

“Yeah, she calmly walked off the train.” Harry added, looking slightly more amused than felt appropriate.

“Regardless,” Lourdes shrugged, “amazing.”

“Lourdes, this isn’t–”, I sighed, unsure what to even say anymore. “This isn’t a game.”

“Everything’s a game if you’re having fun.” She returned, not even looking at me. “

As she approached Harry’s bookcase, I looked at him, lost for words. He had a grin on his lips, but his eyes reflected my own confusion.

I walked past him, towards Lourdes as she grabbed one of the picture frames to inspect it closely.

“You can’t stay here.” I told her.

She turned around and looked at Harry, a pitiful, sad expression on her face. “…I can’t?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he looked at me, pure despair in his eyes.

“Oh, please.” I stepped in front of her to block Harry’s view. “Don’t.”

“I mean, I get it, I should have called, I guess.” She told him, leaning around me. “I wouldn’t want to impose. I’m sorry, Harry–”

“Of course you can stay.” Harry said, making me turn to give him a wide-eyed, questioning look. “There’s enough space, it’s not a big deal.”

“She has school!” I argued. “It’s monday! You have to go to school.”

“Actually, I do not.” She said, placing Harry’s picture of himself as a baby on a pony with his mother by his side back on the shelf. “I am all yours.”

“Why–? Of course, mom… Look, Lou, mom thinks there’s something very dramatic happening here, but there isn’t. I’ll be home in no time. Until then, she’ll soon regret taking you away from school to involve you in this.”

“She didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Take me away from school.” She shrugged. “I was suspended.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal, it was totally unfair.”

“Suspended? As in, the administration sent you away?!”

“Yes, Maggie, relax. It was a mistake.” She removed her navy blue blazer, throwing it on me. “I didn’t do anything. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“That explanation is gonna need a lot more words.”

She folded her sleeves up to her elbows. “Sounds like we’re gonna need time. Good thing I’m staying.”

I looked at Harry, exasperated. He sighed, and gave me the quickest and smallest of shrugs.

“Well, that’s decided.” He said. “Lourdes, right? Harry.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, I know who you are.”

“Okay–” I tried.

“We did meet in Savoy. Last October.”

“Yes. And you were the guy sexting my sister after the Royal tour.”

Mortified, I sighed, looking at the ground.

Harry merely stuttered. “I–I don’t think I–Well, I–Would you call that sext–?”

“Louis thought you liked her.” Lourdes added. “Did you?”

“Okay!” I shouted, throwing her blazer over her head. “How about pizza for dinner? Harry, do you know a place?”

His cheeks were red. “I–I do. Yes.”

“Good. Lourdes likes pepperoni. I like marguerita, but I’m open to anything, really.” I grabbed her bag with one hand and her elbow with the other. “I’m going to show her to the guest room and let her have a nice, much needed shower in your bathroom if that’s okay–”

“Are you implying I stink?” She asked, holding her blazer awkwardly above her eyes.

“Towels on the closet in the hall, right?” I asked him, already on the stairs. “No mushrooms, please, I’m allergic!”

Then I marched her into the guest bedroom, the only room in the house I hadn’t yet seen. It was smaller than Harry’s room, and had a stuffy smell, but it was nice enough. I put Lourdes’ bag on the floor trying to look as though I had been there before. 

“Why were you suspended?”

“Why are you here?” She returned.

“Why are you here?!”

“To convince you to go home, of course.”

“Well, I’m not going home. Not yet. Now answer my question.”

She seemed to consider the request for a while. Slowly, she dragged the tip of her finger on the surface of the bedside table and stared at it. 

“Some kids were smoking.”

I straightened my back, attentive. “...were you?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Well, no need to react like that, it’s a fair question. Why were you suspended then?”

She sighed. “I was with them and I guess my word isn’t enough to clear me.”

“Who was it?! When did your friends start smoking?!”

She circled the bed and opened the curtains, looking out the window. “No one you know. And I didn’t ask.”

“New friends? Why are you hanging out with kids who smoke?!”

“They’re nice. They’re fun. And everyone else I know was in class.”

“What—why weren’t you in class, then?”

She let out a long sigh. “Maggie, it doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

“Yes, it matters, Lourdes. Of course it does. Do mom and dad know?”

“Of course they know. They’re the ones who told the pilot to fly me here from school instead of home.”

“Wait. What came first? You getting suspended or them asking to come get me?”

She thought about it a while, turning around to face me. “I’m not sure. From my end it was the suspension.”

We were silent, both too busy with our own thoughts. I grabbed her blazer and folded it, gently. The school emblem on it still made me sad; she attended the same school I only stayed at for one year.

“...they must be very stupid if they thought they could get away with it. Your friends, I mean. Those nuns are everywhere. They see everything.”

She was quiet. 

“What class were you cutting?”

“...AP English.”

“What?!” I asked, slightly outraged. “You cut one of the best classes?! Man. What a waste. I always fantasized about cutting physics but never did.”

“I don’t mind physics. There’s so much going on that my mind stays busy. But there’s too much thinking in English.” She sat on the bed to start removing her knee high socks. “And it always reminds me of Lou.”

Feeling my heart tighten, I remembered English was always Louis’ favorite subject. 

Lourdes removed her shoes, placed both socks into them — black leather Gucci loafers — and turned around to get her bag. 

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many classes did you cut?”

She didn’t look at me. Inside her bag, she found a pair of pajamas, underwear, a toiletries bag, and from inside it, a hair tie she used to put her long blonde hair into a bun. 

“They wouldn’t send the King’s daughter home for skipping one class and not smoking.”

“It’s bullshit.” She complained. “My grades are fine! So what if I skipped a couple classes?!”

“A couple?!”

“A few. Whatever. If my grades are fine that means I don’t need the classes. Ergo, why should I be punished for it?!”

“How many is a few?”

“Maggie, that’s not the point. The point is I don’t have skating anymore, so I have time to study by myself.”

“Sounds like something you could have agreed on with your teacher instead of just... doing it.”

“Again. If my grades are fine—“

“What do you consider fine?” I interrupted, “Because your grades were fine before. By that logic, now they should be better.”

She sighed. “Whatever. It’s done.”

She removed her button down white shirt and folded it carefully. The white tank top she was wearing underneath had stains on it. 

“How long are you suspended for?”

“Until next week. Which gives me plenty of time to stay here with you.” She finished, with a smile. 

I looked at her bag, at the rug, and at the wall in silence 

"Lou, you can't stay here."

"Why not? You are."

"Because you're a kid. You are under age. Mom and dad will want you home. They shouldn't even have sent you here in the first place, what were they thinking?"

"That if you wouldn’t talk to them, you might talk to me." She replied.

"I guess they were right, then."

"But you still won't come home or let me stay."

"It's just... complicated."

"You just want to be alone with your lover." She said, accusatory.

"Lover?!" I asked, disgusted.

"Isn't that what you call someone you're having an affair with?"

"I am not having an affair! God, you and mom, I swear to God! I'm allowed to have friends!"

"It's an interesting friendship..."

"Speaking of which, cut it out with that sexting nonsense. And asking him about all that stuff in the tour. It's not okay."

"I didn't make anything up. I'm just asking about things that happened."

"And I am asking you to stop doing that." I said. "Cut it out. We're friends. You're making it weird."

"Oh, I am?" She asked, crossing her arms. "So, if you found out Chris was staying with a female friend in Canada, who was to him what you are to Harry, whatever that is, you would be okay with it?"

"Yes." I lied, on auto-pilot.

"Right." She rolled her eyes and picked up her toiletries bag and her pajamas. "What did you even tell him? Christopher, I mean. When you said you were staying here? That you were having a mental breakdown and Harry offered you a place to do it?"

"...I haven't spoken to Christopher." I told her, rolling my eyes.

"In three days?! What the hell, Maggie? He might think you died."

"I think he would have heard from someone if I died."

"Well, what if he died? What if his plane crashed?! What if he called the police when he couldn't reach you?!"

"He knows better than that." I explained. "Besides, my phone is still off. I didn't want the staff to be able to track me."

"Well, they know you're here now." She reminded me. “Might as well turn it on and start thinking of a good explanation to give your boyfriend.”

There was a knock on the door, so we both looked at it to find Harry standing in the doorway.

“Hey.” He started, awkwardly. “Your… security detail came over to ask when you’re leaving.” I looked at my sister. “They don’t know you’re staying?!”

“Oops.” She shrugged. “In my defense I don’t remember explicitly saying that I had permission to stay.”

“Lourdes-Abigail!” “So, the lawyer gene runs in the family, I see.” Harry said, grinning. I ignored him. “Lourdes, you can’t stay here if you don’t have permission.” “Harry said I could stay.” “Harry isn’t your parent. You need permission from your parents.” She took in a deep breath, and straightened her back. “I am staying, Maggie. And you know why? Because I don’t have school, which means the only place I’m supposed to be is home. With mom and dad who, as you well know, are a nightmare these days. So, if you don’t have to be home, I don’t either. Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to have a shower. I’m assuming it’s the only other door in the hall, right?”

She marched past me and Harry, out of the room, walking confidently into his bedroom and soon I heard the bathroom door close from inside.

I sighed, slumping down into the guest room bed. I risked a look at Harry.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “Now you have two unwanted guests.” “Not unwanted.” He replied. “And I thought we talked about apologies.” I gave him a smile. “She can be a lot.”

“So can you.” He returned. “I like it.”

We exchanged a smile before he turned around to leave.

“Harry?” I called. “If it’s okay, I think it’s best if Lourdes thinks I’ve been sleeping in this room these past couple of nights.”

He gulped, avoiding my eyes. "Sure. Whatever you think is best."

“It’s just…” I started, apologetic. “She wouldn’t… understand.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure I do, either, to be honest.”

Quietly, I tried to think of how to answer that, but I couldn’t think of anything. He smiled, and went back downstairs. In his room, I found my own bag and took it to the guest room. In it, I found my phone. My heart beating rapidly, feeling tight, I turned it on, and while I waited, I tried to think of how to justify to Christopher why I had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

But when my phone finished updating the notifications I had missed, I realized I didn’t have anything to be concerned about. There were a couple texts from my friends, and many missed calls from my parents and Auguste, as well as my protection officers. But Chris had only texted once. A few hours before.

‘Hey babe. Sorry I forgot to text or call! I landed fine, jet lagged though. In and out of a lot of meetings, so I forgot! Bringing you a gift! Talk soon, love you xo’

I tried to think of what to tell him. I tried to look inside my heart and find what I had to say to him. But I was coming up empty. After a few minutes I just turned my phone off again and went back downstairs. 

In the kitchen, Harry was gathering plates and cups to set the table in the living room again.

“Hey. I thought we could eat while watching TV again. Probably not Orange, your sister seems too young for it, but it’s your call--”

I approached him, slowly, taking the cups he was holding from his hand and placing them on the table. Without allowing myself to think too much about it, I then wrapped my arms around him and laid my head in his chest, like it had been when I was sleeping earlier that day. His smell was still as comforting and welcoming as before and his touch when he hugged me back, tightly, felt natural and mind bendingly warm.

Thinking of my boyfriend, I was coming up empty. In Harry’s arms, I felt a lot.

---- --- ----

[A/N: Yall. Tell me what you thiiiiiiink! What do you thiiiiiink????? Please let me know! THANK YOU FOR READING YOU’RE THE BEST!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 19. Power

‘You are holding it in your hands -- your power. Use it.' seeker

I was alone when I woke up. It was a contrast to how I’d spent the previous two nights. The pillows in the guest room didn’t smell like Harry, and neither did the person I shared the bed with. The night before, when I had first realized this, I had brought a pillow from Harry’s bed to this one. No one questioned this – likely, no one noticed it –, but it made a difference for me. It wasn’t the same as using him as a pillow. But it was close enough.

I used the bathroom in his room slightly anguished that nobody was around. After brushing my teeth and hair, I added a bra under Harry’s shirt that I was still wearing, and went downstairs where, before I even entered the kitchen, I could already hear their voices.

“Ah, the creature!” Lourdes said, the first to see me. She grabbed a large mug with both hands and raised it up high above herself, bowing her head. “Please, take this token of our respect in your honor and do not bring destruction upon us with your unforgiving wrath!”

I fixed her with the most unemotional look I could muster before pulling up a chair and grabbing the mug. I looked at the inside to find it was the source for the incredible smell of coffee around. I took a small sip, it was just warm enough, but not burning, so they must have heard me wake up. I took a bigger sip, let it sit on my mouth, and closed my eyes, appreciatively.

“Praise!” Lourdes broke the silence in the kitchen by throwing her hands up in the air suddenly. “The kingdom is spared! We live to see another day by the mercy of our–”

I slowly leaned in and covered her mouth with my hand. “Please. It’s so early.”

“It’s 10 A.M.!” She replied, leaning backwards.

“Ugh.” Was all I could muster.

Harry chuckled, from my other side. “God. This is a new side to you.”

“Oh, she probably hopes you still think she has dignity.” Lourdes told him. “That hope dies with the intimacy of growing up together.”

I didn’t acknowledge either of them; just stared at my coffee as I drank it, slowly. Returning the mug to the table, I scratched my eyes slowly.

“She takes a while to turn on.” Lourdes mumbled to Harry. “Anyway, as I was saying. The time limit is kind of the point.”

“But what kind of message can you put out there in six seconds? Nothing worth saying is that fast.”

“It doesn’t have to be worth saying.” She returned. “And to answer your question, that is the challenge! To do as much as you can within your limit.”

“If what you say is not the point, then what is?!”

“Fun, Harry!” Lourdes yelled, animated. “Not everything in life is about a message, some things are about having fun. Ever heard of that concept?!”

I looked up to see him roll his eyes as she waved her arms around, excitedly.

“What are we talking about?” I asked.

“Vine.” She told me. “Harry doesn’t, and I quote, ‘get it’.” She did air-quote marks using her fingers.

“All videos have to be less than six seconds.” Harry told me as if I didn’t know that as a person alive in the twenty-first century. “All I said was that if media continues to follow this trend one day soon our brains will no longer be able to handle any content that requires a longer attention span.”

Lourdes was rolling her eyes now, and the effect was a lot more prominent in her teenager eyes.

“And, by the way, the implication that you can’t have a message in the app not only offends its creators as well as my generation as a whole, it implies that you think very lowly of yourself and media as a whole.”

We both looked at him. Lourdes, ready for the argument; me, entertained, now more awake.

“Any nuanced, complex, and well explained message will take longer than that.” He told her.

“Ah, there you go, now you added all those adjectives that you hadn’t before.” She pointed her finger at him. “Sometimes the message doesn’t have to be nuanced and flexed out to be well delivered.”

“I think my meaning was implied before–”

“Actually, she’s right.” I interrupted. “You said ‘no message worth saying’ could be delivered in six seconds. Adding new qualitatives now changes your whole argument.”

My sister nodded, “Thank you!”

“Good morning, your honor. Nice of you to join us.” Harry grinned at me, but I just brought the mug back to my lips as I sustained his look, defiant.

“I present, exhibit A,” my sister added, tapping away on her phone, “wait, not this one.”

From her phone, we heard a child’s voice going, ‘get your phone off my face!’.

“What message was that one transmitting, exactly?”

“That kids are hilarious?” Lourdes replied, not looking at him. “But also that new generations are being exposed to social media from an early age and it might not be beneficial to them.”

“Objection.” He rolled his eyes, laughing.

Now feeling almost entirely awake, I looked at them more carefully and noticed he was wearing a green tie with his white, button up shirt. In the back of his chair, hang a navy blue blazer. I wondered if I was underdressed, but looking at my sister I realized she was also in pajamas – white pants with colorful polka dots, and a light pink shirt with a unicorn.

“Are you going out?” I asked.

“I have work.” He reminded me. “But I should be back really quick.”

“Oh, here!” Lourdes smiled. She gave him the phone so he could see her screen, which she tapped with a finger.

A song was playing at first, followed by a police siren. A man said, angrily, ‘I’m getting a ticket!’. Next, a more formal voice added, distantly, ‘I think we got a stolen vehicle…’. The first voice, now calmer and lighter, says, ‘Oh, is there a problem officer?’, followed by a quick ‘nope’. The song started again and the whole thing repeated itself.

“Now it’s looping.” Lourdes explained, tapping her finger on the screen again to pause it. “Would you like me to point out the message?”

“It was pretty clear.” Harry nodded, smiling. Defeated, but amused. He handed me the phone so I could watch it now.

Before asking the officer if there was a problem, the black driver in his car had painted his face white. This, clearly, to imply the differentiated treatment by police depending on racial profile.

“And you have a point.” Harry went on, “I guess social commentary is, after all, a message.”

“Oh, now you’re the message police?” She returned.

He chuckled, “No! I’m agreeing with you.”

“Yeah, but in that condescending way people from your generation talk about everything my generation likes.”

“Woah, there.” I told her. “This generation talk will make me feel old.”

“You are.” She shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing, unless you dismiss things my generation thinks are cool just because you don’t think anything we do can possibly be productive or positive.”

“I think your best point is that things don’t always have to have a message.” I told her. “Sometimes, entertainment for entertainment’s sake is good enough of a reason to download an app.”

“Amen!” She pointed at me, smiling at Harry. “She gets it.”

“I guess we can all use more fun.” He told her. “Can you put it on my phone? Tell me who are the cool people to follow?”

She stared at him, squinting her eyes for only a few seconds, before standing up from her chair.

“Fine. But only because I’m very passionate about Vine.” She said. “Your phone is that one charging by the sofa, right?”

He nodded, and she moved into the living room.

I sipped my coffee, rested my elbow on the table, and my chin on my hand.

“You seem…” I started, looking at him. “Very interested on internet trends for someone who can barely use his phone for anything other than calling and texting.”

He shrugged, smiling mischievously. “I am. It seems like a powerful tool for community engagement.”

“Uhm-hm.” I mumbled, drinking another sip. “Sure.”

We were quiet for a brief pause. I was thinking about how handsome he looked with his hair freshly humid and styled backwards, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“If it happens to be something your sister and I bond over, all the better, right?”

I tried to contain a smile. “Why are you trying to get her to like you?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess your mother already hates me, might as well try to get someone in your family to like me, right?”

He gulped and looked at me, cheeks reddening.

“I like you.” I told him.

He smiled, sincere, big. “Good. Now let’s try to make sure you’re not the only one.”

I pushed my mug to the side, and leaned on the table, crossing my arms in front of me to rest my head on them.

“Why?”

He bit his lip, watching me. Then he put his teacup to the side and did the same as me, crossing his arms on the table in front, leaning in to rest his head on them. Our faces were too close like this, so he whispered his answer, staring straight into my eyes.

“Because I like you, too.”

Before I could even accept I didn’t imagine what he said, Lourdes was back with his phone. Harry picked it, saw the time, and realized he had to go before he was late. 

When he was gone, Lourdes settled on the couch, arms crossed in her chest, so I finished having some toast while thinking of the way his blue eyes glistened. I then did the breakfast dishes and when I was done, I sat next to my sister while some British reality show played on the TV. It was nearly eleven, so I decided it would be nice if we made lunch for Harry today.

“Why?” Lourdes asked when I proposed this.

“He’s hosting us and he has cooked or bought most of our meals since I’ve been here.” I replied. “And he’s been really cool to invite you to stay despite you showing up out of the blue.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to third-wheel your romantic holiday.”

I rolled my eyes, and got to my feet with a sigh. “Well, I’m going to check what he has and then we can brainstorm recipes, or google something.”

I went to the kitchen and opened a few different cabinets before finding one near the sink where most of the food seemed to be. Harry had some different types of pasta, some canned goods, and not much else.

“I heard what you said, Maggie.”

I looked back, finding Lourdes had gotten up to follow me.

“Good. You wanna help?”

“I mean I heard you saying you like him.” She explained, her aggressive tone now starting to make sense. “And him saying he likes you, too.”

I got up, and opened the fridge.

“He has frozen broccoli, pasta, canned mushrooms, and chicken… that could be good, right?”

“I may not have a boyfriend, Maggie, but I don’t think you’re supposed to go around declaring yourself to other guys if you do.”

“Declaring?” I complained. “Declaring? Lover? What are you, Jane Austen?”

She didn’t crack a smile. I sighed, closing the fridge door.

“Okay.” Pulling up a chair, I sat down at the table. “What exactly do you want to know, Lourdes? Because I already told you that Harry is my friend and I have not, nor do I intend to cheat on Chris. So what else do you want?”

She looked down, pensively.

“I guess I just… don’t get it!”

“Then help me explain. What don’t you get?”

She sighed, approaching the table. “It doesn’t feel right. You and Chris were always so… joined at the hip. You have guy friends, but you don’t sleep at their house without Chris there.”

“Okay… so, is the problem that I’m friends with Harry? Guys and girls can be friends, Lou. Or else how can girls be friends with each other when some of them are gay?”

“That’s not it. Of course people can be friends, but…” She rolled her eyes, pulling up a chair to sit. “But you are closer to Harry than your other friends.”

“That doesn’t have to be bad, either.”

She nodded. “True. But… your other friends don’t look at you that way.”

“What way?”

She sighed, “Like… like he’s seeing color for the first time.”

I cracked a smile now, “He doesn’t look at me like that.”

“Are you blind?!”

“Lourdes–”

“Seriously, you can’t possibly think he doesn’t have feelings for you.”

“...Do you think it's possible that, maybe, and just consider this for me, okay? That maybe you're seeing things that aren't there?”

She was quiet for a while, before shrugging.

“I guess… But I don’t think I am.” She looked at me. “Maybe you think it’s a friendship, but he doesn’t.”

“He knows I have a boyfriend, and most importantly, he knows I’m the Crown Princess. He barely likes being a royal at all, let alone date one who is an heir. Trust me, he doesn’t like me like that.”

The argument seemed to work, so I let the silence rest for a bit.

“I guess…” She started, staring at her hands. “I guess I just feel weird that Chris doesn’t know you’re here… And don’t lie, you know if he was staying with a female friend in Canada you wouldn’t be okay just finding out later. You should tell him!”

“And I will, when I talk to him.”

“That’s another thing! Why haven’t you even talked to him yet? He must be wondering what happened, and you’re letting him be worried just because you don’t know how to explain this.”

“Chris is far from worried, Lourdes, relax.” I blurted out, annoyed.

“What do you mean?”

“…I turned my phone on last night, when you were in the shower.” I told her, before taking the time to breathe in and out slowly. “Christopher only called and texted once. The call was yesterday, the text was later that night. He just… apologized for being too busy.” I ended with a shrug.

She seemed to struggle to understand what I said. She stared down, brows furrowed, silent for a long time.

“What the–?! How is that possible?!” She started. “Okay, well, what did you say to him?!”

“…Nothing.”

“What?!”

“If he’s not worried, and is currently too busy to talk to me, then that’s fine, we’ll just talk in person later on.”

“But, Maggie, he only texted once?! Once! And you’ve been gone for three days!”

I got up from the chair and opened the last cabinet door, trying to find all the seasoning Harry had.

“Yeah.” I nodded, casually. “It’s too little, but we can talk about it later, when we’re not both distracted. Him with work, me with… well, whatever this identity crisis is. Maybe resting after months of turmoil.” I considered. “Regardless, we’ll talk back home in Savoy.”

“That’s not good enough! You’re his girlfriend! Of ten years!”

“Eight.” I corrected. “And very on and off.” “You only broke up a couple of times.” She dismissed.

“Three.” I corrected, again. “And one of them was quite permanent. So I think this time around the clock starts back again from zero.”

“That’s not how it works.” “Why not?” “Well--” She sighed. “Because! You’ve known each other almost your whole lives! You’re almost engaged!”

Hands on my hips, I fixed her with a knowing look. “So you know about that, too.” She had the decency to give the ground an apologetic look. “I overheard mom and dad talking about it.” “You could have told me.” “Aren’t proposals supposed to be a surprise?”

“Everything in my life feels like it’s being kept from me.” I complained. “I just wish people would tell me things.” “Okay, how about I tell you this,” she started, “Chris not being concerned when you ran away for three days--?”

“Didn’t run away.” “Not okay!” She shouted. “It is not okay, Maggie!”

“Lourdes!” I shouted in the same tone, trying to get her attention. “Please! Just… Just let me worry about this, okay? It’s my relationship!”

“I would, but you don’t seem to be worried at all.” She contested. “Which only makes me more upset!”

She went on like this, talking about how trust and communication are not something you can jeopardize in a relationship, and a lot of other things.

I took note of salt and pepper. Not even a little oregano. Harry also didn’t have coconut milk or double cream or lime for a nice sauce. I sighed.

“We’ll need groceries.” I said, as soon as Lourdes took a pause to breathe. “I’ll pull up grocery apps on my phone and see what they have available for delivery.”

Looking back at her, I realized she still looked concerned sitting on the kitchen table.

“Why aren’t you pissed?” She asked. “Three days. You could have dropped dead somewhere. You could have been kidnapped.”

“Lourdes.”

“Seriously, why aren’t you angry at him?!”

“I don’t know!” I confessed, sighing. “I just… I’m not. He’s busy, I get it. And I guess… I’m going through something right now that I don’t fully understand. So I think it’s better not having to explain it to him right now. I’m okay with it.”

She seemed unconvinced, so I sighed and went to get my phone. Harry had mentioned in passing the name of the app he used for groceries, so I downloaded it and found the nearest store, quickly adding a lot of spices, lime and some coconut milk to my cart. As an impulse buy, I also got ice cream and white wine, and a six pack of the beer Harry had in his fridge in case he didn’t like white wine. Back in the kitchen, I realized he didn’t have wine glasses, so I checked if the store had it and they did, so I added two wine glasses to my basket. Since Lourdes wouldn’t drink wine, I got her some coke, and made the purchase.

Then I used the house phone and called the number written on the notebook next to it to speak to security at the gates. Awkwardly introducing myself as “Prince Harry’s house guest”, I told them I had a delivery coming, and they assured me they could bring it to us.

“Oh, please don’t worry about that!” I assured them, overly worried about being polite. “I can go get it! I’ll keep an eye on the app and when I see the driver arriving I’ll go and get it from the gate.”

They tried to remind me I didn’t have to, but I insisted.

After this, I changed into my actual clothes, some jeans and a blouse, and joined Lourdes who had finally settled again on the couch to continue watching TV.

When the delivery driver was close enough to the gates on the map, I jumped up from the couch, not having realized how much time had passed.

"Groceries are here, let's go!" I shouted.

"I'll wait here."

"No, let's go!"

"I thought we weren't supposed to be out in daylight...?"

"Stop complaining, let's go!" I threw my phone on the couch and grabbed her by the hands, pulling her up and running out the door, not even turning off the television.

When we got to the back gate, the one we came in from, we were told the food wasn't there, and they quickly called the main gate and figured out the food was there. We thanked them and walked towards the main gate, sadly having to walk around the palace. Luckily, a guard was walking over to bring us the groceries, so we met him half way and started making the way back.

I pointed out William and Catherine's apartment when we passed it; it was nice being outside. It was only then that I noticed that I had been in Harry's place for three days. I kind of missed Savoy.

When we got back, Harry was there. The moment we walked through the door, though, he seemed frazzled. He was on the phone, eyes wide, and when he looked at us, such relief came over him it was hard not to let myself be concerned.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

He returned the home phone to the mount on the wall, forcibly, and ran a hand through his hair. He had his cell on the other hand.

“I got home and you were gone!” He complained. “What the hell?! Where did you go?!”

“To get groceries at the gate.” I told him. “We had them delivered.”

“We were on the wrong gate, though.” Lourdes said. “So we had to go around.”

“Groceries?” Harry asked, confused.

“We’re making you lunch today.” I explained, with a smile. 

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, breathing heavily. “The TV was on and your cell phone was on the sofa. I didn’t—“

I approached him after leaving the bag on the table, and put a hand to his forehead. He was sweaty, but cold. “Harry, why do you seem so… scared?”

“You were gone! I didn’t know if they had come in and taken you!” He explained, now getting a little red.

“You think we would have left our stuff?” Lourdes asked, amused.

“I thought maybe they didn’t let you get anything.” He shrugged.

Smiling, I squeezed a hand on his shoulder. “Well, relax. We’re here.”

“Yeah, go chill.” Lourdes said. “Maggie is forcing me to help so she can take a break from your awful cooking.”

“Not what I said!” I looked at him. “We just want to do something for you for hosting us.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Lourdes mumbled.

Harry nodded, “Alright. I’m going to… shower then.”

He went upstairs and I joined my sister in the kitchen, shaking my head in amusement.

I gave her the broccoli to chop and boiled water for the pasta. After a while in silence, she said, in low enough a voice I assumed she didn’t need a response:

“...You were gone for ten minutes and he was ready to call the police.”

----

We ate talking about how his engagement went; he had fun spending time with the veterans, but the best part was driving the Jaguar. He then told us he spent the drive there and back watching Vine, so he and Lou spent the rest of time discussing their favorite videos.

Harry asked Lourdes about life in boarding school, and we exchanged stories about each of our experiences, with Harry and I telling her how things were 'in our time'. Friends, classes, rituals, clubs, adventures, and most importantly: the things we didn't miss, and Lourdes could rest assured she wouldn't, either.

We spent that afternoon watching a movie she told us her friends had jokingly made her watch one day -- Princess Protection Program, with Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez.

"It's essentially what we're doing here." She joked. "Harry is our Princess Protection Program."

Once the sun was going down, we felt it was safer to go outside, so Harry proposed a game of volleyball – after we had told him it was one of the sports we played in Savoy with our cousins every summer.

So we went outside and played volleyball, Castillon Rules, where with each hit of the ball you’re supposed to yell out a word that starts with the same letter of your name. One of most polemic debates in our family was that those of us with double names – me and my siblings – had two letters at our disposal, whereas our cousins insisted only the first name counted.

“I never cared about this debate as both my names start with M.” I told Harry, just as he hit the ball thrown at him by Lourdes and shouted out ‘Horace’.

“That’s a name, it doesn’t count.” I argued.

“A name can be a word.” He consted.

“And there we go…” Lourdes rolled her eyes. “Another topic of discourse.”

When we came in, sweaty and still laughing, we sat on the couch for a long time, drinking water and talking about a lot of nothing, brainstorming about what to do next. We decided on another movie, but first Harry had a shower in the downstairs bathroom while Lourdes used the upstairs, and I was last.

When I came out of the bathroom donning once more Harry’s clothes, I went downstairs to find that as I had been showering, they were busy destroying the living room.

“Uhm, hi?” I called, trying to find them in the mess of blankets and furniture. “What are you guys doing?!”

Lourdes popped up from behind the couch, which had been turned around to face the wall.

“We’re building a blanket fort!” She smiled, using the back of the couch to hook a corner of a blanket up.

“…Why?” I asked, already tired at how long it would take to clean all of this out.

Harry walked in from behind me with a mess of twinkly Christmas lights in hand.

“For fun.” He answered, throwing them to Lourdes. “There you go.”

She started untangling the chords and spreading them out across their ‘fort’, as Harry moved to the TV, which he unplugged before removing it from its place.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked.

“Putting it on the floor.”

“Why?”

He grinned at me, and winked. “So we can watch from inside, obviously.”

“Maggie, come on.” Lourdes called, handing me one end of the twinkly lights. “Help me. We’re gonna watch Avatar. Harry’s never seen it.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “You haven’t seen Avatar, the Legend of Aang?”

“Okay, you haven’t read Harry Potter, so I need you to remove the judgy tone from your voice.”

“Thank you!”, Lourdes shouted. “Besides, it’s a very topical watch… You know, seeing as Aang is a great metaphor for you.”

“I am not Aang!” I complained.

“You have literally ran away from your responsibilities. But whatever...” She mumbled.

They both got back to work. Amused, I sighed, and decided if I couldn't beat them, I’d join them. I started untangling the chords.

We brought in extra blankets and pillows to lay on, and Harry unscrewed a broomstick to keep the fort’s ‘roof’ up. We ordered pizzas and opened the wine and settled inside to watch Avatar.

Harry initially complained it seemed very childish, but as that was also my argument against Harry Potter, he pushed through. Seeing as the episodes were only twenty minutes long, we got through them fast, and by episode ten, when Jet turned out to be a dick, he was fully into it if his huge disappointment and loud defense of Sokka was anything to go by.

When season one was over, it was late at night, but we were wide awake. Harry laid back on the floor, staring off into the twinkly lights, wide-eyed.

“So, she just… is the moon now?”

“You can’t come back from being the moon.” I argued.

“I guess…”

“I thought you were team Suki.” Lourdes said.

“I am, I love Suki.” He replied. “But I didn’t want the princess to die.”

“She didn’t die.” I argued. “She just has a different existence now. A different purpose.”

“That’s so sad.”

I smiled.

“Wait,” he looked at Lourdes, “does this mean Suki comes back?!”

“I guess we have to watch season two to find out!” Lourdes said, excitedly.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Bite me.”

“Let’s do season two!” Harry interrupted. “I wanna know what happens.”

“Okay, I need a bathroom break.”

I came downstairs just as Harry and my sister were breaking into loud laughter. The sound made me smile, but something also sounded from the hall. I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it, so I walked to the door and opened it to check.

To my surprise, however, there was a person there.

“Hi.” Adrien said, laid back. “I heard this is where all the cool Savoy Royals are hanging these days?”

“Adrien?!” I asked, to his annoying grin. “What on God’s green Earth are you doing here?!”

“Invite me to come in first, Mags, you were raised better than this.”

Before I could react, he walked right past me into the cottage. In the living room, Harry was crawling out of the blanket fort.

“Oh, wow.” Adrien laughed. “This is a scene to behold.”

“What the–?!” Harry asked, confused, but grinning at the sight of him. “Who the hell invited you here?!”

They exchanged a quick one arm hug, patting each other on the back.

“Well, I’m not sure how much you know, but your people have left a standing invitation for anyone from Savoy who needs to come rescue the two runaways here.”

“I didn’t run away!” I complained. Seeing Harry ready to add something, I pointed a threatening finger at him. “Shut it! And Adrien, this is none of your business. I’m fine, go home.”

“God, you’ve been in England for three days and already you’ve forgotten your manners.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “And rejoice, Maggie, you’re no longer the biggest concern.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means me.”

Lourdes had emerged from inside the fort.

“Bingo.” Adrien added, unamused. “What the hell, dollface?!”

“Relax, this is just a trip! I’m with Maggie, what’s the big deal?!”

“If my parents have an issue they maybe shouldn’t have sent her.” I argued.

“They sent her to talk to you and bring you home, she wasn’t supposed to stay.” He relayed, fixing Lou with a look of admiration. “You literally increased the problem instead of fixing it. I, for one, am very proud.”

They exchanged a look.

“Cute.” I said, sarcastic. “So, why did you come if you’re on our side?!”

“Oh, I am not on your side.” He said.

“What?!”

“Lourdes I get. Teenagers, am I right? But you, Maggie? What the hell? You should have known better!”

“Excuse me?!”

“You couldn’t have forced her to at least answer your parents’ call?!” He asked, angrily. “You’re old enough to do whatever you want with your life, but she’s a kid!”

“Teenager, you just said teenager!” Lourdes complained.

I looked at her, suspiciously. “What call?!”

She was silent.

“Lourdes?!”

“Mom called.” She rolled her eyes. “A few times. It’s whatever, she knows I’m here, she knows I’m fine. We’re literally in a palace!”

“Lourdes, I told you last night, you’re a minor!” I told her. “I can’t be responsible for you!”

“Exactly, so why should I tell you who calls me?” She asked, grinning annoyingly.

I grunted in frustration, but before I could reply to this we heard a calling tone. Adrien was holding his cellphone up.

“Hey,” he said when someone picked up, “I’m here. They’re alive. Say hi.”

He pointed the phone at me, and, confused, I raised a hand in greeting. Then he pointed the phone at Lourdes, who smiled as she waved.

“Talk soon.”

“Wait–!” Someone from the other end of the video call tried, my mother maybe, but Adrien tapped the screen and returned the phone to his pocket.

“Alright. Is there a place to sit around here or do I have to stare at the wall for that?!” He looked at the couch facing the wall.

Harry led him to the kitchen table, and grabbed him a beer from the fridge.

“So, now that that’s out of the way,” Adrien started, “anyone care to tell me why we’re here?”

Harry looked at me, then Lourdes, and finally our cousin. I let out a long sigh, thinking about the wedding, about crying, about Harry’s hand on mine and the thoughts of Louis, about the knowledge Chris had a ring and my parents knew it, I thought of the train and my melting thoughts, and finally, I pulled up a chair and sat down.

“To be honest,” I started, “I’m more interested in why you’re here.”

“I’m here because I’m playing my own game.” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Your turn.”

“What does that mean?” Lourdes asked.

Adrien was silent.

“How do you come into this?” He asked Harry, who was quietly leaning against the kitchen sink.

“We’re friends.” He said, looking at me.

Adrien’s eyes found mine, knowing, before traveling down to Harry’s shirt that I was wearing. “Huh.”

“Ade.” I called. “If you’re not going to talk we’re going back to the blanket fort to continue watching Avatar.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “God. I… I am doing your father a favor so he will do me one.”

“Okay?”

He looked between me and my sister. “I want to go live in America for a little while.”

“What?!”

“How much is a little while?!”

“Less than a year.” He shrugged, non-committal.

“Why?” Lou asked.

Adrien laughed, humorless. “What do you mean why? You know why.”

She looked at me, confused.

“The engagement?” Harry asked. Adrien nodded, not looking at him.

“Oh… Ade, I’m sure that’ll go away soon enough.”

“Are you, though?” He asked. “Because it’s been months. And they still write about me every day. Faye tried to start her new job and she has a horde of paparazzi following her every move. She’s being demonized in the press, the country feels betrayed that she would give up being part of its Royal Family–”

“Adrien!” I interrupted, “Fuck Faye. She made her choices.”

“How can you say that?! You know what she’s going through, you’re a woman–”

“Yes, and I know that she dated you long enough to know what she was getting herself into when she said yes.” I replied. “And she still did. She chose to change her mind and break up, that’s on her.”

He leaned in across the table towards me. “You’re the Crown Princess now. You’re gonna be Queen one day. It might not be yet, but soon dealing with the very real life consequences to people who are connected with us will be your responsibility.” He said, cold. “I wish you’d start looking at it with a little more compassion.”

There was a tense moment of silence while I weighed his words, feeling the old guilt settle in my stomach.

“How about you maybe chill a little?” Harry asked him, casually, but not without a certain intensity in the way he crossed his arms.

Adrien watched him, only half amused.

“How do you guys know each other?” Lourdes asked them.

“Oh, Haz and I go way back.” Adrien told her.

“Friends in common, partying tastes in common.” Harry shrugged. “I’m not completely sure, to be honest. I just can’t seem to be able to get rid of him.”

“You love me.” Adrien winked at him. “You’re even trying to be part of my family now.”

I looked at my hands, pretending I didn’t hear this, hoping I didn’t have to find out Harry’s reaction to it. 

“So, what’s your game?” Lourdes asked. “What favor do you need from dad? Is it just permission to go to America?”

“And why America?” I asked.

“With… our family’s recent changes…” He started, probably trying to avoid saying Louis’ name, “I’ve been notified that I’ll be needed more, to help picking up more royal patronages and doing more engagements, maybe even foreign trips or official duties.”

“Louis lived abroad.” Lou wondered. “So, how can him being gone alter so much of the work schedule?”

“Because he was expected to start royal work full time after graduation.” I told her.

“Yes, and Faye was supposed to join the family as well.” Adrien added, taking a long sip of his beer after. “So, now our little family business lost two up and coming employees.”

Lou furrowed her brows in confusion. “And you wanna ditch, too?”

Adrien’s face fell. “I want to help, but I can’t in good conscience stay here knowing there is something I could do to try and draw attention to myself so Faye can go back to living her life as a private citizen.”

Lourdes pouted. “I don’t know, I think I’m with Maggie on this one. Faye brought this on herself.”

“I think I get what you mean, though.” Harry said, to Adrien.

“How can you think it’s his responsibility to fix Faye’s mess?!” Lourdes asked, upset.

Though he seemed unsure he wanted to disagree with her after spending the day trying to bond, he still took in a deep breath and said,

“I have my own fair list of bodies I leave behind after each relationship doesn’t work out.” He started. “It’s… disheartening. Even if a relationship ends well and in a healthy way, sometimes even when there is no relationship to begin with, just something the press thinks was a relationship, every time there’s a slow news day, everytime they need a story, they pull up pictures of the women we’ve been seen with and pull some crap out of their asses just to get the clicks they need for a paycheck.”

“Exactly.” Adrien nodded.

“It feels… it can start to feel like you’re cursed.” Harry added, “Like you can barely speak to a girl without ruining her life.”

“She’ll live the rest of her life being known as ‘Prince Adrien’s ex’. The girl who was almost a princess.” Adrien said, staring at his own hands around the beer bottle. “We were together and then we weren’t, but in the public discourse she goes down in history as a girl I loved once. She’ll be someone’s wife one day, someone’s mother. But they’ll always look at her as my ex.” He sighed. “If there is something I can do to change the narrative, I have to.”

There was another long moment of silence as his words echoed in each of our minds.

“So the favor is for the King to allow you to go to America?” Harry asked.

Adrien cleared his throat. “Yeah. At first he said a flat out no. The problem is, by saying no and explaining why, he told me why he needed me. So he gave me leverage.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re insane.”

“I’m smart.” He shrugged.

Lourdes was looking between them. “I don’t get it.”

Adrien leaned over to her. “First, I refused to do a couple engagements they needed me for. In the first one, I was sick, cough cough.” He fake coughed, very obviously. “Then when it happened twice and I got a call, I said, hey, I’m trying to keep a low profile to make things easier for Faye. If I was allowed to go to America, maybe I wouldn’t need to do this…”

“So you blackmailed the advisors?” She asked, choking.

“Blackmail is a strong word.” He replied. “Luckily for me, Amelia Earhart over here decided to pull a Houdini.”

“Amelia Earhart?” I asked, unconvinced.

“Famous missing person. Keep up, Mags.” He explained. “When Maggie went missing, there was a bit of a quiet storm in the palace. It was on everyone’s best interest to keep it under wraps, but it was hard not to pull all the stops to get you back.”

Harry and I exchanged an intense look. What it meant, it was hard even for me to decipher.

“It went from the immediate security staff and security advisors to your parents, then more and more of the staff as the days passed.” Adrien continued. “Not seeing your security or Auguste wasn’t really alarming, though it was annoying. Refusing to see Aunt Elyse, though? That was gutsy.”

I avoided Harry’s eyes now. If I started thinking about the events right after that encounter, it would be hard to school my expressions into normalcy.

“Mom was livid.” Lourdes agreed. “She called me right after, almost screaming, wanting to know if I had heard from you. That’s when she asked me to come see if I could talk to you… I said I had school, but then…”

“Then someone thought smoking was cool.” Adrien added.

“I was not smoking.” She rolled her eyes.

“Right. Well, when you went dark after arriving, they knew you weren’t coming out.” He added. “I don’t know what made them think I could bring you home. Regardless, here I am.” He raised his hands to the sky, showcasing all of himself. “Will you guys come home with me?”

“Nah.” Lourdes said; I shook my head.

“Oh, well. I tried.” He sighed.

“That’s it?” I asked, suspicious.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “What am I supposed to do, drag you kicking and screaming? No, thanks. I know how hard you kick.”

“That was one time!”

He pulled his leg up and rested it on the table with impressive speed. “I still have the scar where my bone came out of my body, Margueritte!”

“You should have seen me coming!”

“It was night!”

“Please, you were wasted!”

“Although I am very curious about whatever story this is,” Harry interrupted, “and of course, you’re welcome to stay, I guess my question is, are you joining our little party here? Should I make you a bed on the sofa?”

Adrien smiled. “No, thanks, Harry. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain and I’ll be going home now.”

“This is enough to get dad to let you go to America?!” I asked, “How?!”

He shrugged. “Because you’re going to help me help you.”

“…what does that mean?”

“Well, Mags, I told you my strategy, didn’t I? They needed me, I played my cards right, and told them if they want my help, they need to help me, too.” He grinned. “The moment I realized the family needed me, not just to come here, but to work, as well, I knew I had the power. They need me. But I can just refuse to do anything. What are they going to do, throw me in jail? Decapitate me?”

“No, they’ll…” I thought about it, before sighing. “There’ll be consequences.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He nodded. “Eventually. But until then they would have a lot of time to reflect how much easier it would have been to just negotiate with me.”

I smiled. “Harry was right. You’re insane.”

“Am I? Or have I just realized that they need me more than I need them?” he leaned in towards me again. “Mags, I’m here to remind you that you are the Crown Princess now. You’re upset at how things are going? You want answers, you want to choose your staff, you want a whole palace to live in by yourself? Ask.”

“That’s not how this works, Adrien.”

“Isn’t it?” He smiled. “Because I already emailed a friend from New York and asked her to give me the contact to her real estate agent.”

I sat back on the chair, crossing my arms across my chest, mauling over his words.

Lourdes seemed intrigued. “Who do you know in New York?”

“A few people, actually. But I talked to a friend who moved there recently… An artist.”

“Ooh, who?”

“She’s not very known.” He explained. “Although, have you ever watched X Factor? She was in that.”

“Did she win?!” She smiled, excitedly.

“Almost. I think she was in the final, maybe.”

As they talked, and Adrien pulled up his phone to show Lourdes a video of his friend, Harry approached and pulled up the last chair next to me.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, whispery.

I shook off my thoughts, and looked at him. “Truth?”

“What are you thinking about?”

I sighed. “I don’t even know.”

“For whatever’s worth, I think he’s right.” He said, looking at Adrien. “You’re the heir. As a former spare, you know how much weight that carries.”

“But I’m not the heir, though.” Before he could protest, I leaned in. “Not really. I am now, technically, but I wasn’t born the heir. I wasn’t raised the heir. No one sees me as the heir, that’s why they don’t tell me anything.”

He smiled a charming and leg weakening smile. “So make them.”

“Would you two care to share with the class?” Adrien asked, loudly, and we both jumped back in our seats.

“We were just–”

“I was just saying I agree.” Harry told him. “Everyone around this table knows exactly what is like to be passed around, being given something to do while an heir gets the really exciting projects and priority in everything. Right?”

“Preach!” Adrien said.

“So, Mary.” He looked at me. “You know how they should be treating you. You also know how they are treating you. Now make it right.”

“How?!” I whined.

“You have all the power you need, Maggie.” Adrien said. “Look at me, I’m here, I was sent by your parents. When I get home, they’ll ask me what happened, what did we talk about? So. What do you want me to tell them? What do you want, Maggie?”

I felt so exhausted. So… confused. I knew what I wanted to change. But I didn’t know how to ask.

“I want things to change.” I said, hands shaking. “I want to be told all that’s happening, all that’s expected of me, all the upcoming events I’ll have to do. I want to be allowed to work, the way that I want. With my patronages and more. I made a list of work I want to do and Auguste dismissed me. If I need to work then I want to actually work. And I want Cadie back.”

They all looked at me with a mixture of amazement and fondness. It was… embarrassing. And kind of intoxicating. I forced myself to keep my head high.

Adrien nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright? What do you mean?” I asked. “What happens now?!”

He got to his feet. “Now I get you someone with actual power, and you argue your case.”

He kissed Lourdes’ forehead, shook Harry’s hand while fixing him with a menacing look before breaking into a chuckle, and asked me to walk him out.

He closed the door behind me when we walked out and walked towards the car without waiting for me, so I followed.

Finally, at the end of Harry’s small entryway, he turned to me, hands in his pockets.

“What are you going to do about this?” He asked.

“What do you mean? I thought we just discussed it. You’re gonna send someone I can–”

“No, Mary.” He said, enunciating the name with the same accent Harry had. “I mean what are you going to do about this.” In the last word, he looked pointedly at the Cottage.

I gulped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing to do.”

He sighed. “You’re wearing his clothes. You’re letting him call you Mary. You finally reached the point of no return, emotionally speaking, and it was to his house that you ran off.”

“Adrien, not you, too…”

“I know you better than that, Maggie. I know you’re not cheating on Christopher.” He was dismissed. “But I also know you enough to know when you’re happy and when you’re doing things because you have to. Hell, ‘because you have to’ it’s basically your default to everything in life.”

“What’s your point?” I asked, annoyed.

“My point is there is a reason you and Chris broke up last year.” He started. “And there’s a reason you got back together. And I don’t think you know what those are, I think you need to figure it out. But there’s one thing I am almost entirely sure you do know.”

I sighed, looking at him. “And what do I know?”

He smiled, sweeter and more sincere than I had seen him in a long time.

“I think you know who you’re in love with.” He said. “And who you’re not… You just need to be brave enough to accept that.”

With that, he leaned in, kissed my cheek, and walked to the dark SUV waiting for him, leaving me behind in the small Cottage entry with a whirlwind in my heart.

--- ---- ---

[A/N: Hi! How you doing? how was your week? Hope everything is well AND YES THAT IS HARRY TELLING MAGGIE HE LIKES HER EVEN THOUGH SHE WANTS TO LIVE IN DENIAL ABOUT WHATS HAPPENING HERE. Good thing everyone is not as dissociated from real life as she is. Dont worry, she’ll get there =) LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK PLEASE???? Notes, suggestions, criticism, anything! I’m open to talk! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Next week: Someone with decision making power has a pow wow with Mags. Who is it??!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 17. Sanctuary

‘You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I’m not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.' anatomy-of-rains

When I woke up, the room was still dark and I had something warm pressed against my back. The pillow smelled of citrus and the blanket was soft around me. It was the most comfortable I had felt in months. I wanted to stand still in that sleepy second forever, but I soon discovered why I had woken up: there was a shrill ring from downstairs. I waited, eyes pressed more tightly together, wishing the noise away, but it rang again, seemingly louder.

I heard an annoyed huff as Harry’s warm breath hit my hair and ear – it was him pressed against my back, then. He moved, slowly, carefully, out of the bed and out of the room. When I heard his steps on the stairs, I opened my eyes and looked behind me, finding there was a lot of room in the bed. He was close to me because he chose to. Without his warmth, there was only one explanation for the sudden heat I felt, and it only made me feel guilty.

I heard his steps again, and closed my eyes, hoping – though I could hardly admit it to myself – he’d cuddle me again when he returned to the bed.

Except, instead of returning to his place in bed, he kneeled in front of me and called, “Marie?”

“Y–yes?” I made a show of opening my eyes in a slow flutter.

“Sorry to wake you… But there’s someone at the gate for you.”

I sighed, confused, rubbing the sleep off my eyes with my hands. Then I kicked off the blanket, regretfully, and sat up, feet off the bed. He moved to sit next to me.

"Sorry."

"No, don't-- I'm-- I'm the one who's sorry..." I sighed. "I swear I didn't plan on bringing you into this."

"You don't have to apologize." He said, calm. "I just... I don't know how to help you… I don’t even know what… ‘this’ is that you’re apologizing for bringing me into."

I sighed. “Do you know who is here?”

He showed me his phone, clicking a picture from a text chain. It was a grainy, black and white, security camera image, but the faces of my two protection officers were recognizable enough.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Okay…”

“Security?”

I nodded. “Is there– Is there some way I could just…? Not see them?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I just have to call back and let the gate know if they should be let in or not.”

I was quiet for a while, mulling it over. The implication of essentially running away and hiding in a foreign palace was not lost on me, and as he was a prince, I imagined it was also not lost on Harry. The fact that he was still willing to let me do what I wanted was… touching, honestly.

“Okay.” I nodded to myself. “Do it.”

He smiled, got up, kissed my forehead, and quickly left the room again.

“Go back to sleep.” He called back.

Smiling, I laid back down and pulled the blankets over me. It was a little while later that Harry came back to bed. As we were both awake, he didn’t get too close again.

“Any… problems?”

“No.” He assured me. “They were a little pissed, concerned, too, I think. But it’s not like there’s anything they can do.” He sighed. “My head of security did call and tried to give me a lecture about it, but I told him I was too sleepy to pay any attention, so I think he gave up.”

I turned on my side, facing him. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

He laid on his side as well, facing me. “That’s it, I’m instituting a rule. No apologizing.” He smiled. “…Though, I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“What is the… plan? Exactly? What– what do we do when they come back? I mean, you’re obviously welcome to stay as long as you want… but, the press will start asking questions eventually… And your boyfriend will come back from his business trip eventually… What then?”

“I…” I gulped. “I guess… I guess I’ll go home at some point. I just don’t know when.”

“If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be easier to just call your parents and let them know?” He asked. “So they don’t worry.”

Feeling a strange knot on my throat I reached out with a hand to touch the stitch line in the pillow case.

“I guess…” I sighed, trying to ease the knot. “I guess part of me wants them to feel a little lost… just for a while… just so they know how it feels to have a lot of questions and no answers.” I said, biting my lip then to try and stop the annoying desire to cry. “Is that… childish?”

“No.” His hand found mine, and held it softly. “Actually, it makes me even happier to be helping now.”

When I woke up a few hours later, he had his arms around me.

The room was still dark, quiet, there was nothing inside that reminded me that anyone else in the universe existed beyond him and I, so every part of my body just wanted to lay back into his embrace; to feel his breath in my neck and let the chills all over my body remind me I was alive.

It was easy to fall asleep again, feeling more at peace and safer than I had in months.

When I woke up next, it was bright outside, and the bed was emptier by my side. I felt disappointed, and the moment I did it was hard not to hate myself. So I kicked the covers and went to the bathroom, washed my face, and changed out of his shirt into my own tank top, just so I could say I wasn’t wearing pajamas anymore. As I climbed down the stairs, it downed on me this -- the previous night, technically -- was the first time he saw me without makeup. And weirdly, it hadn’t felt… well, weird. It just felt as natural as my real face was.

Downstairs, I arrived just in time to see him burn his hand slightly on the stove, curse loudly, and suck on his finger as he stared daggers into a frying pan.

“Good morning.” I said, amused. “Need help?”

“Oh, morning.” He replied, smiling. “No, just forgot that trying to fix a pancake that folded wrong with your bare hands is a bad call… you like pancakes?”

“Sure.” I pointed at his fridge. “May I?”

“Please, make yourself at home.”

I got a couple ice cubes and wrapped them in a piece of plastic wrap.

“Here,” I said, placing it inside his hand, with the injured finger touching most of its surface, “keep it like this for a little while.”

He smiled. “Thanks… uhm, how–how did you sleep?”

I took a seat at the table, bringing one leg up to hold it. “Good… better than in a long time, actually.”

I didn’t look at him as I said it, but I figured being honest was the least I could give him.

“…shit!”

He hurriedly flipped a pancake with the help of a spoon just before it got too brown.

“Have you done this before?” I asked, grinning.

“Oh, of course.” He replied, sarcastic. “That’s why it looks so seamless. Was it the hand injury or the pile of failed attempts that gave away my expertise?”

I looked at where he was pointing – a plate in the sink, filled with half folded, crooked, burnt pancakes –, and laughed.

“Okay, maybe I should take over, then.”

I approached, reaching for the wooden spoon.

“No, no! You’re my guest! Sit down and relax!”

“Relax to the sound of curses and the smell of burnt skin? I don’t think so.” I joked, forcibly holding on to the spoon and pushing him out of the way with a hand to his ribs now, trying to ignore the feel of his waist in my hand. “Go on, I insist. Why don’t you make us some coffee?”

“Alright.” He allowed. “But I want it on the record that I tried being a good host.”

“You’re a fine host, Your Royal Highness.” I giggled, rolling my eyes.

“Thank you.” He said, sounding mockingly touched. “But I strive for greatness, Your Royal Highness. So I’ll attempt to have been promoted to fantastic host by the end of your stay at Nottingham Cottage Inn.”

I laughed, slowly adding more batter to the frying pan. “You’re ridiculous… do you have a spatula?”

“How do you even know how to cook?” He asked, opening a drawer. “You’re making the rest of us, royals, look bad.”

“Not all. Just you British lot.” I teased. “Let me guess, you had a cook?”

He handed me a spatula, looking slightly outraged. “You didn’t?!”

“God, it’s like you forget how different most royal families are from the British–”

“Okay, I get it, the world pays more attention to us,” he said, hands up in the air, “but royal culture, if we can call it that, is the same. Upper class never wants to do things, they hire people to do things.”

“Well,” I sighed. “I guess you’re right. And to be fair, my father did grow up with a cook. And to be fairer, we had one sometimes. But my mother was born a commoner, she was the first commoner to marry into the Savoy royal family.”

“Really?”

“Yes… She’s had to earn the respect of the people, and by all accounts, it wasn’t easy.” I told him, flipping the pancake with a flip of the spatula.

“Women coming out of nowhere into the monarchy is never seen as a good thing, no matter where you’re from.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eyes, wondering if he was thinking of his own mother. “No… I think people are always ready to hate women, no matter the setting, but particularly on the public sphere… but my mother has always had this… gift for reading people. She knows how to identify the motives behind most situations, and how to read people’s intentions rather than just reacting to their words or actions. So she knew what the public expected her to be, and she knew how to play that role.”

He grinned. “How does that lead to you not having a cook?”

“She was who she had to be for the press and the public… but she was herself in her own home. And in her home, she wanted her children to be raised like she was. Self-sufficient, independent, skilled.” 

I looked at him, laying the spatula down for the pancake to finish cooking before I continued. 

“So we had staff, sure, but she from the moment I was born she made the rules clear. Us kids were to make our own beds and put our own toys and clothes away, and no one was supposed to help us. And we were properly punished if we left something to be done or did something half-assed. And cooking was part of it. She made time to cook, and she demanded dad made time to cook with her. And as we grew up, we were supposed to help, too.”

I picked up the spatula, put the pancake with the others on a plate, and started another.

“There were exceptions, days when they both had too much work, and we had to be cared for by the nanny and cook, but it was… rare.” I sighed. “As we grew up, it got harder. Dad became king, grandpa retired, they both became busier… So with boarding school, and university, it got harder, too. But sundays are still our family dinner days. If we’re home from school, or on a holiday, we get home and help our parents cook and have dinner together.” 

I looked at him, who was watching me intently. 

“It’s nice,” I smiled, “it’s an easy way to spend time together and mom was right, it did teach us independence… University was much easier because of it.”

I flipped the pancake on the pan with a flip of my wrist.

He sighed. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.” I laughed. “Your mom seems smart… and impressive.”

I nodded. “She is… or, was, I guess.”

He approached, leaning against the kitchen cabinet next to the stove.

“Has she–has she improved, at all?”

I sighed. “Kind of… she’s not hiding in her room, anymore. At least not all the time. That’s something, right?”

He gave me a sad smile. “It’s something… is it enough?”

Just as I was gathering up the courage to tell him about taking over her work, there was a knock at the door.

“You should go upstairs.” He whispered.

“Why?”

“I’m not expecting anyone.” He told me, eyeing the direction of the door warily.

“Oh.” I said, laying the last pancake on the plate and turning the stove off. “You think it’s–?”

“If it’s for you again, do you want me to send them away?”

Heart pounding in my chest, mouth dry, I nodded, “…yes.”

He nodded, once. “Go upstairs.”

I did as he said, as quietly as I could, sitting at the last step and leaning towards the lower floor to overhear.

“Ah, hello. Your Royal Highness.” The voice was easy to recognize.

“…Hello.” Harry replied, suspiciously, but as politely as ever.

Beyond the door, Auguste’s voice was stern, polite, and calm. “I’m here for Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte, if you’d be so kind.”

“Hm…” Harry hummed for a long time. “Who should I say is calling?”

“Her private secretary, Auguste Authier.”

“Right. Excuse me one moment, si vous plait.”

I smiled at his French as I heard the door close. He waited barely three seconds before opening the door again.

“Sorry, Monsieur Authier, but the Crown Princess is unavailable at the moment.”

Auguste was silent for longer than it was normal for him. “Unava–? Did you even–? Have you–?” He cleared his throat. “Pardon me, sir. Would you mind if I talked to the Crown Princess directly?!”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry, I meant oui.”

I covered my mouth with a hand just as a chuckle escaped me at his loud, over pronunciation of ‘oui’.

“Sir.” Auguste repeated, now less politely. “Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte is the heir to the throne of Savoy and as her private secretary I was sent on orders from her father, the King! Her safety and wellbeing is a matter of national security and seeing as her protection detail lost contact with her more than twelve hours ago an international crisis brews by the minute.”

“Woah.” Harry said, unmoved. “That sounds serious.”

“It is! And you may understand, I’m sure, how concerned her family has been!”

“I do understand. Question. How do you know she’s here?”

“How–?” Auguste stuttered. “We know she is!”

“Okay. How?”

“Her phone’s last GPS location was here.”

“Was it here, or was it the street outside?” Harry replied. “Because from there she could have gone anywhere. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Sir, I–” Auguste sighed. “I’ve been in touch with Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s Senior Security Advisor, whom I met last year during Savoy’s royal tour of the UK. He was able to inform me that last night you left your residence and re-entered with the Crown Princess, who was then signed in–”

“But did she?” Harry asked. “Or was it a friend of mine using her passport? I mean, how can you be sure?”

“I– Well–” Auguste stuttered. “That’s ludicrous.”

“Is it?”

“Sir, if the Crown Princess isn’t produced I will be forced to report this to His Majesty King Phillippe and we may be forced to contact the proper authorities.”

“That’s an interesting point.” Harry granted. “Why haven’t you? I mean, if you are truly concerned for her safety and wellbeing, shouldn’t that have been your first course of action? Christ, man, she might have been kidnapped! Interpol must be warned!”

There was a long silent pause.

“Or could it be,” Harry went on, “that you are aware that she is probably alright and just doesn’t want to speak to you?”

Another long pause. I went down a few steps to get closer to their voices.

“Are you–” Auguste cleared his throat. “Are you able to confirm that the Crown Princess is… well?”

Harry waited a while, likely considering his choices, before answering.

“I think Marie-Margueritte is doing better than even she knows.”

“Could you, please, alert her that her parents wish to speak to her?” Auguste added. “They are… worried.”

Harry didn’t say anything, but I assume he must have nodded because Auguste seemed to be satisfied.

“Thank you.” He said, and next thing I heard was the sound of the door closing again.

I was pensive, biting my nails when I heard steps and looked up to find him standing in front of me.

“I’m going to assume you heard his message.”

I nodded.

Harry climbed the stairs and sat by my side in the steps, slowly; he sighed.

“He’s a character.” He said. “Intense.”

I smiled, nodding; quiet still.

“Wasn’t he your… dad’s aide? Or Louis? Or something?”

“He’s been trained under Charles Clemment Montennon for nearly the past decade.” I told him, who seemed intrigued. “Montennon is my father’s private secretary.”

“Oh, okay. So the monarch’s secretary has been training that guy to be the next monarch’s secretary for the past decade.”

I nodded. “Louis was twelve when he was hired… he didn’t need a secretary, so Auguste would just study under Montennon and understand the workings of the family… Later on he became more hands on with him, when he went to University… but he was meant to become his full time secretary after he was done with his studies and started working as a royal officially.”

Harry nodded, “And now…?”

I sighed. “And now I’m the next monarch. So my private secretary has been chosen for me.”

“What happened to… the other one?”

“Cadie.” I smiled at my hands, shrugging. “I’m not sure. She was transferred.”

He gave me another few moments of silence and peace before leaning in and saying, “Pancakes?”

Grinning, I nodded, so he got up and offered me his hand, which I didn’t have to think twice about taking.

--- ---- ---

We had breakfast as Harry told me about his childhood – about his favorite cartoons, about his cook and the pork chops he’d make whenever Harry had a bad day, and about lying about how his day was when he just wanted to eat that.

After, when he asked what I wanted to do, I asked what he would have been doing if I wasn’t there. He confessed he had some work to do, so I convinced him to do it as if I hadn’t invaded his house asking for sanctuary. It took some insistence, but I managed to convince him I could be quite happy in his room watching something on the TV.

I spent about twenty minutes scrolling through the Netflix options before I decided to click on the first episode of Orange is the new Black, which I’d heard good things about, but hadn’t started yet. There was a red bar in the thumbnail of the episode, which meant Harry had watched it, so I thought I could talk to him about it later.

I went downstairs a while later when I could smell something incredibly nice and noises in the kitchen. Harry was making chicken curry -- from a box, he justified -- and told me to toss a salad. I did so as I asked him about work, and he told me about the reports he had to read regarding one of the charities he was patron of, which were boring -- he preferred the in-person work but recognized the research was important --, and the speech he had to write for an opening of a homeless initiative.

We ate lunch as I told him about my own experiences with charity work, my first speech on a solo engagement, and how much easier I found doing this kind of work from America.

“Because it was just about the work, not about the press opportunity.” I told him, describing visits to an elderly care center, and winter material donation drives.

We sat at the table long after we were done eating, and ended up spending almost half the afternoon just talking to each other about our own experiences. I did the dishes as he dried them, and then he had to hop in to a conference call about work, so I returned upstairs for more Netflix. Instead of watching anything else, though, I ended up taking a comfortable nap. 

I woke up a while later feeling safe, cared for, at peace. So I just stretched and continued to watch the show. Halfway through the second episode, the phone rang. I paused to try and overhear, just in case it was someone else looking for me, but Harry seemed to be exchanging friendly words with someone he knew, so I went back to Piper’s struggle.

When the episode was over, I jumped off the bed and ran downstairs, realizing the sun was setting by now. Harry was on the couch, his laptop on his lap, but his eyes unfocused on the wall.

“Okay, so, Daya and that baby-faced guard… that’s gonna end badly, right?” I asked, sitting on top of my leg in the armchair, facing him, “I mean, I know it’s an edgy show, but it’s legally rape. Even if it’s consensual, he’s a guard and she can’t consent as an inmate.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“Orange is the New Black. Have you seen it?”

His expression softened as he grinned. “Oh, yeah. Great show.”

“Yeah, and what about Alex?! I can see the show is trying to get me to want them to get together, but she’s engaged and as much as I may or may not dislike Jason Biggs, Alex is the whole reason Piper is in jail!”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t see any of those characters making good choices in the near future.”

There was something off about his look, or about the way his smile didn’t fully stretch out as it usually did.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Something with work?”

He sighed, shutting his laptop and putting it to the side. “My brother called.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, you being here could be… misconstrued.”

“…I–” I stuttered. “How does he even–?”

“He heard from my grandmother’s security advisor, who was asked to interfere on behalf of… your parents.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling… embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” He added. “I told my brother is none of his business… for what’s worth.”

I smiled, a little sad. “Did he want me to… leave?”

“He offered for you to stay at his place.” He told me. “He, Cath and the kids are in Norfolk. He said you’d be more comfortable there, and it’s true, they have more room–”

“I don’t want room.” I interjected, a little too forcefully. I felt my cheeks warm. “I mean–I’m comfortable enough here.”

He smiled, a little more honestly now. “And I suspect if you were in his place he could authorize whomever to enter, so you couldn’t exactly–”

“Escape.”

We were quiet for a moment. His eyes focused on me, intently, and he seemed to think something over for a few seconds before getting to his feet and sitting at the coffee table, turned to me. He held my hand in his.

“Mary–”

There was a knock at the door, so we both jumped. He brought a finger to his lips, in a gesture for me to stay silent, as he walked to the front window, and delicately pushed out just a little bit of the curtains. He looked out for barely one second before coming back to me.

“It’s your mother.” He whispered.

“…what?! No!” I whispered back, confused. “She hasn't left Corsilla since we relocated there after the funeral. She’s– She wouldn’t–”

“Mary.” He repeated, holding my hand. “Your mother is at the door. What do you want me to do?”

With my heart pounding, I thought back to the despair of the funeral, to the questions, to the agony of needing answers, of needing help for the planning, and having to go through it all alone. I thought of my mother’s glassy eyes, looking over me whenever I said or asked anything.

I got to my feet, shaking my head.

Harry understood enough. “Go upstairs.”

I turned to go, but turned around to him again.

“What?!” He pressed, whispery still, anxious.

“My mother. She can be… tough.”

“Okay.”

“No, really… She’s… Insistent. And… and she can seem judgemental, but it’s because she cares! And-and she can make you feel like–”

“Marie.” He stopped me, holding on to my shoulders. “I’m fine. Go upstairs.”

“What I mean is I know in normal circumstances she’d love you, I know she would–”

He gently pushed me towards the stairs just as another knock sounded on the door.

“And don’t speak in French with her!” I warned as he left. “Your accent is not great–”

Hesitating for only a second, I turned around again and left. I stood at the top of the stairs, like I had when Auguste had come, straining my ears to overhear the door being opened just as she knocked one more time.

“Hello.” Harry greeted. “Your Majesty. What a surprise.”

“Your Royal Highness.” My mother’s voice was low, polite, it was difficult to hear. Her accent was a little more discernible than mine. “How are you today?”

“Good, ma’am. Thank you. And you?”

“I could be better, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Harry replied. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Surely you don’t need to ask… May I be invited in?”

There was a pause.

“It’s been a long trip and I could use some water.” My mother added.

“Of course.” Harry told her, closing the door next, so I assumed she’d come in. “Please excuse the–mess. And the lack of space.” He said. “As you know, it’s just me, so I don’t need a lot of room.”

“It’s charming.” She said. “Reminds me of the home I grew up in.”

“…So, would you like cold or room temperature water?”

“Whatever’s easier.” My mother replied, now sounding closer. I overheard the sound of heels on Harry’s stone floor.

“Here you go.” There was a silent, awkward pause. “Would you like to sit? I can take this away… Sorry, I was doing some work.” I heard noises as he seemed to rush around the living room.

“It’s quite alright. I don’t need to sit.” My mother told him. “I never got the chance to thank you for attending my son’s funeral, sir.”

“Please, call me Harry… and, ma’am, actually…you did.”

“I–?” She stuttered, slightly. “Oh. Good. I wasn’t–Good.”

“…I was happy to attend, I–I mean, not happy. That’s not what I–what I mean to say is I liked Louis a lot. There was never a question about attending, for me, that is.”

There was another pause; my heart was beating louder in my chest.

“So, my daughter. Is she upstairs?” The question came so naturally I was impressed Harry didn’t just answer.

“…She’s not available right now.”

It was a different tone he had used with Auguste. Less amused. More… sincere. Apologetic.

“That’s not up to you.” On her end, my mother’s tone suffered a dramatic change from polite to definite. Fatalist.

“No, it isn’t.” Harry replied. “It’s up to her.”

I heard her heels on the stone again, quicker this time. “I thank you for your concern, Harry, but this is a family matter.”

There was more noise – more steps, these heavier.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is my house.” He said, sounding closer to me now, “I’m sorry, I am, but I must insist you can’t just… go where you’re not invited.”

I forced a breath into my lungs, nervous. As she also sounded closer, it seemed obvious my mother had tried to climb up the stairs before Harry stopped her.

I knew my mother. His tone was not something she would appreciate. Being told where she could and could not go even less so.

“I appreciate I am in your home, and I am trying very hard to offer you the politeness and manners that requires… Harry.” She said, slowly, and now, coldly, adding his name as a last, throwaway thought. “But I am the Queen of Savoy. And my daughter is the future Queen of Savoy. This… whatever it is that this is… it is above you in many more ways than one. You are outranked and meddling in issues that you have no business in. One phone call from me and this can be blown up in ways that will have your family’s reputation reeling generations from now and rest assured I will make sure that the world knows the fault lays at your feet.”

There was a long, tense silence. Breathless, I stepped back, into Harry’s room, trying to hide from view as I imagined she’d come up any minute now.

When Harry’s voice came up again, it was smaller than before – something I did not fault him for – but it was, impressively, calm and confident, somehow.

“I do not contest any of what you just said, ma’am.” He started, slowly. “But nevertheless… this is my home, and you cannot go upstairs.”

Another long, breath-stopping, silent pause.

“Marie-Margueritte!” My mother shouted, strident, louder than I had heard her in years. I jumped back, scared, heart beating faster, wondering if she would show up behind me. “Viens ici maintenant!”

‘Come here now!’, she demanded in French.

“Ma’am!” Harry replied, louder too, firmer. “Please refrain from yelling in my house.”

Under her breath, my mother said something in French I couldn’t hear, but sounded well enough like words I had been raised not to use.

“Do you realize, monsieur, the danger of this?!” She asked him, rispid now, all commoner, her accent flaring up, “You are harboring an heir to a foreign throne in your home and precluding her from contacting any of her compatriots and family. This is enlèvement! Kidnapping!”

She went a little longer about interpol and international law and the dangers to diplomacy before allowing Harry any room to reply.

“The Crown Princess is where I draw the line, sir! She’s not something you can interfere with!” She told him. “I don’t know what part of this is fun to you, but unlike yours, her life is now about bigger things than… passing pleasure.” The last two words she added with a note of disgust in her voice. “Not to mention I will remind you that she is taken! I cannot imagine her boyfriend, practically her fiancé already, Christopher Ratté, would be pleased to know of this. You are lucky he is not the one you have to answer to as I assure you he would not be so contained as me.” She paused, and I could hear her loud, tired breathing from up the stairs. “He is meant to be the Consort to Savoy and Margueritte, his Queen-to-be, Savoy’s Queen-to-be, belongs at home, with her family, fiancé and people, not here, with… whoever it is you are to her.”

“Are you done, ma’am?” Harry asked, slowly.

“No, I am not done, sir!” She replied, louder still. “You clearly do not care about the consequences of your actions, but unlike you, as the heir to the throne, Margueritte cannot simply throw all of her responsibilities away for a few days of fun with her British boyfriend.”

One second of silence. Then two. Then Harry’s voice, calm, low, but outraged.

“Do you even remember she’s your daughter anymore?”

My mother scoffed, “Excuse me?”

“The Crown Princess, the Queen-to-be, the heir to the throne, the future Queen… it’s like you forget that she is your daughter.”

“I am quite aware of who my daughter is.”

“Are you?!” He asked, louder, “Because I am not sure! I don’t know who you think you raised, ma’am, but I do know my friend, that’s who she is to me, by the way, my friend, is not the kind of person to do the things you have just tried to use to get some sort of reaction out of me… Frankly, it’s offensive, and I do not even know you. I cannot imagine what it must be like to hear such things from one’s own mother! Now allow me to clarify as it seems so important to you to know, my friend asked me for a place to stay, I gave it to her. That is all that is happening here, and as to the diplomatic risk to Savoy and England, I can promise you this, I do not care one bit. That’s the good thing about not being an heir. My friend asked me for a favor and I don’t have to give it a second thought no matter how many people try to tell me to.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself for someone who–”

“I am not done, ma’am.” He interrupted, loudly. “I allowed you to speak whatever it is you wanted, now is my turn.”

“How dare you accuse me of being a bad mother–?!”

“Twice now I have had to comfort your daughters because of the ways you have chosen to deal with your grief.” He told her, interrupting again. “I assure you I am the last person who would ever try to school anyone on what healthy healing is, I learned that one doing the opposite, but I did not have kids counting on me.”

“I am quite aware of my children!”

“Are you?! Then, pray tell, why is your daughter hiding in my house right now?! She is going through great lengths to put space between herself and you and the only thing that seems to concern you are the consequences to your country–”

“I have to!” My mother shouted. “You’re not an heir, so allow me to teach you, this is what it means to have a horse in the race! Every decision, every action, every little sleepover at a friend’s house,” she added, sarcastic “could be what sets off the fall of a centuries old house of cards.”

“Then let it fall!” Harry replied, exasperated. “I am talking about your children! I don’t know if you remember, but you had more than one!”

In the silence that followed, I realized for the first time my knees seemed to have buckled under my weight. I was crouching in place, tears falling freely as I struggled not to sniff and make a sound, suffocating slightly.

“I am sorry, I–” Harry cleared his throat, sounding calmer now. “I am sorry for yelling, I am. And I assure you I sympathize with your… pain, but–”

“What do you know of pain?!”

“I know quite enough.”

My mother sounded… more strained than I had ever heard. Her voice was… breaking. Harry, in his end, sounded sterner than ever.

“Which is how I know that…that trying to pretend it isn’t there helps no one. It–it just pushes people away.” He sounded calmer now. “She’s hurting. She’s been hurting and you weren’t there and she noticed. Now she needs to be here. So let her.”

I heard a sniff, but I didn’t know if it was mine or not.

“…or else you might find yourself grieving her, too, for the rest of your life while she’s standing right next to you.”

Another long time in silence, before I heard Harry’s sigh.

“Now, ma’am, I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave.”

I heard my mother’s heels grow distant until the sound of the door opening and closing. I let out a long breath I was unaware I had been holding.

At the front end of Harry’s room, I spied through the curtain just in time to see her car drive away towards Kensington Palace’s gates.

I tried to clean my face of the tears, but they kept coming. I heard the sound of Harry’s steps as he made his way up the stairs, so I hurried into the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t see me cry one more time, but I couldn’t stop it still.

Unaware of how or when, I found myself inside his dry bathtub, back to the wall and falling down to sit, hugging my knees in front of me.

He knocked on the door, tentatively.

“Mary?” His voice was calmer, softer now.

“I’ll be right out!” I replied, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Is it okay if I come in?” He asked, and soon later I heard the door creek open.

I wanted to answer, to tell him he doesn’t have to, I’m fine, I swear I am! But much like all the times I wanted to demand answers from my father and his advisors, I couldn’t find my voice. A painful knot had lodged itself on my throat.

“Hey.” Harry said, whispery, pulling the shower curtain all the way to the side slowly. “Is it okay if I come in?”

I nodded with my head, eyes closed, avoiding his – still trying to stop him from seeing me breaking down one more time.

I heard him step inside and felt as his legs hit mine as he managed to sit in the small tub.

I pressed my palms to my eyes as the tears fell freely still.

“I’m sorry, I’m being silly.” I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. “You’re the one she yelled at.”

“You’re not.” He replied, serious, so sure of himself I started to believe him. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I just… She was talking about you like–” he stopped himself.

I removed my hands from my eyes to find him sitting right in front of me, cross-legged, scratching his hair in exasperation.

I pressed the inside of my pointed fingers to the nail of my thumb, biting my lip, trying to call my breaths.

I braced myself and tried to steal my heart for a confession.

“No one’s ever stood up for me like that.”

His large hands covered mine as he pulled me towards him, determinedly. He pulled me into his chest to cradle my head in the crook of his neck as his arms wrapped around me tightly, one hand cupping my face as he caressed my hair.

I cried again, ruining his shirt. It was his warmth, his openness, all of him that made me knock down all my walls and allow my heart to break, knowing, for the first time since we had lost my brother, that it would be okay.

Harry was there.

--- ---- ---

[A/N: I knooooow, a lot of emotions going on here. But Maggie wouldnt stand up to her family so somebody had to, right?!  Dont worry, she will eventually. Let me know your thoughts?????? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING IT MEANS A LOT!!!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 16. Fight or Flight

‘I am healing by mistake. Rome is also built on ruins.' Eliza Griswold

“It’s a private street,” Harry explained as he walked me on quickstep towards the big black gates in red brick ahead. “Technically owned by the Crown Estate. Most of the houses are embassies or former embassies now owned by billionaires.” “Was someone supposed to have stopped me from just walking in?” I asked, already guessing the answer.

“A little weird to have a central London address mostly habited by dignitaries and rich people and forbid people from entering it, isn’t it?” He grinned. “So it’s open for pedestrians and cyclists twenty-four-seven. Cars only authorized. And, of course, they are free to kick you out if they think you’re behaving strangely.”

“Understandable.” I smiled.

“...So…” He started, shifting on his feet as he walked, adjusting my bag on his shoulder, “Where’s Christopher?”

“...Right now? Halfway to Canada, probably. On business.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “And… your security?”

I looked around at the street lights, avoiding his eyes. “It’s just me.”

“Right… but, should it be? Isn’t it a bit--?” Before he could finish -- ‘dangerous’ was probably going to be his last word -- I stopped, and looked at his, heaving a sigh. “This is weird. Isn’t it? I’m sorry, I can get a hotel.”

Under the moon and lamp post lights, I thought I saw his cheeks redden. “No, that’s not--! I don’t-- You’re welcome here, of course! I was just… worried. You shouldn’t be walking around on your own.”

At this charming revelation, said in an even more charming tone, I smiled, sheepishly. “Well, I am.”

“So, no… major changes after the…  new succession?”

I sighed, remembering Joyce, my protection officer that had been replaced, and Cadie. “Some. Not tonight, though.”

We were quietly ushered through a pedestrian steel door a few steps after the big gates, which magically opened when Harry approached. His protection officer followed after us.

“Uh, sir?” He called when we kept walking.

Looking back, Harry startled slightly. “Oh, that’s right. Do you mind?” He looked at me, “They need to sign you in.”

“Oh, of course.” We walked to the security cabin near the bigger gate, where another guard, this one in uniform, smiled at us.

“ID, ma’am?”

I handed him my passport from my coat’s pocket, which I had kept handy for the train.

“I’m sorry about this,” Harry said, worried, “It’s… bloody protocol.”

“It’s alright.” I smiled. “You do remember I live in a palace, too? If there’s one thing I understand in life is protocol.”

He smiled back. “She’ll already be registered.” Harry told the guard. “She was here last October.”

I remembered, distantly, filling up my passport in security forms before the tour, and we had come to Kensington for tea once. A lifetime ago.

The guard returned my passport and wished us a goodnight, so Harry walked me towards the palace, now unaccompanied by any officers.

We didn’t go into the main building, however, like when I visited William and Catherine’s house, we went around it.

“So…” Harry started. “I don’t live in the main palace. I don’t got an apartment. It’s… small, my place. Really small. Two bedrooms! So, should be fine, but–”

“Is this--?” I stopped walking, my mind finally catching up to where I was and what I’d done. “Should I not have come? This is weird, right? I didn’t mean to barge in and--”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, I can get a hotel–”

“No, really– It’s fine!” He assured me. “I just wanted you to be prepared, because it’s not a… big, fancy place like my brother’s house, or my father’s house. It’s just… a cottage, really. It’s tiny. I live alone, so it’s quite good just for me–”

I sighed, feeling relieved. Now almost amused. “Agani, fellow royal. I live in a palace? I know how it works. It’s not all a palace.”

He smiled. “Yes… It’s just that people always seem to think it’s all very glamorous.”

The house was nice, it was, as he had mentioned, smaller than most, but it made up for it with that warm, comfortable look of a real home. The front door led into what seemed like one room, with sliding doors separating the smaller half – a kitchen with faded yellow cabinets that needed upgrading, but looked nice. The other half had a blue three-seat sofa and a matching armchair in front of a wooden chest of drawers in which was propped up a flat-screen TV – the only thing in the room that looked like he had actually purchased and not inherited, or maybe borrowed from the Royal Collection.

“It’s nice.” I told him in the silence. He was still watching me from the front door, which he’d just closed, my bag still hanging from his shoulder. “I like it.”

“Are you hungry?” He asked, with a smile, moving quickly into the kitchen. “We could order takeout. I like thai food, there’s a nice place not far from here. Or, I have stuff to make sandwiches, if you’d prefer– what?”

I was smiling at the way my bag would sway around as he moved quickly around his small table to reach the fridge, looking slightly frazzled. “Nothing.”

He smiled, too. “Or!” Excitedly, he walked over to the microwave and opened it, removing a small plate. “Ta-da!”

I approached, realizing he was holding a plate of the entrées from the wedding. “You stole the entrées?!” I laughed.

“I asked! Politely asked if I could have some of the leftovers. You were right, they were delicious.”

We laughed. “Scandalous!” I said, grabbing one and moving to the sofas. “I’m not that hungry, actually, but thanks.”

I sat on the larger sofa, realizing the room also had a small, marble-top coffee table on top of a Persian rug and a corner bookcase with picture frames. I got up to look at his books, realizing it was a mixture of books, CDs and DVDs, even some vinyls. My eyes were first caught by Jurassic Park, by Michael Crichton, 1984, by George Orwell and Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley. He also had Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, Catch 22, by Joseph Heller, and The Complete Calvin and Hobbes collection, which made me smile. I pulled out an orange spine -- The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Mark Manson -- and he moved behind me, the only time I heard him since walking over.

"That was a gift." He explained, in a justification tone.

I smiled back at him, returning the book to its place and noticing a white one with large black letters next to it, Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race, by Reni Eddo-Lodge, which had a summary that regarded it as 'the essential handbook for anyone who wants to understand race relations in Britain today.' I returned it to its place, smiling.

“So you like fantasy.” I concluded, when I found The Hobbit and at least two Harry Potters.

“More like sci-fi.” He replied. “I like The Hobbit, and I made an exception for Harry Potter, which is iconic.”

“I liked the movies.”

“You haven’t read the books?”

“Could never really get into it.” I shrugged.

He closed the distance between us, my bag still on his shoulders, and stared at me from up close, seriously.

“You didn’t like Harry Potter?!”

“What I said was I couldn’t get into it.” I repeated, fighting a grin.

“That’s what people say when they tried something and didn’t like it.”

“Well–” I reflected on the option. “You don’t have any evidence that’s an universal truth. Surely not that that’s how I meant it.”

“Okay, counselor,” he sighed, impatiently. A grin made its way into my lips. “Did you or did you not like reading Harry Potter?!”

“I believe I have a right against self-incrimination in Britain, I certainly do as a Savoy citizen, so I will be evoking that right at this moment.”

He took in a long breath, running a hand through his hair, “Wow.” He sighed, making me laugh. “Just… wow. I am… outraged. As a British man, as a human being–”

“Okay, calm down.” I laughed.

“Harry Potter is incredible!”

“It was just… really childish for me.”

“The first book was written for children! The tone changes as the books go along!”

“Yes, there’s like ten of them. It’s a lot.”

“Seven, and you went to Harvard! You can handle seven children’s books!” My bag fell off his shoulder at his exasperated arm movements, but he was quick to grab it by the handle before it hit the floor.

“And why are you still carrying that?”

“I just…” He shrugged, walking over to the armchair to put my bag there. “I imagine you’ll need it.”

He looked back at me, pulling his long sleeves up past his elbows.

“I--I imagine your protection detail will be ‘round shortly to collect you.”

I chuckled, nervously. “What–? Why? I told you, it’s just me tonight.”

“Yes, and you’re the next in line to the throne of a country. I can’t go anywhere without security, and I know my brother has at least two at all times, so I’m assuming you have at least one person looking for you out there by now.”

There was an awkward silence as I shifted on my feet, hands still in my coat pockets, mouth agape, searching for what to say. He didn’t look upset, and it wasn’t like I’d just committed a crime by omitting what happened, but it still felt as if I had done something incredibly wrong, and the more I looked at him, the more uncomfortable the thought of continuing to lie was.

“It’s–It’s… It’s not like they’ll rush in here screaming that you kidnapped me or something.” I said, nervously forcing a giggle at the thought. “I don’t even know if they’ve noticed I’ve gone yet.”

“Ah.” He nodded, slowly, sitting down on the larger sofa. “So you ran away when they weren’t looking.”

“They were asleep.” I corrected, feeling my whole body warm in embarrassment. “And I would object to the word ‘ran’, I very calmly walked off the train when it stopped in London. It’s not my fault they didn’t notice.”

“They were asleep?!” He asked, his voice going higher than I’d heard before.

“It’s a long journey… Especially from Northern England.”

“Well, it’s their job! That’s… that’s so unbelievably unsafe!”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I raised my hands, in a placating gesture. “No harm done.”

“Well, you couldn’t have known that, could you?!” He asked, eyes widened. “But they sure should have, it’s their job! What if someone walked into the train and pointed a gun at you and forced you to leave?”

“What– I’m– I don’t even–” I sighed, frustrated. “Harry, I’m sorry, okay? Do you–? Would you like me to leave? I can get a hotel–”

“No!” He got to his feet. “I just–” He sighed. “I know how important security is, and… you… you’re a bigger target now, aren’t you? Your security profile must have changed since… you know.”

“I don’t.” I admitted. “They don’t really tell me much these days.”

I walked over, took off my coat, and sat down on the sofa. “Really, Harry, if this is a lot, I can get a place to stay, it’s no trouble.”

He walked over and sat next to me, laying his head back to rest atop the back of the sofa. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Relieved beyond understanding, I started to relax. So I sat back and laid my head next to his.

“So you didn’t miss the train.” He said, and seeing as it wasn't a question, I thought it would be best not to incriminate myself again.

“Marie? Did you?”

I looked at the ceiling. “Technically, I did. But I missed it because I got off.”

He let out a quiet, nasalized chuckle. “Why?”

I heaved a long sigh, and turned to look at him. “I don’t know… I just… I was in the train. And I couldn’t stop thinking about things. And I wanted to. And then we stopped in London. And I grabbed my bag and went to the bathroom, just to walk a little, to distract myself. But then I saw the doors opened. And my protection officers were asleep, so they didn’t even see me get up, so one second I was just fantasizing about how I could just… walk off, and the next I just… did.”

“I still think your security is incredibly irresponsible in this scenario.” He said, on a low tone, in which a hint of anger was only just noticeable.

“They have a right to sleep if we’re on a moving train.” I protested.

“What were you thinking about?” He asked.

“I just… I don’t know, okay? I just… The door was open and there was this colder breeze coming in, and I just… I just wanted to feel more of it. I don’t really understand it, either.”

“I actually mean… What were you thinking during the journey? That you said you didn’t want to think of anymore?”

“…Oh.” I looked back at the ceiling, biting my lower lip. “Everything, I guess. I just…”

I thought back to the train ride, the sound of the tracks, the dimmed lights as everyone seemed to either be asleep or blissfully entertained by their phones. To my heart, full of questions and… anger. I couldn’t tell him half of it.

“I just… I can’t–” I felt my voice break slightly as a knot found its way into my throat. “I can’t be in Savoy right now. I just… I don’t even– Sometimes it just feels like… Like–” I sat up, clearing my throat and turning to look at him, folding one leg to sit on top of it, facing him. 

He’d opened his house to me out of nowhere. I knew how chaotic this must look. He deserved some explanation. 

“It’s like they’re all playing a game and I’m the only one who wasn’t told the rules, but I’m still… part of it, you know? I’m the… I’m the game.” I said. “And I’m just… so tired of it.”

He was quiet, brows furrowed. He sighed… and then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll go give security a call, and tell them if someone comes asking for you to say they haven’t seen you.”

My mouth opened, in astonishment, but I didn’t know what to say.

“And you… what do you want to do? Shower? Movie? Pizza? Sleep?”

I was still astonished, but I started to smile now. “A shower would be nice, I guess.”

“Great, let me show you to the bathroom and I’ll get you a towel.”

He got up, quickly grabbed my bag and smiled when he asked me to follow him. The guest bathroom was just around the corner from the living room, beyond the narrow, carpeted staircase up.

“This is the guest bath. You can use the one in my room, though, it’s better water pressure and you’ll be closer to the guest room.”

Upstairs, there was just a small hallway with three doors, one of which was a closet where he got me two towels. The one at the other end was his room.

The bed was made, but looked like it had been slept in recently. Another flat screen TV was mounted on the wall in front of it, with a paused Netflix movie displayed.

“Do you have pajamas, or–?.” He asked as he left my bag on the bathroom floor. “I can find you some of my clothes?”

I had a clean set of pajamas I’d brought to stay in the hotel overnight, but for some reason I smiled, sheepishly, and said, “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Sweatpants good? I’ll leave them in the bed. You can change here, I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Okay.” I smiled.

Inside, I got out of my travel clothes, brushed my hair down slowly, taking deep breaths, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. When I was done, I put my hair up in a tight bun, and finally looked at myself, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re ridiculous.” I told mirror-Maggie.

As I showered, I tried to better answer the questions he had asked. I’d been thinking of Christopher, of his family ring, of why he would have decided to propose so soon after we got back together. I thought of why my father would say yes without consulting me. Of why my father would continually make decisions about my life without consulting me.

When I turned off the shower, I knew a couple of things for sure: I didn’t plan to run away. I just wanted to go to the bathroom on the train, to distract myself from my own thoughts. When I saw the door and realized that I could leave without my security seeing, all I wanted was to run. To feel… free. To be somewhere I wasn’t expected to give people the nice and polite answers they expected. For some reason, my heart decided this was that place. But this freedom also brought me guilt. What did that say for my relationship?

I wrapped myself in the towel and opened the bathroom door to find a pile of clothes in his bed. I brought them inside and got changed into a much too large for me black sweatpants and dark green shirt. Luckily – or maybe Harry had predicted this – the pants had drawstrings, so I could adjust them to my waist. I folded the bottom as best as I could.

When I did, my eyes fell on a bottle on the lower shelf of his cabinet. It was L’Occitane Cedrat Spray Deodorant. The name was familiar. I got up and realized there was another bottle on the shower caddie with the name – this one a shower gel. So I reached for the deodorant and sprayed a little of it in the air.

The smell almost knocked me to my feet. It was the smell Harry always had, the smell I remembered from London. The smell that brought me right back to an otherwise boring State Dinner, on a red dress, dancing barefoot in a room in Buckingham Palace where we weren’t supposed to be, his face leaning ever so much closer to mine, chills going down my spine, warming up my skin, getting on my tiptoes hoping to close the distance… before we were interrupted by my protection officer Joyce telling us it was time to go.

The smell took me back to flirty, happy texts planning a date. Running after Lourdes after she stole my phone. Waiting for a reply when Auguste and Montennon walked by with death on their faces… before everything changed.

I shook my head. I couldn’t add more things to the archive of stuff I had to think about.

Down the stairs, I found him in the kitchen. He bit down a grin when he saw me in his clothes. “Well, you look…”

“Ridiculous.” I smiled. “It’s a bit big.”

“No! You look cute.” He said, making me blush. “Security has been informed, by the way.”

“Right.” I sighed. “Thank you so much, Harry. I don’t think I said that yet.” He avoided my eyes, shrugging. “It’s not a problem. You’re always welcome here.”

“I know it’s... Weird… and I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.” I added. “I saw the TV on in your room.”

“Oh, I was just watching a movie. The new Transformers.” He told me. “It’s… not great. But in a good way? Does that make sense?” I smiled. “Kind of, yeah.” “Wanna watch it with me?” He asked. “I’d practically just started it. And it’s early-ish, still.”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He clapped his hands together and found a packet of popcorn in the kitchen cabinet.

A little while later, he handed me a bowl and a salt shaker. “Madame.”

I salted the popcorn as he walked around, grabbing napkins and a bag of M&M’s from a cabinet. “Chocolate or peanuts?” He asked. “And bear in mind, there is a right answer.”

“Dealer’s choice.” I returned.

“Coward.” He half-coughed, half-muttered, making me chuckle. “I have coke, orange juice, and beer.”

“Coke.”

“Right answer.” He nodded, approvingly, before turning to me with a slightly more serious expression. “I have… further questions.”

I pulled a chair and sat down, pushing the popcorn away. “Okay.”

“So… who knows– Did you tell Christop–” He sighed. “How many people know you’re here?”

I did the math in my head. “Five, or six, maybe?”

“Plus me and the security officers we walked by?”

“No, I– I mean you and the security officers.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And the cab driver, but I don’t think he knew who I was.” He was quiet for a while, biting his lower lip. “Any other questions?”

He sighed. “Shouldn’t you tell someone?” At the way my face responded, he continued, quickly pulling up a chair and sitting next to me. “I mean, just that you’re okay, at least. They’ll think you were kidnapped!”

“If I turn on my phone they can track me.” I confessed. “All our phones are tracked by security headquarters.”

“Don’t you have a chip?” He asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Those tracking chips that go into your skin?” I asked, “No. The idea gets floated around every couple of years, but my siblings and I always hated it. And my mother thinks it’s too weird.” He nodded. “Do you have one?”

He smiled widely, teeth closed, and pointed at the right side of his jaw. “Just under this tooth here… But don’t tell anyone.”

I laughed. “Right, lesson one of anti-terrorism training. Your teachers would be very disappointed in you.”

He groaned, grinning. “Don’t remind me. Those guys are impressive, but they’re terrifying.”

“Do you ever get refresher training?”

“I think my last one was after my brother’s wedding, due to ‘increased media attention’.” He quoted, annoyed.

“Yeah, they made us take a refresher when Lourdes was born. It was awful.”

“Weren’t you, like, ten?!”

“Yes!” I confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s what made it awful!”

We chuckled, together.

He scratched his beard, looking at the ceiling. “God, we live weird lives.”

The TV in his room was bigger, so we took the popcorn, the cokes and the chocolate M&M’s – his favorite – upstairs where he started the movie from the beginning.

Admittedly, I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have, but I understood enough of it to know he was right: it wasn’t great. Great was the popcorn, the ice cold coke, and the chocolate M&M’s.

Eventually, though, my back started to hurt, so I slid down to lay on his pillows instead of sitting against the headboard, and my eyelids grew heavy, and the sound of explosions grew dimmer as I fell asleep. I shook myself awake a few minutes later, apologizing, but he only smiled and said, “It’s okay”, as he hesitated slightly, before reaching over and resting his hand by my head, brushing my hair so lightly I was asleep again in seconds.

When I woke up, the room was darker than before, the movie was over and the TV now displayed the long list of credits on a dark screen to a slow instrumental track. Harry nowhere to be found.

I heard steps from the hallway, and closed my eyes instinctively, just as I heard him come in. Slowly, I felt a warm blanket cover me, just at this moment realizing how chilly I had been a second before. I breathed in deeply, realizing how much his pillow smelled like him, and settled in to place to sleep again before I heard him step away. Opening my eyes, I realized he was leaving.

“Harry?”

He stopped at the door, and looked back. “Hey.” He whispered. “It’s okay, you go back to sleep. I’ll take the other room.”

“You should sleep in your own bed.” I said, forcing myself to sit up.

“It’s fine, Marie.” He smiled, approaching to gently tuck me back in, pulling the blanket up to my chest. “I promise, just go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was almost leaving again, but my heart couldn’t take it.

“Harry?” I called, whispery, holding on tightly to two fistfulls of the blanket to stop from reaching out to hold his hand.

“Yes?”

I thought of his girlfriend, of my boyfriend, of the imaginary crown looming over my head, and yet, I couldn’t stop my lips from uttering, “Stay.”

He stared at me for one, two, three seconds before getting up. He walked around the bed and laid down, fluffing his pillows slightly as I stretched the blanket out to him.

We laid in silence, his warmth reaching over to me under the covers – or maybe my skin was just warmer than usual. I flipped over to lay on my stomach, hugging the pillow under me. When I did, my fingers hit something that felt like a needle. Carefully feeling it out, I realized it was a bobby pin. ‘This must be the side his girlfriend sleeps in when she’s over’, I thought, feeling suddenly sick to my stomach.

Turning to look at him, I breathed:

“Truth or dare?”

I heard his body move in the dark, and felt his knee brush against my leg as he turned to lay on his side, facing me.

“Truth.”

“Okay…” I held out the bobbi pin from under his pillow, pointing it at him. “Now, be honest… Do you curl your hair to sleep?”

His head raised from the pillow to look at what I was showing him, confused. “What–? Oh.” He smiled as I chuckled. “That’s–ha-ha, hilarious.”

He picked the bobby pin, and turned around to place it carefully in the bedside table next to him.

“Or does that belong to a lady-friend?”

He laughed. “A lady-friend?!”

“You never explained if you and Cressida broke up or not, so I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

“No, of course.” His tone was a mixture of sarcastic and teasing. “You’re just being respectful.”

There was a nice, quiet silence before I whispered, “You never answered the question.”

We laughed again. “No, Marie-Margueritte, I do not curl my hair before bed.”

“So how, pray tell, do you explain the evidence?”

“Objection, your honor,” he said, and I could still hear the giggle in his voice, “No follow-up questions, remember?”

I sighed, “Oh, right, that bullshit rule.”

“Enough stalling. Truth or dare?”

I smiled, sighing. “Truth.”

“…Do you think Clara could have done better than John? Be honest.”

I laughed. “You’re terrible.”

“Come on, we’re all thinking it.”

“Who’s ‘we’ in this scenario?”

“Every guest at their wedding.”

“You’re a terrible friend.” I giggled.

“Hey, I didn’t say that to him! I’m saying it to you, in confidence.” He justified, “And I can’t help but notice you’re avoiding the question.”

“Alright, fine. Admittedly, yes, she has dated guys I think were objectively better looking in a traditional way. But that’s not everything!”

“No!” He said, in an exaggerated way. “Of course not… that’s why your boyfriend looks like that.”

“What do you mean with ‘like that’?” I laughed.

“Oh, you know… the big, moussed up hair, the fancy suit, be honest, does he wear makeup?”

“Oh, my god!” I laughed. “You’re the worst. And you already asked your question. So, truth or dare?”

He sighed. “Truth.”

I considered for a long time what to ask. Long enough that he called out, “Marie?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Oh.”

Gulping, I tried to make the question sound as casual and playful as possible. “Who’s the mysterious owner of the bobby pin?”

“…oh.”

He was silent.

“Go on.” I laughed, nervously. “You must answer truthfully.”

“I–” He sighed. “It’s… It’s you.”

“I–” I startled. “What?”

He sighed, again, deeper now. “That day, my last day in Savoy. On the stairs. You were trying to remove your hat… I helped. I tried to give them back to you, but you– were distracted, I guess.”

“Oh…”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t.” I turned around, laying in my side, facing him. “Harry, I’m the one who’s sorry… that day I was–I was acting completely insane.”

“Don’t apologize.” He asked. “You were going through so much–”

“Yes, but that doesn’t excuse hurting someone–”

“You didn’t hurt me.” He reached out, holding my hand in the space between us.

“I mean–”

“I know what you mean.” He assured me.

Breathless, I closed my fingers on his hold. I couldn’t know what he was thinking of, but I was thinking of the kiss. Or, more accurately, the almost-kiss. I could still feel his neck on my lips, his smell, right there on his pillow, had lived in my mind for the past five months. That‘s what I was apologizing for, but couldn’t say. I couldn’t speak of it. Speaking of it could lead to questions I had also been avoiding for five months like my life depended on it.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, without letting go of my hand.

Breathing in, deeply, and knowing I still wanted to talk about it, but it may not be the right time, I said, “Truth.”

Quietly, I felt his fingers brush mine, slowly.

“Why did you ask about my ex?” He asked, whispery, barely audible.

“…I…” I gulped. “I was curious… I guess– I guess it feels… sad? That we lost touch. I wanted to know what– you know, what you’ve been up to.”

He was quiet. I ventured a look past our hands, to his face, where I could almost see a smile on his lips.

His finger slowly traced mine. His next question came even lower than the first, as if scared to make it even a little bit more real than it had to be. “Were you jealous?”

I felt my heart jump on my chest. His soft touch on my hand, the guilty knot of anxiety in my stomach to be laying in bed with him, as platonically as it was… it all made it impossible to lie.

But I was a lawyer.

“No follow up questions, remember?”

A silent second. And then I heard his nasalized chuckle. “Wow…”

“Your rules.” I shrugged, painfully pulling my hand from his while I still could, and turning to the other side. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He let out another low, appreciative chuckle. “Goodnight, Mary.”

I fell asleep smiling as the name echoed in my thoughts: ‘Mary’.

--- ---- ---

[A/N: heeeeeeeeeeey. how ya’ll doin? I really wanna write something cute and funny here about the chapter or about how much I appreciate you reading but its 4 am on a monday and i spent all sunday working on overtime and i am exhausted so... just know I appreciate you A LOT seriously thank you so much for reading!!! let me know what you think???????? the end of this chapter made me smile when i wrote it and the next chapter made me cry so you have that to look forward to. THANKS BYEEE]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 22. Compromise

“no' might make them angry but it will make you free.

- if no one has ever told you, your freedom is more important than their anger.”

― Nayyirah Waheed, Salt

[*TW: death/violence/bomb threats, neo nazi/mysoginistic hateful language]

It wasn’t the first time I removed my shoes in the middle of the grand hall, one hand to the wall, eyes to the stairs, legs shaking. I grabbed hold of my sandals and raced up the staircase three long, thin steps at a time.

In my room, I threw the shoes on the bed and rushed to the closet, putting my hair up as I did so I could then reach back and unzip my dress, but it was a futile effort. In anger, I recalled needing Lourdes’ help to zip up before dinner.

I took a deep breath and tried it on my own; but it was useless. I tried again, but on the third time all I could hear was the ressentment in Christopher’s voice when he talked about fucking me after my brother’s funeral in front of both our parents. The anger when he asked who was it that I started seeing after we broke up. More than that, I suddenly recalled every instance where I wanted to protest against something he had said or done, but thought better of it.

“Maggie?” Lourdes’ voice awoke me to the anger I was feeling. “I can’t fucking–” One look at me, and she hurried to my side, removing my hands from the dress so she could unzip me. “I got you.” She said. “There. Nothing we can’t fix, right?”

I felt the fabric loosen and pulled the suffocating halter high neck off. The tears started falling before I even realized they had been there at all, and I felt so frustrated for crying that it only made me want to cry more. I allowed my knees to buckle as I fell to the floor, hands around my neck, breathing heavily.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Lourdes said, calmly. “It’s okay.” She passed an arm around my shoulders and hugged me close, pulling me into her chest. “Nothing we can’t fix.” She repeated.

With her bony, small arms around me as a safe port, I cried the loss of the past nine years, and all the years we almost had.

--- ---- --- I had never in my life felt more alone. And yes, maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe I was amplifying a minor problem into a bigger one as a reflection of my deep anxiety about my new title and role, but the truth is it didn’t feel like that. It felt like – in fact, I was alone in my closet, looking at eight different dresses I had just put on and taken off, thinking about Louis telling me I dressed like our mother. How could I make sure I was being myself? How could I know any of my choices were my own and not just what he described as some subconscious need to be the ‘good daughter’?

There was only one person I knew to call for help with going against family expectations: Constance Parrish Von-Bernstein.

“I’m flattered.” She said when I face timed her, still half dressed on my closet floor. “You never have this type of crisis. I need to bask in it. Maybe I should make a wish.” “This is serious, Constance.” I reminded her, sighing. “I have a chance to be heard by the very people who have been pushing me around not only for the past five months, but essentially my whole life. I need to be heard, to tell them, no. To demand what I want. But I can’t even pick something to wear without feeling like a fraud. How am I supposed to be the Crown Princess when I can’t even dress myself?!” Constance looked put off; weirded out, but definitely like she saw the seriousness of the moment now. “Okay…” She started, slowly. “Well, what’s the issue exactly?” “I feel like I’ve been doing what everyone else wanted me to do my whole life, so how can I stand up for what I want now?” I laughed, humorless. “How did you do it? You wore nothing but black all through our teen years, you started dying your hair pink at eighteen, you ditched University and everything else your parents tried to push you into doing to become a musician! How?! How do I do that?!” She smiled, amused. “Well, Maggie… I guess first and foremost we need to accept there is a big difference between being the first member of my family in nine generations not to go to Sorbonne to live my dream of playing guitar in the subway, and knowing what to wear as the Crown Princess.” “I gather from your tone you think my issue is easier. It certainly doesn’t feel like it.” I scratched my head, pensive. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to trade positions with you, either. But you were just juggling parental expectations. I am juggling the whole country’s.” “Yes… I can’t argue there.” “So, again… how?!” She sighed, propped her phone up against something and leaned back staring off into a wall as she considered the question. “You need to know what you’re willing to lose.” She said, determined. “What does that mean?” “Well, I wore black as a teenager because it was one of the few things I could control. But I still had to wear whatever my mother told me to at more important occasions. Christmas, family occasions, formal events with your family… there was no way she would risk letting me decide what to wear to those.” As she recounted, I searched my brain to find the memories of a grumpy, teen Constance looking as pretty in pastel as the rest of us in tea parties and polo matches. “At eighteen, I received the first pay out of my trust fund from my paternal grandparents, so I knew even if my mother decided to disown me, I could afford to live on my own. So I dyed my hair pink.” “Wait, I–” I shook my head. “I had no idea that’s what you thought would happen! Your mother would never!” “Well, we both know she would.” She smiled, amused but also slightly sad. “She hasn’t, though. Which is good, I guess. We did have a lot of fights about it, not just the hair, but Sorbonne and everything else, too. The first pay out of the trust was supposed to be for University, and I used it to buy a scooter and a new guitar.” “You live a pretty simple life, though. And it’s your money, you should do what you want.” “Exactly!” She replied, excitedly. “But that’s my point, your family is dependent on taxpayer funding, right?” “Well–” I stuttered. “Not quite. We’re funded by the Royal Trust.” “Which is funded by the government with allocation of tax funds, right?” “Well…” “Chérie, I’m not trying to get evidence for the republican party here. I’m making a point.” “Yes, okay.” I shrugged. “Yes, some of our funds are from the Royal Trust, and a lot of it is private funds from family inheritances, private property, and investments–” “Okay, so.” She continued. “If you get to the meeting and tell them you want something, and they say no. What’s stopping you from insisting? From doing it anyway? It’s not a crime to go against them, right?” “Well–” I reflected. “What I mean is, I waited to dye my hair until I had my trust fund so my mother couldn’t hold my finances against me. Money was freedom. So, if your family threatens to no longer fund you, what will you do? You don’t have a job anymore.” “Well, I…” I sighed. I never had to think about money before. “I do have a trust fund, too, from my great-grandfather. And I’m twenty-five, so the inheritance from my maternal grandfather should be available to me now.” “Well, there you go. So, what can they do if you insist on having it your way?” She asked, with a grin. “Throw you in jail?” She was right. Money was freedom. “I guess there’s only the main question left.” “Which is?” “What do I wear?!” I asked, making us both laugh at the despair evident in my voice. “It’s not just about the clothes.” I justified, more to myself than to her. “I’m afraid I’ll get there, and they’ll be looking at me like I’m a child who should be off playing with something unimportant instead of trying to play pretend with the adults.” “Maggie,” Constance started, laughing, “you’re a Harvard graduated lawyer. You have a solid, successful career you left for this. They need you, you don’t need them. In fact, you’re doing them a favor.” “I’m not sure that’s how they would describe it.” “They can dress it up however they want, facts are facts.” She shrugged. “You know how to stand up for yourself and get shit done, because you’ve done it before. You worked on the corporate world for years. So, stop acting like they’re doing you a favor by allowing you to be there, and start using your experience to shove it in their faces that you’re way overqualified for this.”

She was right; I had a solid, sucessful – if short – career, and at work, I dressed as a lawyer, if anything to remind people I was not just a princess. So I spent the rest of the day repeating the mantra to myself: Constance is right. Constance is right. Constance is right. With that in mind, I dressed pretending I had a big meeting at work: a short sleeved, high neck, satin Jason Wu dress with simple black heels and gold and black earrings.

Then I went to work.

In my mind, this battle would take place around a long, imposing conference room table, where I’d sit in the middle, with all relevant parties around me. The reality was less corporate: my father’s office. High ceilings, chandeliers, antique paintings and vases around the room, and, of course, the victorian furniture. Dad and I sat in armchairs by the fireplace, side by side, his main staff took their seats on the couple of sofas to our sides, and the others, after the three chairs around my father’s desk were taken, brought in extra chairs from other rooms.

One thing I noticed straight away.

“Where’s Cadie?” I asked dad on a low tone, as everyone took their seats. “I thought it would be in poor taste to discuss her with her in the room.” He explained. “You’ll notice Auguste isn’t here, either.”

Present in the room were around a dozen more people, most of whom I had known all of my life, though some more closely than others. That was the case with my parents’ private secretaries, the title we gave to our chief of staff, Clemment Montennon and Madaleign Qadir. I also recognized Abelard Brodeur, my father’s senior aide, Ulysses Caron, the Head of Security, and Edwald Dupont, Head of the Palace Communications Office.

My father made introductions of those I hadn’t had too much contact with before, like Caesar Bisset, head of Outreach Relations, who explained his main role was to coordinate and plan our charitable and humanitarian endeavors, and Alexander Halden, who was liason of relations between the palace and the government.

All of them sat in the sofas, all of them (but Madeleign Qadir) were balding, old, white men with mustaches and resting judgy faces. The people sitting in the chairs in the back, I realized, were their junior aides, with notepads and pens, ready to take notes or provide useful material during the meeting.

I started to feel more at home at once: hierarchy was familiar to me. I had been the lowly intern once, trying to remain as quiet and invisible as possible in the background, writing as fast as I could, desperate to prove myself in the first opportunity to the older men who held my faith in their hands.

I reminded myself that wasn’t the case here. I was the future Queen of Savoy, they worked for me. They needed me. I held my head high and squared my shoulders back.

“Thank you all for making room in your schedules for this meeting.” My father started, in French. “As this meeting was set somewhat suddenly, perhaps we should go over our goals for today before we start. In truth, I believe today is a culmination of what has been…” He paused, and heaved a long, heavy sigh. “Some tremendously difficult last few months. As we’re all aware, after we lost the Crown Prince last year, as my eldest child, Princess Marie-Margueritte became Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte.”

Discreetly, I fidgeted with my hands so the nail in my right thumb was gently scratching my left palm. I gulped, trying to swallow the familiar knot on my throat. ‘I have to be able to talk about this without crying. I need to talk about this to get through this meeting. I can’t cry in front of these people.’

“We took a few months to allow us all to grieve properly, as a family, and also as a country. There was also the need for the Crown Princess to make the necessary arrangements to leave her private career behind and, as we discussed around the time of the funeral, to put distance between her previous image and the new one she must take on in order to fulfill this new role.”

So they had discussed this at the time of the funeral. A need to ‘put distance’ between who I was and who I needed to become. And I wasn’t even included.

“But it is a new year.” Father continued, with renewed energy. “Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte and I have had a private discussion and we have decided the time has come for her to take a more active role in the process of preparation for her future as Monarch.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle. I still stared at my own hands, trying to breathe deeply and slowly. ‘Preparation for her future as Monarch’ sounded so… crucial. Important. Fatal, almost.

“So,” he said, now more upbeat, adjusting himself in his seat, “with that in mind, we arrive at the agenda for this meeting as discussed by the Crown Princess and I. We are to discuss and decide on the plans regarding the Crown Princess’ future work, security, and office in her new role as the heir apparent.”

There was a pause. I waited. My father looked at me, then at the others.

“Perhaps it would be useful to start with providing the Crown Princess with an update on what the current situation is with regards to the public opinion.” The king added. “Edwald?”

Mr. Dupont, Head of the Communications Office, a man reasonably young in comparison to the others, pushed his glasses up his nose with his pinky, opened a folder in his lap, and began to speak.

“Right. Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness. We are still monitoring what the press knows in regards to the Crown Princess’ extended stay in Britain. As of now, seems we were able to get the Crown Princess back in the country without them finding out, but we will continue to stay alert for any rumors in that regard.”

“Do they know about Princess Lourdes-Abigail’s suspension?” My father asked. “As far as we are aware, sir, no.” Mr. Dupont replied. “We do have at the moment, though, requests for comment on a poll the Sunday Gazette ran online where 71% of respondents didn’t agree with the statement: ‘the Royal Family has kept an active working role after the death of Crown Prince Louis-Adolphe’.” My father sighed, gravely. “Did we give them a comment?” “No, sir. An online poll of no impact.” Mr. Dupont returned. “Most people just vote to see the estimated results, or because they’re bored.” “Good.” He nodded. “Go on.” “Regard–” “Wait, of how many?” I interrupted. “Pardon?” “How many people answered the poll?” “71%, ma’am.” “No, 71% of how many people? What’s the total of respondents?” “Oh, uh.” He looked through the papers on his folder again. Behind Mr. Dupont, an aide got up from his chair and handed him a couple more sheets of paper. “Ah, right. The total number of respondents in the poll was 61,359, ma’am.” “Were they given an abstention option?” “No, ma’am, only agree or disagree.” I nodded. Mr. Dupont went on. “As I was saying–” “Sorry,” I interrupted again, “One last thing, promise, do you have the analytics numbers?” “The–?” Mr. Dupont seemed confused. I looked at the aide behind him, a young man with freckles. “Sir? What’s your name?” His eyes grew wide. “M-me?” I smiled. “Yes, sir.” “Matthew.” “’Ma’am’”, his boss corrected. “Matthew, ma’am.” The aide repeated. “Do you happen to have the analytics data on this poll, Matthew?” “Uhm. Well, not a full analytics report, ma’am. But I do have a print out of the webpage, so I have a sharing estimate for social media.” “What are you talking about?” My father asked, confused. “Analytics is a… a tool to interpret patterns of data from basically anything.” I summarized. “On websites that run polls, it could be useful to know how many people viewed it as many might have just viewed it, but not voted, which doesn’t mean they weren’t influenced by it. And any new article online has an option for the reader to share it on their social media platforms, so that’s what Matthew will tell me next.” “Well, the data is rounded up, we don’t have the details.” Matthew explained. “Well, then we can skip it.” My father said. “That’s a point for another meeting, Margueritte. Let’s focus on our agenda today.” I wanted to argue, but before I could gather the courage, Mr. Dupont went on about me next, which was distracting enough to make me let the subject go. “Regarding the press on the Crown Princess specifically,” Mr. Dupont continued, “The months following the funeral saw a record high number of press profiling her biography, and of course there were the, uhm, ‘viral’ issues.” “Viral issues?” I asked, when he used a strange tone on the word ‘viral’. “The…mainstream section of the world, ma’am, meaning those outside of Savoy and who otherwise seemed to be uninterested in the story of The Royal Family of Savoy, were very interested to discover it’s new heir was a former military servicewomen–” “I–” I stuttered, “I only did the minimum service of 6 months.” “They don’t seem to care about the specifics.” He replied. “They did show a lot of interest for the picture of you in uniform during a drill, which was released through the palace at the time.” He added, shrugging slightly. “The Americans, specifically, seemed excited about your time in Harvard and New York, and a lot of articles were written with testimonials from people who, at least, claim to have studied with you at the time.” “Oh.” I said, uncomfortable. “What–what did they say?” “Positive things.” Mr. Dupont replied, short. “Though, at home, despite the King’s vow of faith in Her Royal Highness during the Crown Prince’s funeral, Savoyen press remains… unconvinced of your… capabilities.”

I looked at my father, who was staring at his hands, absentmindedly. So this was why my father had used his eulogy to public declare his confidence in me in the role. Not because it was true.  It was a PR move. No wonder he didn’t want to answer my question afterwards.

“What ar-” I stuttered. “Do you know any specifics of their criticism?” “They seem to worry about your work record the most, ma’am.” He replied. “Not a lot of royal work, some rumors of controversial stances as a lawyer, and uh. Not enough… How to best describe it? Personality, I suppose.” “They think I’m boring.” I helped. Seeming uncomfortable, he nodded. “International press definitely doesn’t, though.” He said. “And they have greatly influenced public opinion at home. It is very likely our national press is… upset they haven’t been given any insight on what your future will look like.”

‘And who’s fault is that?’, I thought, bitterly.

“Speaking of work,” I started, “Shall we talk about that next?” “Before we do,” my father said, before looking at Mr. Dupont, “what about the new development from last night? Where do we stand?” Confused, I looked around the room, but other than Montennon, Qadir, and Mr. Dupont himself, everyone else seemed confused as well. “We are closely monitoring the situation, but not rumors as of yet, sit.” He replied. “But I reiterate it would be best to get ahead of it.” “What happened last night?” I asked.

My father fixed me with such a dry expression I felt almost unbearably embarrassed for having forgotten: the Chris breakup.

“Oh.” I said, awkwardly. “Right.” “We’ll get back to you, Edwald.” My father told him. “Now, what need we discuss regarding your work, Margueritte?” “Well,” I started, pausing quickly to take in a deep breath, before reaching down at the ground for the folder I had left under my chair.

I opened it to find the copies I had made of the proposal I prepared the previous year while using anything I could to distract myself from the grief, and passed it around the room.

“This a summarized version, but I can have a more detailed one made tonight if you wish,” I prefaced, walking back to my seat after handing them each a copy, “I used a business proposal model, so forgive me if I might have missed any important information.”

The proposal detailed causes and organizations I wanted to focus on. I was patron of a handful of charities currently, and if I was to work full time as a royal, priority number one was to get that number up. It was work that I liked: useful, helpful work that made a difference in people’s lives.

But most importantly: it was a way of honoring my brother. I had experience with ‘easy’ causes: elderly care, childcare, things that were easy for anyone to empathize with, things that anyone would agree matters. To put it simply: things that wouldn’t ruffle feathers on the press.

This time I picked causes that mattered to me, and it mattered to me to make the kind of impact that my brother would have.

“This is impressive, ma’am.” Said Caesar Bisset, the Head of Outreach Relations. “Truly inspirational.” The others nodded, appreciatively. No one said anything else. “But?” I prodded. They looked at each other. Mr. Bisset gulped, smiling uncomfortably. “Some of these causes, although greatly important, would not send the right message, ma’am.” “What causes do you see a problem with, exactly?” I asked, as calmly as could be. “Not me, ma’am!” He corrected, quickly. “I mean, to the public, to the press, there could be a lot of misunderstanding around some of these areas.” “Such as?” “Margueritte,” my father started, with a careful smile. “As you know there is still a large amount of people in Savoy who identify as catholics, and as the representatives of the faith in the country, we have a responsibility.” “I understand.” I assured him, lying. “But I would still like to hear the specifics of what the issues would be.”

He looked at Mr. Bisset, who nodded.

“Well, ma’am,” he started, “as an example, take this idea, item two, where you express a wish of becoming a patron of Flag House, an organization devoted to providing support to homosexual youth…” “They provide counseling for those with unaccepting families, housing for LGBT people living in an unsafe and unwelcoming environment, and even classes to get them on a path towards a career or to further their education.” “Yes.” He nodded. “And the issue of homosexualism is still somewhat–” “Homosexuality.” “Pardon?” “You said ‘ism’.” I explained, sighing. “That’s a terminology used for diseases and health issues. The correct word is homosexuality.” He nodded. “Oh. Right. Still–” “And they don’t just work with gay people.” I expanded. “The LGBT community is wide. Trans people’s life expectancy is 35 years-old in Savoy, and they are around 65% of all sex workers and 73% of all unhoused people in the country.” “No one is saying the organisation isn’t good, Margueritte.” My father argued. “But there is a reason we don’t just announce patronages. There’s a lot of research that goes into this, a lot of prep work–” “And that’s what I want to do.” I replied. “We could be halfway done with the prep work if we had set the wheels in motion the first time I did this research, but I sent August this material in November last year and never heard anything.” Mr. Montennon, Auguste’s boss, who would have told him not to get back to me, fidgeted in his chair. “The issue would simply be too polemic, ma’am.” “So would be standing up against slavery before the 19th century, but King Willem III did it anyway.” I replied. “It’s not exactly the same, sweetheart.” “Why not?” I asked. “Look at the research I just gave you. Our job is standing up for the marginalized, today the most marginalized community in our society are the unhoused, specially trans sex workers of color who are kicked out of their homes at a young age due to bigotry.” “Our job is to serve the country.” My father insisted. “But part of that is knowing what the country needs from us. And largely, Savoy is just not ready for this type of work.”

He uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to look at me.

“Margueritte, you have a difficult job ahead of you. I know that like few people can. So let me assure you, the most important thing to succeed here is knowing how and when to compromise.” He paused, intensely. “And when not to. This is not something we can compromise on.”

I heaved a long, unsatisfied sigh. I wish I could have told him of Louis. I wish I could have told him how much this mattered to him. How much he spoke of his own privilege, of knowing that no matter how big the fear of being rejected was, he knew he would never need to fear for his safety like so many in his community did. I wish I could have told my father this, as I knew it might have changed his mind.

“So, Mr. Bisset, from this proactive document my daughter has given us, what do we think would be a good fit for her to work with?” Mr. Bisset looked away from my father into the paper in his lap again. “Well, sir, we would need to tweak a few of the specifics, but this suggestion for a partnership with some of the Universities in Savoy for a series of discussion panels on important issues for the population has a lot of potential.” “Ah,” my father replied, appreciatively. “Progress!” I gulped, suppressing a roll of my eyes at the condescension. “Won’t that just make me look more boring?” I asked. “I want to do it, but it would be better to balance it with something else, too, wouldn’t it? How about the patronage of the Claire Bauton Foundation?” Mr. Bisset nodded. “Women’s issues is a wonderful topic, ma’am, and would be a good fit as the public is very interested in the prospect of Savoy’s first Queen in her own right in over three centuries. I’ll do some research on it.” “Perfect.” My father said, happily. “Next?”

I sighed, fidgeting with my own hands; mouth dry.

“Perhaps we might go over the Crown Princess’ household, sir.” Montennon said. “Seeing as we are discussing work, her team would have to coordinate with Bisset on any upcoming projects.” He nodded. “Let’s. Please, Clemment, would you explain to us again the reason for appointing Auguste Authier as the Crown Princess’ Private Secretary.” “Of course, sir.” Montennon replied. “Ma’am, the gist of the matter comes down threefold. One, tradition.”

C. C. Montennon had been my father’s Private Secretary for almost two decades. He knew me from when I was still a bony, annoying child, but that wasn’t the reason he spoke ‘down’ at me. In fact, he had a gift of always appearing uppity whenever he said anything at all, even to royalty.

Montennon explained that traditionally, royal Private Secretaries were trained by their predecessor, the senior Secretary working for the Monarch. That way, every Monarch had a secretary that had been trained in the staff of the previous Monarch by the previous Monarch’s Secretary.

“This way every Private Secretary has the most complete knowledge one can have of the royal household and work.” He said. “So that fewer mistakes are made.”

I considered his words for a while. The logic seemed fine, it was the execution that I had an issue with.

“The second point, of course,” he went on, “is the matter of nationality.” “Seriously?” I interrupted. “Because Cadie is American?” “Ms. Mendel’s nationality could send the wrong messaging if she was selected for the highest position in your household, ma’am.” “Will I have to pretend I didn’t go to University in America, either?” “Margueritte, please.” My father said, scratching both eyes with his hand. “I think it’s a reasonable question considering this logic.” I argued. “The role of the Monarch, ma’am, and thus the role of the Crown Prince–uh, Princess is to represent and lead the country to the best of his–sorry, her abilities.” He explained, repeatedly stuttering on the need to correct himself, “and to hire a foreigner to such a high position would indicate you did not find a Savoyen of equal ability or trust.” “Or alternatively,” I argued, “that I hired the best person to the job and promoted her when the opportunity arose.”

Judging by the looks they all exchanged, I could see that was a battle lost.

“In order to do good work I have to be the one to choose my own staff.” I insisted. “It makes no sense otherwise. I assure you I am perfectly capable of hiring the objectively best person for the job.” “I assure you, ma’am,” Montennon insisted, “I have been overlooking Mr. Auguste Authier’s training for the past ten years and he is the most qualified man to prepare you for the difficult role ahead.” “You said it was threefold. What’s the third reason?” I asked Montennon. He sighed. “Well, ma’am, it’s hierarchy. Much of the Royal Family works as any business, and Auguste Authier has seniority. He’s been a member of the Royal staff longer and it would be inappropriate to promote Ms. Mendel to a higher position when she hasn’t earned it.” “As the person who she’s been working for since being hired I’d argue she has.” I contradicted. “Auguste has been training for a decade to assist the next Monarch, Margueritte.” My father told me, softly. “Cadence is too young. What if we compromise by looking into training her as an aide, Clemment? She would be a good assistant to Auguste, don’t you think? I’m sure they would work well together, right?”

I was sure they wouldn’t; Cadie was only a few years older than me, and Auguste was almost old enough to be our father. He had never respected Cadie’s abilities or my choice in hiring her. That was part of why I didn’t want to work with him in the first place.

“It would simply be too disruptive to disregard the plans that have been in motion for years regarding the staff of the next future Monarch.” Montennon finished. “But that hierarchy, those plans, were established when my brother was the heir.” I said, bravely but, also, timidly. “Not me. If we have to adapt to a new heir, and the new heir has to adapt to the work, it makes sense that the hierarchy and plans have to be adapted too, right?”

They seemed in no rush to reply. The silence floated around the room for a few seconds before my father sighed.

“It’s not how this works, I’m afraid.” He said. “Should we move on?”

And that was that. Another compromise. One word from the King and that matter was, apparently, closed.

Mr. Caron, the Head of Security, cleared his throat and sat a little taller as he began to speak. “Sir, if I may?” My father nodded his way, and he went on. Looking at me, an intense expression on his face, he said, “Ma’am, while we are discussing staffing choices… The occurence in Britain with your detail on the train…”

I tried to brace myself for a scolding, dreading everything around me, wishing I could go to my room.

“I wish to assure you no such thing will ever happen again. The officers in question have been severely reprimanded, suspended and will retake training upon returning to work. We take the incident extremely seriously and hope this won’t permanently shake your confidence in your security.” I stuttered, awkwardly. “Oh, that–That’s fine. Really, I’m fine. I didn’t even know they’d been suspended.” “Their only job is to keep you safe, and they lost you for three days.” My father remarked, calmly, not looking at me. “They are lucky to keep their jobs.” “Right.” I nodded, nervously. “Of course… Speaking of which. The… incident, as you called it, was indeed unfortunate, of course, but since the topic has been brought up, I suppose it is as good a time as any to talk about my security detail in general. The truth is I was already uncomfortable with it before.” “Uncomfortable, ma’am?” Mr. Caron asked, “Regarding the officers? Their competence?” “No, not at all.” I shook my head. “I mean, I spent the previous decade and a half with Joyce as my primary officer. She went with me to America, to University, and in every job I ever had.” He nodded. “Of course, ma’am. The bond that many years of service creates is, of course, highly valued in this field. It is essential for the work we do.” “I’m glad you think so.” I smiled. “Because I would like for Joyce to be reinstated as my primary Protection Officer.” Mr. Caron took in a long breath, watching the wall behind me. “Ma’am, though I appreciate how difficult such a structural change is, the fact is that Ms. Espinoza–uhm, Joyce, that is, simply does not have the proper, more advanced, specified training an officer for this position needs.”

“Why is that?”

The room was quiet. One by one, they all exchanged a look with the person closer to them and then looked at me.

Mr. Caron spoke. “Why is what, ma’am?” “As a member of Palace security staff, why doesn’t Joyce Espinoza have the proper training needed to work for a senior royal?” “Oh, well, ma’am, see…” He started, “Our officers receive personalized training for the specific work that they will be assigned to. That way every royal family member can be sure they are in the right hands for the level of security threat they are under.” “But…” I started, “Doesn’t that just create a gap in the abilities of the staff? Don’t you then just have some officers who are qualified for harder jobs and some who aren’t?”

They were quiet. Mr. Caron opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, pensively.

“Margueritte, this meeting is not meant to reevaluate how we do staff training.” My father objected. “Maybe it should.” I argued, causing him to look at me, brows raised. But he ignored my point. “We are here to discuss your staff and the fact is Ms. Espinoza does not have the proper training to keep you safe.” Before I could argue, he added, louder, “That is not something we are compromising on. Not your safety.”

I sighed.

“Ulysses, do you have the security file on the Crown Princess?” Mr. Caron looked at my father with wider eyes. “Y-yes, sir. I have the raw file with me, but it hasn’t been… filtered.” “Good. Show it to her.”

Awkwardly, Mr. Caron received a separate, larger file from the aide sitting near the window. He got to his feet and walked over to me.

I opened the file to an identification page; it contained most of my personal information from my full name, age, hair color and length to weight, height, and identifying marks, like the barely visible, tiny scar I had on my left knee from a bike fall as a child (I noticed the absence of my tattoo). I looked at Caron.

“What am I looking at?” “Well–” He started. “That is what your security needs to have on their minds every second of their working day.” My father answered instead.

When I turned the page, I realized the following pages were separated by date. The first was marked only a couple of days after Louis’ death. It read:

‘Letter received by the Neunant Post. Unmarked. Security camera footage resulted in no suspects of delivery. It reads:

THE THRONE MUST NOT GO TO PRINCESS MARIE MARGUERITE. WOMAN ARE INFERIOR TO MEN AND THE RIGHT ORDER OF CIVIL SOCIETY CANNOT BE UNDERMINED. LET THE GOVERNMENT BE ADVISED: SHOULD THE PRINCESS BE ANNOUNCED AS THE NEXT HEIR THERE WILL BE AN ATTACK ON POINTE CALLOIS BRIDGE. WE ARE AN ORGANIZATION DEDICATED TO RETURNING SAVOY TO ITS FORMER GLORY. PRINT THIS LETTER ON THE FRONT PAGE OR PEOPLE WILL DIE…’

With my heart beating almost painfully in my throat, I looked at my father. He wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t looking at anyone. His eyes were opened, but he was seeing something I could not see.

I turned the page. The next few threats were prints of hate comments on news sites, but they seemed slightly superficial compared to the first. I noticed they had a yellow sticker to the up corner of the page, whereas the first one had a red one. I turned the pages, finding another red one marked about a week after the first. It read:

‘Letter dropped on the gates of Callois Palace among the messages of condolences for Crown Prince Louis. Security Camera footage could not identify the suspect amongst the crowd. It read:

REST IN PEACE OUR GOOD ARYAN KING LOUIS ADOLPHE!!! THE THRONE WILL NEXT GO TO OUR ALPHA PRINCE ADRIEN WHO WILL LEAD THE COUNTRY INTO PROSPERITY. PASSING THE CROWN INTO PRINCE LOUIS ADOLPHE’S SISTERS WOULD TURN THE COUNTRY INTO A RADICAL LIBERAL HELL IT MUST NOT BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN. THE KING MUST ANNOUNCE THE PRINCESSES WILL NOT INHERIT LIKE HIS SISTERS DIDNT. DO NOT DISMISS THIS. IN CASE THIS ISNT ANNOUNCED THE PRINCESSES WILL BE A FATALITY OF THE BATTLE FOR THE SURVIVAL OF SAVOY. YOU HAVE FIVE DAYS.

The following page contained a drawing of a symbol in red paint. Analysis confirmed it was pig blood. Symbol under analysis by the Interpol.’

I gulped, painfully, mouth dry. “Did they ever have an answer for what the symbol was?” Though I wasn’t looking at him, Mr. Caron asnwered softly, “With assistance from the NSA, ma’am, they believe it is linked to a jihadist terrorist organization.”

I turned a few more pages, hands shaking. Dated from a few weeks after Louis’ death, to a couple of months after, to just two weeks ago, they were prints of online messages, discord servers, reddit discussion threads, untraceable Twitter accounts, throw-away emails, sent to official royal email addresses, physical Palace address, personal email accounts of staff members, journalists, and any number of random people who dared say anything positive about us online.

‘THE CROWN PRINCESS ATTENDS BODY WORK GYM NEAR HER APARTMENT MOST MORNINGS AT 8AM FROM MONDAY TO FRIDAY. SHE ALWAYS PARKS IN THE SECOND FLOOR GARAGE. SHE LOOKS HOT IN LEGGINGS TOO BAD SHE’LL GET BLOWN UP NEXT TIME SHE IS THERE’

‘THE USURPER MARIE MARGUERITTE WILL DIE KING ADRIEN DOWN WITH THE FEMINAZIS WHO WEAKENED OUR MILITARY BY INCENTIVIZING WOMEN TO SERVE AND NOW WOULD WEAKEN OUR NOBLE ROYAL FAMILY’S BLOODLINE. YOU WILL NEVER FIND ME BUT YOU WILL SOON KNOW MY NAME I WILL CARVE IT IN HER SKIN. I KNOW THE ADDRESS OF HER WORK AND THE RESTAURANT SHE EATS AT WITH COWORKERS. THEIR NAMES ARE SOPHIE THE DAUGHTER OF THE CORRUPT MEDIA MOGUL AND LARISSA THE UGLY IMMIGRANT. SHE WILL NEVER BE QUEEN’

‘I AM A HIGHLY TRAINED FORMER MILITARY CAPTAIN PRINCESS MARIE MUST NOT HAVE A CONFIRMATION CEREMONY. IF YOU HAVE A CEREMONY WE WILL CARRY OUT A MASSIVE ATTACK AGAINST THE ATTENDEES. I HAVE AT MY DISPOSAL A SEMI AUTOMATIC RIFFLE AND A COLLECTION OF PIPE BOMBS.I DO NOT WANT TO SPILL PURE SAVOYEN BLOOD. I AM GIVING YOU A CHANCE. CANCEL THE CONFIRMATION AND ANNOUNCE THE ABDICATION OF PRINCESS MARIE IN FAVOR OF PRINCE ADRIEN OR ONE WAY OR ANTOHER I WILL MAKE SURE THEY DIE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED’

A few of the pages detailed untraceable phone calls made to official, unlisted numbers inside the palace. There was a collective letter sent by chief editors of the major Savoy newspapers detailing a rise in what they describe as ‘the worst kind of harassing, toxic, hateful comments’ ever before targeted at the royal family in general, but specifically, me.

The next few pages had, chillingly, photographs. It was hard to focus enough to read the text around them, but according to the captions they had all been sent by physical mail or email, some having been discovered by police in ‘intercepted phones’.

“Wha–what are intercepted phones?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. Ulysses Caron’s reply matched my tone. “Phones intercepted by police during reids, investigations or after criminals are arrested. Some were found internationally and sent to Savoy Police.”

I nodded as though I didn’t have another million follow up questions. The photos were of me, but in cases when I had been photographed with other people, there were pictures of them as well.

They were pictures of me walking my dogs near my apartment, in Tallmound, before Louis died. Pictures of me walking to and from the parking lot at work, both before Louis died and on the day I went to quit. Pictures of me in the gardens of the Palace, in some places we knew people could see from the gates. It didn’t usually bother us as it wasn’t an issue unless they were watching to wait for us.

These weren’t paparazzi pictures, they were worse. Grainy, from farther away, from an upper angle – drones? My head hurt. I felt dizzy. My stomach ached. In one picture, I was walking near the beach with Lourdes in Corsilla.

I looked up at Mr. Caron, realizing the room had fallen into a deep, strained silence as they waited for me to say anything.

“My sister. Is she–is she pictured, too?” Mr. Caron looked at my father before replying. I did, too. He was still quietly looking inwards. “Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Caron said, finally. “Not as frequently. But there has also been a recent rise.” I fought back tears. “And–Did th–Louis?” I stuttered. He nodded, gravely.

I closed the folder with a thud. I looked away, at the windows. The sun was setting outside.

“Don’t you see…?” I asked, weakly. “This is why we can’t train our officers differently.” I looked back at them. “You’re deciding that some of us receive more threats than others and therefore we need different security, but what is stopping anyone who wishes to harm us from harming someone we love to get to us?!” “I assure you, ma’am, all our officers are highly trained to the task they need to perform–”

I got to my feet, breathless. Slowly, I walked around the chair and rested a hand on it, the other now clutching the heavy folder. I thought of my brother reminding me to stand up for myself, and of the reminder Harry had written in the book he sneaked into my bag.

I looked back at them, and sighed.

“You are going to double the number of protection officers in my sister’s detail.” I said, as authoritative as I could. “Double–?” Mr. Caron started. “And Cadence Mendel is going to be my Private Secretary.” I said, as if I hadn’t been interrupted. “Auguste can stay on for support. He can be a… consulting aide. I’m sure his experience will be valuable.” “Margueritte.” My father started. I did not acknowledge him. “Joyce Espinoza will head my security detail.” “Ma’am, she does not have the necessary training–” “Then train her!” I said. “It is not enough for security to be well trained, clearly, as your supposedly highly trained officers were sleeping while I ran off in London. If they had known me, if I had trusted them, like I do with Joyce, I assure you that would not have happened.” He didn’t have an answer. He did look at my father though, helplessly. “Training is not enough, Mr. Caron. Our security is with us wherever we go, we must trust them. Intimacy isn’t a replacer for training, either, so let’s work on both. Okay?” “Margueritte.” My father tried again. “Why don’t we talk about this privately?” “That won’t be necessary.” I replied. “It would have been useful months ago, after Louis passed. Now I don’t need to, anymore.” I looked at him, finally, calmly. “I will do good work, dad. I will. I will do work that I am proud to do, and that Louis would have been proud of, too. And I will be happy to do it. But let it be known that I will do it because I am choosing to do it.” I looked at the rest of them. “I did not want this.” I confessed. “I wish for nothing more than for my brother to be in this meeting instead of me. But I am all you have.”

Still, they were silent.

“Well, I will do it. Not because I have to. What can you do, really, if I refuse to? Throw me in jail?” I echoed Constance’s words, a humorless grin in my lips. “You need me. You have me. So, I am willing to discuss my work. But we will not compromise on my staff, or on my security. Or Lourdes’ security.” “Margueritte.” My father repeated, more forcefully now. “I am a lawyer. A good one.” I stopped him, angrily. “I had my own life before this and I can get it back. Say no and I will just send a resume and get another job next week.” I told them, daringly, shrugging. “I do not need or want the Crown. If you want to take it, this is what I need. If not,” I sighed, heavily, “well, let’s hope Lourdes is ready to be Queen.”

I waited, breathing heavily, anxious, hands shaking. My father said nothing else. Neither did any of the others. I could barely see them through my anger.

“I expect my Private Secretary to get in touch in the next twenty-four hours so we can get to work. If not,” I sighed, “You can expect my abdication letter by the end of the week.”

With that, I turned on my heels, and left the room.

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Business Bitch Outfit

[A/N: ITS 6 AM AND I HAVE NOT SLEPT. I HAVE WORK IN 5 HOURS. I HAVE A HEADACHE. THIS IS ALL TO SAY PLEASE FORGIVE ANY SPELLING/GRAMMAR/NONSENSE MISTAKES. Seriously, I am so grateful for your patience. I had to move out of my house in 2 weeks into a much more expensive apartment. First time I had to do the whole moving process thing (long story) and it is not great. 0/10 do not recomend. Why do I own stuff? Also my job is not going well. I fully expect to be let go in January. Maybe I am being a paranoid anxious bitch maybe I am being a self aware queen. We’ll see. But it’s definitely the second option. Anyway, I’m all unpacked now and loving living alone for the first time ever. I think that’s all I needed to say. Oh, also, I did some research for the death threat part but -- thankfully -- I am not fully versed on it, so sorry if its a little cringe? Anyway. Let me know your thoughts?! What do you think will happen? Will Maggie’s boss bitch ultimatum work?! Will the dramatic Chris breakup leak to the papers?! Tune in next week to find out! LOVE YOU!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters #sorry i said bitch like 3 times in this AN #i cannot stress this enough #it is 6am

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 15. Homecoming

'Souls tend to go back to who feels like home.' N.R. Hart

Once I had stared at my truth it was impossible to turn a blind eye to it anymore; I hadn’t even been aware that that’s what I was doing, but somewhere between Clara’s brother making the entire reception room laugh and Harry holding my hand, it was like I was pulled out from under water. It was like when your ears pop after flying, like I wasn’t working at full speed, and now I had no other speed.

It felt… exhausting. Like I was stuck to a chair, eyes firmly taped open, as a cinema screen in front displayed the past few months in bright colors for the first time. Had I really been there? Had I really existed then? I could barely remember most of it, like coming out of autopilot.

Through this existential panic attack, I had somehow held on to Harry’s hand tighter than before, wrapping it in both of mine. Suddenly overcome by embarrassment and guilt, I slowly let it go, feeling my cheeks warm.

“Sorry.” I said, staring firmly at the carpet in front.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, after a couple of seconds.

I nodded, forcing out a chuckle. “I’m sorry I’ve been so dramatic.”

“Don’t apologize.” He said, serious. “You shouldn’t feel bad for pain.”

I tried to think of an appropriate answer, but I had none.

Then he leaned in, and I caught my breath in a small gasp I hoped had been silent. He leaned in slowly enough that I wondered if time had slowed down or I was just feeling dizzy. I told myself I was surely mistaken in his intention, and tried to remind myself of the girl Stella was telling me about earlier whose name I now couldn’t remember. He leaned in close enough that I felt guilty for not leaning back. Close enough that I felt chills down my spine. Close enough that I couldn’t remember why we hadn’t done it before.

Looking decidedly at my lips, his hand cupped my face – except, no. He touched my upper lip with his thumb, and delicately pinched something in my skin with the help of his pointing finger. He leaned back, and I took in a deep breath, feeling my hands and neck slightly sweaty.

He showed me the tip of his finger, where sat a lonely, loose eyelash.

“Make a wish.” He offered.

Smiling, embarrassed and guilty over where my mind had gone only half a second before, I touched the tip of my own pointing finger to his. His smile was small, but genuine. It made his entire expression light up softly. It made my heart happy somehow.

“Ready?”

“Wait!” I shook my head, “I don’t know what to wish for.”

His smile grew. “Go on, think of something good. The only rules about wishes are no asking for more wishes, no asking for someone to love you, no asking for someone back from the dead.”

“Ah.” I sighed, forcefully, in mock disappointment. “There goes all of my ideas.” He let out a laugh so genuine I felt my own heart jump fasted in my chest.

Though it had been a joke, there was really nothing I wanted to wish for more than Louis back. As for love, well.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about love,” Harry interrupted, as if listening to my inner thoughts, “Christopher seems… Invested.”

I bit my lower lip; it was a weird choice of words. All at once I remembered how Harry had sneered when I told him Chris’ profession in Buckingham Palace when he thought we were together. I remembered his relief when he found we weren’t. I remembered telling him about the breakup in the balcony, at night, and it made me remember how it hurt. I remembered every time Louis tried to reassure me I could do better. ‘Chris didn’t deserve you,’ he’d said, ‘but Harry might’.

“He is.” I told Harry, contrary. “And besides, I’m not supposed to tell you what my wish is. Or else it won’t come true… now hush and let me think.”

He grinned at me.

It was unfair. Christopher had been there for me when Louis died. He’d been in my life for over a decade. Loved me for most of that time. Took care of me in America where we both had no one but each other. He was probably inside the reception room at this moment, worried I had left so suddenly, with an obviously look of one who’s about to cry on my face. Of course there were issues to figure out, which couple didn’t? We were human, and that’s what made the relationship work. Christopher was normal. He didn’t treat me like a princess, didn’t mind my title making both our lives a mess. We could make it work. But it felt unfair to wish for him to be better instead of just talking to him about it, like an adult. Something I probably should have done a long time ago, if I had had a clearer mind.

I decided not to waste a wish that could be a mature, adult conversation. ‘I want to make Louis proud’, I decided.

“Okay.” I told Harry. “Ready?”

“One, two…” He counted. “Three.”

When we pulled our hands apart, my eyelash was on his finger. He smiled at me, proudly.

“Congratulations.” I said, giggling slightly at his expression.

“Thank you.” He pulled his handkerchief from his morning coat’s jacket’s pocket, unfolded, and delicately pressed the eyelash inside. “I’ll keep it safe until my wish is realized.” He told me, with reverence, making me laugh.

“I don’t think that affects the wish.”

“What are you, the wish police?” He asked, making me laugh again.

Finally, I sighed, feeling calm wash over me like rain. When I looked back, he was smiling at me, content, handkerchief back in his front pocket. He looked at me long enough that I felt guilty again, remembering Christopher downstairs, probably wondering where I’d gone.

“We should go back.” I said.

Harry gulped, looking at his hands now. “Yes. After you.”

He held my hand to help me down the stairs, even though we both seemed to be aware that I wasn’t wearing heels. My hand felt warm for the rest of the night.

“I’m going to get a drink.” I told him, at the doors. I didn’t want to arrive back at our table with him after having left so suddenly, and looking like I’d been crying.

“I’ll go with you.” He replied.

We waited until our drinks were done before walking back, together. Turns out I had no reason to worry, Chris was now so enthralled by the Best Man speech he didn’t even notice when I came back.

Stella, however, looked at me from her seat, inquisitively. I gave her an assuring smile in response, and looked ahead to the man in the microphone, not really hearing anything he was saying, but merely smiling when the sound of laughter roared around the room.

My mind was aflame with questions. Why was Lourdes giving up ice skating? Why was I meeting with mom’s patronages for her instead of doing my own work? Why wasn’t I consulted when Cadie was reassigned? Why did I have to change my security?

“Baby?”

I looked to my right just as the room erupted in applause, smiling so Chris wouldn’t question my swollen eyes or reddened nose.

“Did you get me a new drink?” He asked, looking at the new glass I’d just brought.

“Uhm– I didn’t– I didn’t know you needed one.”

He sighed, looking back ahead.

I didn’t mean to, but my eyes found Harry almost on instinct. He was looking at Chris from the corners of his eyes, brows furrowed, almost aggressively. His eyes softened when they met mine, but we looked away at the same time.

They served dinner shortly after this, and Stella reclaimed her seat next to me. She asked if I was feeling okay, and I told her about Clara’s brother reminding me of Louis. She leaned in, rested her head on my shoulder for a few seconds, and straightened up again – it was enough to make me feel seen. It was more than Christopher, anyway. When I told her he didn’t seem to notice anything had happened, she sighed, amused.

“Men…” She exclaimed, resigned. “They notice nothing.”

‘Not Harry‘, I thought.

I took in a deep breath, and started on my list of reminders again. Eight: Christopher and his brother always went home on mother’s day to make their mother breakfast in bed. Nine: Christopher never pushed me to have sex with him before I was ready, and he made my first time gentle, patient, and not even a little as traumatic as most of friends' first experience was. Ten: he always had his arm around me, no matter how harassing the paparazzi got.

After dessert, Christopher got up to talk to his friends at another table. A tall brunette came by to say hello to Harry, and he got to his feet to kiss both her cheeks and they chatted for a long time as I strained my ears to overhear, neglecting Stella and Gabrielle making conversation by my side.

“I need a drink.” I told the girls.

“Isn’t this your wine? It’s half full.” Gabrielle told me.

“I need a rum and coke.” I shrugged, walking off pretending I couldn’t feel Harry’s worried eyes on me.

I went to the bar, taking as long as possible, only being stopped once on the way back by another acquaintance who seemed to think it was appropriate to ask about my ‘’new life as Crown Princess’’.

When I came back, Harry was back in his seat, and Gabrielle had taken mine. She moved to get up, but I rested my hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“It’s okay,” I said, grabbing my purse quickly, “Stay.”

I took her seat, which was next to Harry, avoiding his eyes. I thought he may be smiling at me, but I stared around the room as I downed my drink, feeling a sinking weight on my stomach again, which was stupid. I was just letting Gabi have my seat so she could continue to talk to Stella. I was doing something nice. There was nothing to feel guilty about.

A pea hit the table, falling almost beside my glass. Harry was looking at it, cheeks blushing, fork as a catapult in hand, Stella and Gabrielle looking at him, my confused eyes mirrored in theirs.

Like hitting play on an old home video, I was suddenly hit by the memory of sitting next to him on the State Dinner as he dared me to throw a pea on Catherine’s glass.

“Really?” I asked, laughing. He shrugged, covering his grin with his hand as he rested his chin on his palm.

I shook my head to the girls, rolling my eyes, amused.

“So,” Harry started, resting his elbows on the table, linking his hands to support his chin, casually as can be. He leaned to me, and whispered, “Truth or dare?”

Feeling my skin burn, I looked down at the table. I was afraid everyone could look at us and see everything that had happened in England by the look on my face alone. That, I felt, was the effect of those words.

“So? Marie?”

The sound of my name in his accent was still a powerful reminder things could never be what they were again.

“Truth”, I sighed, looking up at him.

“What did you wish for, earlier? You didn’t win, so there’s no danger in telling me.”

I smiled. “I guess that’s true… I wished–” I looked around, and leaned closer to whisper, “to make him proud.” He didn’t seem to ask me who.

“You don’t have to wish that.” He assured me. “You already did when he was alive. He’d be the first to tell you that.”

“He was always the first to tell me what I was doing wrong.” I explained, not unamused.

“Well,” he laughed, “then at least you have a thorough list of what you can do to make him proud, right?”

He had a point. I looked down at my green dress. It was one of the ones I bought thinking of not giving mom something to criticize. Louis would have hated it. My hat was simple, small. Louis would have hated it. My makeup was simple, conservative. My nails weren’t even done. Louis would have hated it.

I had spent the last few months doing… barely anything, including taking care of myself. In our last conversation, Louis had told me to stop wasting my time with mediocre men… Would he have understood Chris had changed? Would he have believed him? Be disappointed we were, according to almost everyone, practically engaged? Would he have tried to talk me out of it? Or, if my brother was still here, would Chris have changed at all? Would we still have gotten back together?

This was… unfair. Louis wasn’t here. It was… unfair to hold Christopher to some high standard he could never reach since my brother was dead. Right? Chris had changed. Who’s to say it was Louis dying that made us get back together? Who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened regardless? Everyone seemed to think it would. No one was even surprised we got back together. Christopher was good. He made me happy. And Louis wanted me to be happy, so he would understand.

He might have pouted, and questioned if Chris actually made me happy, or I was just too afraid to break up such a long relationship and be forced to redefine my life after myself and my wants instead of a guy, but he would have eventually understood.

I felt a weight on my heart as the question refused to be ignored. Was I afraid? What would I have answered if he was here, asking it?

“Hey.” Harry called, shaking me out of my haze. “It’s your turn.”

I smiled. “Of course… truth or dare?”

“Hm. Truth.”

“Okay…” I considered this. “I don’t really know what to ask.” I lied.

“Come on, that’s not fun. Think of something. No rules!”

I giggled. “Alright…” Making a show of looking around for inspiration, I sighed. “What were you talking about just now…? With that girl who was just here?”

He looked back. “Oh, Natasha? Hm…” He sighed. “She… She was asking about my love life, as everyone in my life seems to these days.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, don’t worry–” he smiled. “Not you. You… you can ask whatever you want.”

I gulped, trying to swallow the guilt again.

“Anyway,” Harry went on, “she wanted to know why I broke up my last relationship.”

Slowly, I nodded, schooling my features into being as calm and unaffected as possible. “Oh.” I said, stupidly. “And… uhm. Was that–? You mean, before Cressida?”

He shook his head, a mischievous grin in his lips. “No, no, no follow up questions, remember?” 

I sighed, controlling the urge to roll my eyes as a smile crept in, unannounced.

“Can you believe Cassie and Bronn are engaged?” Christopher asked, arriving back at our table, resting his hand in my shoulder.

I tried to mask my jump as just adjusting myself in my seat, and not the unimaginable guilt I was trying to ignore.

“Wow,” I said, grinning, “really? I didn’t think I’d live to see it.”

He scoffed. “I know, right? He’s punching way above his belt.” He looked at me, then at Harry, and around at the table, “Were we sitting here?”

“No, Gabi is on my seat while she’s talking to Stella.”

“Oh.” He tapped the guy sitting next to me on the shoulder and asked if he’d mind moving one seat over so he could sit with me.

Sighing, I moved my chair next to him, and smiled as I held his hand in mine.

“So, what are we talking about?” He asked, looking between me and Harry again.

We exchanged a look, but the ginger didn’t seem to be about to answer.

“The– Uhm,” I stuttered, “Adrien.”

“Oh.” Chris nodded. “You know A-hole?!”

Harry grinned, amused, as we exchanged a look. He seemed to be struggling to contain his laughter.

“Yes,” he told Christopher, serious, “A-hole and I go way back.”

I bit my lower lip to contain my own amusement at his tone.

“I was sad to hear about the engagement.” He continued, sounding actually serious now. “Despite what I may have indicated in the past, I know he was really invested in it.”

I smiled. “I know… but it was for the best.”

“Was it?” Christopher whispered, leaning closer to me.

“He’s been focusing on work.” I told Harry. “And future projects. He’ll bounce back, I’m sure of it.”

“Hi, everyone!”

Behind us, Clara and her new husband, John, had arrived to greet us. We got to our feet as they went around the table hugging each of us and thanking us for coming. John introduced Harry as ‘one of the lads’, and Clara then told him about growing up with me, Christopher, Gabrielle and Stella, so they got to their feet to come talk to us by our seats.

“Those were the days.” Stella joked, sighing.

“Hey, where’s Ricky?” Clara asked.

Stella’s smile disappeared. “Not here.”

“Oh.” Clara sighed. “I’m sorry to hear.”

“Trouble?” John asked, amused.

“No more than usual.” Stella rolled her eyes, masking her heartbreak.

“The ceremony was beautiful!” I interjected, attempting a subject change. The others agreed.

“I’m so glad! It was touch and go for a moment, there. But all’s well that ends well… And!” She grinned, excitedly and pointedly eyeing Christopher and me, “I suppose you two are next now!”

I looked at Christopher, slightly panicked, but he merely laughed, shyly, passing his arm around my waist and holding me close. I felt a painful knot on my stomach.

“Right?!” Gabrielle agreed, excitedly, “Can you imagine how beautiful she’ll look as a bride?”

Stella touched my hair, dreamily.

“I can.” Christopher agreed, confidently.

Nervously, I looked away, accidentally locking eyes with Harry. He had that thing in his eyes again, that… yearning I had seen in England. Why? Why did it make me want to throw up?

“Okay–” I laughed, nervously, “I think you guys need to calm down… It’s a little too soon for that.”

Clara laughed. “Says the girl who’s been dating the same guy for, like, a decade.”

“Okay, I’m going to go get a refill, and maybe also get my girlfriend some water, she’s looking a little flustered.” Christopher said, kissing my cheek, “And let you gals gab.”

The girls laughed as he made his way out, and I attempted to mimic as I lost feeling in my hands.

“We should go, a lot of people to talk to.” John said, standing next to Harry. Clara held his hand, and they made their way to the next table, as if they hadn’t just released a grenade in my head.

We sat down again. I took a slow breath in and another out, looking away from my friends - and Harry.

“Hm… I can’t!”

“Stella, no!” Gabrielle was telling her.

“What’s going on?”

Stella gave a very excited look, biting her lower lip.

“Okay, I–”

“Stella–” Gabrielle laughed, exasperated. “You’ll ruin the surprise! Also there’s people that could hear you!”

“Oh, as if the whole world doesn’t know already!” Stella told her, before looking back at me.

“Would you guys like to sit next to each other?” Harry offered, awkwardly, stuck between myself and the girls.

“It’s not necessary–” I tried to tell him, but Stella drowned out my voice.

“That would be fantastic, thank you!” She got to her feet, so Gabrielle had no other choice than to follow.

I took Harry’s seat, and the girls sat each by one of my sides, with Harry taking the seat right after Stella, where Gabi had been – still in earshot, particularly with how carrying Stella’s whispered voice was.

“Okay, so, you didn’t hear it from me!” She started.

“Literally, who else would she have heard it from?” Gabrielle interrupted, to which Stella merely whispered a rushed ‘shush!’.

“So… I have it on good authority…” Stella went on, almost bursting from excitement, practically jumping in her seat, “that someone may or may not have, uhm… purchased something very sparkly… for… you!”

She smiled at me with all her teeth, all joy and anticipation. I caught Harry’s glance, but he looked down, quickly. I looked at Gabrielle, who smiled.

“I don’t get it.” I said; Stella sighed, impatient.

“Christopher got a ring!” She whispered, “For you!”

“A ring?”

“An engagement ring, silly!” She giggled. “It’s a family ring, apparently! Been with them for generations! Huge and valuable! Very appropriate!”

“…Oh.” I said, struggling with my thoughts.

“Come on, I know it’s not something from the royal vault, but it’s exciting!”

“Stella, that’s not– I don’t–” I sighed, feeling overwhelmingly warm, “Why–? When–? How did you–? Uhm. God.”

“Have a drink.” Gabrielle said, handing me my glass.

“How do you know this?!” I asked her.

She shrugged. “It’s a… talking point.”

“What does that mean?!”

She sighed. “You know my mother knows everyone! She heard it from someone that Chris’ mother had the ring professionally cleaned and resized. It hasn’t been worn in years.”

“Okay, well, that doesn’t mean–”

She interrupted. “Then Chris got in touch to ask me what was your ring size!”

“What?!” I asked, gasping slightly.

“I know, right?!” She smiled again, giddy. “He told me it was for a Christmas gift, but he can’t trick me–”

“Christmas?! No–” I interrupted. “He gave me earrings–”

“Well, yes, apparently he asked your father for your hand last year and he wanted to propose on Christmas, but your father asked him to wait at least one year after… you know, the whole funeral thing. So it didn’t appear too rushed after you became Crown Princess.”

I wanted to say something, truly, I did. But I was at a complete loss for words. I felt my heart beating faster, louder and, was it hotter suddenly? I couldn’t tell.

“So my father knows.” I repeated. “He’s known since last year.”

“I know, I was so upset when I heard. A Christmas proposal would have been so magical!” There was a few seconds of silence. “Maggie?”

I gasped, looking up at her. “Yes? Yeah, I know. Christmas is great.”

“Are you okay?” Gabrielle asked, passing an arm around my shoulders. “Are you overwhelmed?!”

“Aw, babe.” Stella hugged me, too, over Gabi’s half-hug. “It’s exciting, isn’t it?! Are you speechless?! I know we’ve been waiting for so many years for this!”

“Yes, it’s…” I said, just because I felt it was my turn to say something. “It’s finally happening.”

“I know, we thought it may not ever happen! But I’m so happy you guys fixed all the issues there last year!”

I looked at her, so sincerely happy for me, but my eyes quickly found the guy next to her against my will.

Harry looked.. pensive. Serious. Lost in thought. His lips were pressed together in a thin, pale line. I watched as he sighed, gulped, looked around the room, mindlessly, and finally stood up.

“I should be going.” He said, to the table. “It was lovely meeting all of you.”

“Already?!” I asked, “They haven’t cut the cake yet.”

He smiled, looking down at my glass instead of at me. “I know, but it’s okay. I’m kind of tired.”

“Well, it was lovely meeting you.” Stella said, smiling, letting me go from the hug. “Send Cressida my best.”

He smiled at her, a little empty. Or was I just being biased?

“Will do. Have a good night, everyone.”

He left rather quickly, without looking my way again.

“So?” Stella smiled at me again. “Should we talk dresses?!”

Gabrielle smiled, too. “Oh, my God, you have to wear a big train! It’s so regal!”

“So, he asked my father last year.” I confirmed. Stella nodded. “In December?”

“Well, no, he thought he would ask on Christmas, so he had to have enough time to get the ring ready… I think he asked your father in November.”

“November?”

“Early November.” Stella answered. “Your father asked for a couple of weeks to think and talk it over with his advisors–”

“Advisors?”

“Well, don’t ask me, you’re the expert.” She chuckled, shrugging. “Apparently he needed to talk to his staff about it, and I assume your mother, too. Then in mid or late November he gave his blessing, but asked Christopher to wait.”

I nodded, trying my best to breathe normally, but feeling my throat extremely dry.

“So, less than two months after my brother died.”

Stella and Gabrielle exchanged a look. “Well,” Stella said, “Which is why it’s good then, right? That your father asked him to wait.”

“It feels… fast.” I said. “We were broken up for most of last year. We barely talked about getting back together. One day I was being told to move on, then Louis died, then he was just… there again.”

“Oh, honey.” Stella held my hand, affectionate. “I know… Love is weird. Sometimes you gotta lose something to realize how much it matters to you.”

“Oh, oh, sh!” Gabrielle whispered, desperately, looking behind us. Two seconds later, Chris arrived back at our table with our glasses.

“There you go, baby.” He laid my water in front of me, and I downed it all almost immediately. “Shall we dance?” He asked, smiling charmingly, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

It was impossible not to smile in response. So I got up, and joined him on the dance floor.

With his arms around me, the song lulled us as we danced. I closed my eyes, letting him guide me, letting the music take over, trying to remind myself of all the times I prayed to be his wife one day. All the times I tried to talk to him about our future, only to have him return something uncertain. All the times I had imagined myself in a white dress, walking towards his green eyes and brown hair in a big cathedral.

He was the love of my life. So why did I feel a knot on my stomach at the thought of what was supposed to be our iminent happy-ever-after?

— ---- —

On our rented car, Christopher went straight to the airport after the reception. He had a business trip to Toronto, so he was flying out of London that very night. Stella and I had decided to get a hotel room nearby and fly out the following morning. After Chris left, though, there was very little of me that wanted to follow the plan. So I told her to stay, enjoy herself, and that I wasn’t feeling well, so I would take the last train back home to Savoy.

She would have likely been more worried if I didn’t have my protection detail with me, but since I was well cared for, she hugged my tightly – as did Gabrielle – and told me to call her when I got home.

So after grabbing my things from the hotel, and changing into more comfortable clothes, security drove me to the train station. It was already night when they returned the car to the rental company and we bought the tickets. Waited the appropriate time, and then got into our seats in first class.

The train departed from Northern England at the right time, under the moonlight. The lights dimmed. Most passangers fell into an easy sleep. I sat in the isle seat, watching the other people around me peacefully browse their phones, or read their e-books, completely unaware of the turmoil inside of me.

In London, the train made it’s usual stop for more passangers heading to Savoy. I looked to the window, and to the seat to my other side, realizing my protection officers were asleep. Understandable. It was a long journey.

I grabbed my bag and headed to the bathroom, which was occupied. Waiting at the door, I realized the exit to the station was just to the other side, two steps ahead. I pulled my hoodie down, trying to stay as anonymous as possible, but it was unnecessary. Most of the train was asleep.

“Ma’am?” A girl called. “Are you on the line for the loo?”

I shook my head, and she went right in as the previous occupant left.

I looked back, in the direction of my seat. The two men accompanying me were still asleep, unaware I had gotten to my feet, bag in hand, coat around my shoulders. I could just… step off the train and they wouldn’t even know.

So I did.

I walked off, first steadily, but slightly shaky. Then, as I left the platform, I put adjusted the bag strap to my shoulder, found my phone in my pocket, and looked back. No one chasing after me. No one screaming. No alarms going off.

I felt breathless, but incapable of stopping my feet from moving. I had never been to this station, but it was night. It was dark. I followed the signs and arrived at a sidewalk. The line for taxis was easy to spot. I still have some pounds in my walled we’d exchanged in the airport.

While I waited, I googled the adress I was after. What would be the usual entrance for visitors? What would they ask of me? I couldn’t just knock on the door. Surely it would be harder.

When I jump into the taxi, I offer him the adress that seems closer to what I want, without being too obvious. I don’t some random driver to go tweeting. He confirmed the numbers I read off google maps and we were on our way.

I considered for a minute or two, but eventually the anxiety wins, so I opened a text message. Scrolling down to my old conversations, I found the one I was looking for feeling a tug to my stomach.

‘Hey,’ I type, feeling extremely innapropriate, ‘are you home?’

It feels… wrong. Too casual. Maybe he changed his number. If sure had been long enough that it would be plausible. The previous message to this one was still the ones he’d sent after Louis died, the ones I never answered, like a glowing, neon sign reminding me of my ghosting transgretion.

‘I am, hi. Are you ok? What do you need?’

I smiled, feeling some kind of piece fall into place in my mind. He was so… kind. Like coming to check on me when he didn’t have to. Like holding my hand when I’d acted so terribly last time we’d seen each other. Like not even questioning my reaching out. Just… concern for my wellbeing. I wanted to cry. Was that normal?

‘I’m nearby. Is it ok if I drop by?’, I replied, feeling, again, anxiously innapropriate. I started typing another message: ‘Totally understand if youre busy! Nbd’, but before I could press send, he’d replied: ‘Sure, where are you arriving?’.

I told him the adress I had given the taxi driver, and he instructed me to walk ‘confidently through the black gates in white walls down the street.’ He’d meet me there, he said. I felt incredibly more at peace for the rest of the drive.

I paid the driver, refused the change, and pulled the hoodie off to walk head-held-high through the imponent gates guarded by police officers. They didn’t stop me, so I kept walking.

I looked at nothing as I walked. I still felt a mixture of sick and wild. I still half expected my protections officers to show up, running and screaming after me, but no one did.

As soon as I spotted the tall figure walking in my direction down the street, I turned off my phone, smoothed my hair, and tried to stop my hands from shaking, putting in them in the pockets of my large overcoat.

His hair was wet. He was wearing a long sleeved Henley. There was a man walking slower behind him that could only have been his security.

We slowed down our pace almost at the same time when we reached one another.

“Hi.” I smiled, tentatively.

“Hi.” Harry smiled back.

There was a couple of seconds of silence.

“I missed my train.” I told him, not entirely lying.

“Oh.” He nodded, understanding. “That sucks. Do you need a place to stay?”

I nodded. “Yes. Is that okay?”

“Of course!” He smiled a little more, now looking behind me. “Where’s your security?”

“Oh.” I looked back at the street I had just walked. “It’s just… me, actually.”

“Oh. Okay.” He seemed unsure, but didn’t question. “Are you– Are you okay?”

I allowed myself to chuckle at the question. I looked up, at the sky, and around, at the big houses. When I looked back at him, at the blue eyes that inexplicably felt like coming home, there was no desire or need in me to lie.

“I don’t know.” I confessed.

Harry nodded, slowly. “Alright.”

I bit my lower lip, trying to scratch my palms in my pockets. “Is it?”

His lips curved up slightly. “Yes. It is.” He took two steps towards me, and grabbed the bag from my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH -- i think this is seriously my favorite part of the story so far. What do you think should happen now that Marie basically ran away to be with Harry?? What should they talk about? Or, ya know, do? LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS AND THANK SO SO SO MUCH FOR READING!!!!]

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[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 11. Grief

‘Still, I was bent and my laughter, as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.' Mary Oliver

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I allowed myself a loud sigh now that I could. “Lately I want to talk about nothing. But what are you referring to?”

I heard Cadie’s steps as she approached and leaned against the door to the the bathroom in my room. “Harry.”

I froze, bobby pin in the air as I struggled with a few loose strands. I avoided my own eyes in the mirror.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

I finished adjusting my second black fascinator in less than twenty-four hours in silence. Checking my makeup one last time, I made my way out, avoiding her as I did, trying to keep busy. 

“We essentially met last weekend, texted a bit-”

“Planned a date.” She offered.

“And then we stopped.”

“And now he’s here.” She continued, ignoring the finality in my tone. “And so is Christopher.”

“So is my brother’s body.” I shrugged, looking at her, dramatically. “So it’s not exactly romantic.”

I grabbed my purse, my shoes, and sighed. “Sorry. I…”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.”

“Still.” I looked at her. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. It’s just… a lot. Too much, actually.”

She nodded, slowly. “Still. I know it happened so fast you probably didn’t even really tell anyone that something was happening with him. And you probably won’t feel like doing that now, so… if you need to talk about it. I’m here.”

I smiled. “I know… I just, I don’t know… It’s not the time.”

“You’re human. You’re allowed to feel more than one emotion at once. It’s okay to feel grief and also want to talk about a guy you like.”

I smiled. “...I did forget how cute he was.”

“Yes. Even if we don’t… in the future, even if we no longer work together, I’ll always be here, you know? Jobs end, but NDA’s are forever.”

“Are you- do you want to leave?”

I watched her eyes grow worried. “No! I mean, I understand that things have… changed-”

“Cadie.” I took in a long breath. “If you want to leave, I’ll understand.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know this…” I gulped. “This next job I’ll have to do… it’s not exactly what you signed up for, so I understand if you don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Margu-Ma’am,” she approached, quickly, “I don’t want to leave, but I do understand that I… may not fit your new… job.”

“Why would you say that? You’re great at your job.”

She sighed, biting a lip. “Well,”

“Tell me.” I asked, worried.

“I was told that since you’re the Crown Princess now, even if you’re still not addressed as such, my qualifications no longer apply to the kind of help you’ll need.”

“Says who?!” She said nothing, which in its own way said everything. “Why-I don’t understand!”

“Montennon has been training Auguste for nearly a decade so he could work with your brother when he took on a more active role as Crown Prince. I’m not even Savoyen.”

“Thats-That’s so-!” I stuttered, angrily, opening the doors and leaving my room with my shoes in hand. “That’s unbelievable! What do they expect, for me to fire you?!”

“I technically work for the Crown. So you wouldn’t have to, they will.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I turned to her. “You’re not going anywhere. Unless you want to, as I said, and I’ll understand, but unless you quit, you’re not going anywhere!”

I marched to the door, feeling my heart beating painfully as I pondered on how it was possible for my father to avoid any real conversation with me about my future for a whole week and still try to make decisions about it without consulting me.

Downstairs, I entered the reception room where my extended family on both sides and royals from all over the world were congregated, talking. My eyes quickly found, next to a fireplace, tea cups in hand, my cousin Klaus of Luxembourg and his sisters, Josephine and Catarina. Harry had been talking to them before, but was nowhere to be found now. Josephine’s fiance was sitting in a two-seat sofa nearby talking to my father’s first cousin once removed, the Earl of Tròil, whose daughter, Lady Lucy of Tròil was standing by the doors with her first cousin Lord Marcel Freyee. They were respectively sixteen and fifteen years old, and were talking with my first cousins, Princess Maryanne and Prince James, eighteen and sixteen, whose father was Uncle Albert.

I joined them for something to do. 

“Is it almost time?” James asked me, and I nodded.

“The coffin must be halfway there by now.” I told them.

Lucy sighed, touching her headpiece. “I thought my first time wearing a fascinator would have been… more enjoyable.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Maryanne smiled. “You turned sixteen. They become less fun as you go along.”

“Well, you look lovely.” I told Lucy, who smiled sadly.

“You do, too, Maggie. You look… queenly.”

I stared at the floor, a rehearsed polite smile on my lips.

“That reminds me, will you have to quit your job now?” Marcel asked.

“Don’t!” James said, “You and Heloise are the only ones in this family with actual, badass careers.”

“She won’t have a choice, you dick.” Marcel returned. 

James shrugged. “If someone told me to quit my job just for being born in this family, which wasn’t even my choice, I’d just refuse to.”

“Don’t worry,” his sister, Maryanne condescended, sarcastically, “it’s not like you’re high in the succession line, they won’t need your honorable sacrifice.”

The others laughed as James rolled his eyes, but I felt a weight on my stomach.

The room suddenly quieted when Lourdes’ shrieking voice rose. 

“Maman! What is wrong with you?! Just say something!”

After yelling, she seemed to realize she had our attention, and quickly stepped out of the room, which filled with murmurs when she did.

“What happened?!” Maryanne asked no one in particular.

“I should go check on her.” I told them, following Lourdes. 

I marched through the halls searching for any sign of Lourdes when, finally, a guard told me she saw her running up the stairs. I sighed, removed my heels for more speed, and ran up.

I turned right, followed along, and climbed the narrower staircase to the West hall at the North Wing; in the last few steps, I started to overhear my sister’s voice, and she wasn’t alone.

“She seems… drunk. All the time, but I know she hasn’t been drinking, she just doesn’t care. Louis died and now she doesn’t care about anything.” My sister said, voice weak, trembly. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘people grieve differently’?”

I stopped mid-step, two steps away from the end of the stairs, my heart in my throat. Harry.

“You know, I was younger than you when my mother died. I felt… well, I wanted to cry all day, every day. My brother got impatient, he was a teenager…” I could hear the eyeroll in his voice, “my father got overly protective. My uncle was aggressive. It’s like… no one was acting like themselves. And worst of all, for me, no one was acting like I wanted them to. But they were acting like they had to in order to process the pain and loss.” He paused again, longer this time. “Some people, in grief, cry and can’t stop thinking of it, some need to avoid it at all costs or they might crumble, some have to think of ways to honor the person they lost as a way of making the loss… worth it, in a way.”

I quietly walked up to the last step, straining my ears to hear them.

He went on, as Lourdes didn’t answer, “Ever since humans have been alive, they have died. And ever since humans have died, they’ve hurt, and ever since then people have judged each other by how they hurt. They’re not suffering like me, so they must not be suffering. See, you chose to run out here, the people at the gates chose to bring flowers and watch a building over someone they didn’t know, your mother seems to have chosen to barricade in her room… but, at the end of the day, pain is pain. People just express it in different ways.”

There was another long pause; I carefully leaned in to observe them. Lourdes was sitting in the wide, marbled aperture at the window. Harry sat next to her, both watching the wall in front.

“Does it… does it ever get better?” She asked, not looking quite at him.

Harry considered her question for a while, seeming to struggle to give her an answer that wouldn’t quite be a lie. “You get better at remembering only the good parts.”

There was another pause, and I thought it was as good a time as any to interrupt. I stepped into the hallway looking at the opposite way, to pretend I didn’t know they were there. 

Lourdes quickly looked back to her phone when she saw me, drying her tears. Harry looked- well, I didn’t know, as I avoided his eyes by looking at the floor. When I reached them, he stood up, politely, and bowed his head unnecessarily, breaking my heart more than I thought was possible again.

“Hi.” I said, at him, but looking at my sister.

“Hello.” He replied. “I… We- I didn’t get a chance to say earlier… But, Louis- God, Marie, I was so sorry when I heard-”

“Of course, yes… I know, and, I’m sorry.”

“You? Why?”

“I… I don’t know.” I confessed. “I just… we were talking when he-- well, and I couldn’t tell you, and then there was so much happening at once I just turned off my phone and didn’t reply--to anyone! Not just you--”

“Of course, I understand, absolutely!” He nodded.

There was a long, silent pause while we took turns looking at each other and looking away. I was suddenly very aware I still had my shoes on my hands, but decided that putting them on now would only draw his attention to them.

“I--”

“You--”

Attempting to talk at the same time, we let out a short, embarrassed, nasalised chuckle.

“Please, you go--”

“You were say--?”

As it happened again, mortified, I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Lourdes interrupted, making me jump slightly.

“Who? Oh,” I was so nervous I forgot to roll my eyes, “Chris is downstairs.”

There was a brief, awkward silence where it seemed we didn’t know how to move on. I tried looking at Harry this time, but he wasn’t looking at me. 

“Harry said people grieve differently.”

I exchanged a look with him, who seemed to blush at his own words.

“That’s very true.”

“Is that why you’ve done nothing but worry about the funeral all week?”

I looked at my sister, pretty as a porcelain doll except for the red eyes.

“I suppose.” I confessed. “I guess I… You know, there’s just too much happening at the same time… With my job, and Louis, and…” I stole a look at Harry, without meaning to, “everything else, it’s just a lot. So I… I’ve been trying to focus on one day at a time. I can handle one day at a time. No reason to worry about my job today, we have to focus on the funeral. And yesterday? We had to focus on the vigil. And the day before, I had to confirm the flowers were in order. I can’t deal with my future right now, but today? I can handle today.”

“Is that why you’ve been scratching your hands so much they’re bleeding?”

Embarrassed, I gulped, looking past her through the windows, feeling the scratches in my palms stinging with renewed energy.

“I…” I sighed, approaching to sit next to her in the large window still. “I guess… Well, I read once that the brain can only focus on one source of pain at a time, so when I feel like… like crying, I scratch my palms just a little bit to stop myself from crying.”

I dared a look at her, and she had her brows wrinkled looking at me.

“That’s… not okay, Maggie.”

I smiled, sadly. “I…”

“I thought you said it was okay to cry.” She interrupted. “After Aunt Marilou told me to be strong and not cry today, you told me not to listen to her, you said crying is okay--”

“It is.” Harry volunteered. We looked at him, but he was looking at me.

“It is.” I agreed. “But it’s… it’s different.”

“How?”

“It…” I sighed, wishing Harry would just… leave. “It just is.”

“Because you’re older?”

“I--”

“Or because you’re the heir now?!”

I bit my lower lip, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

The one thing I did not want to remind him of, the one thing I had hoped he might not have quite understood despite all the bowing, and the lack of communication between us. Now, there it was. The truth I had been trying not to face.

“I’m not the Crown Princess yet.” I said, avoiding both their eyes.

“Yes, you are.” She rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re not officially being addressed as such until the mourning period is over, doesn’t change the fact you’re the first in line to the throne. And why should that matter, anyway?”

“Because…” I sighed. “Because when people look at us, they can see a reason to be sad, or a reminder that there will be hope again.”

I raised my head, thrusting my shoulders back.

“So, yes, Lourdes, I can’t cry because I want them to know that it’ll be okay.”

There was a long, silent pause. I dared a look at Harry, but he was now staring into nothing, avoiding my eyes in the general direction of the wall, looking sadder than I had ever seen him. 

A walking contradiction, I wanted to hug him. I wanted, at the same time, both for him to leave and forget this entire conversation, especially the part about my hands, and I wanted to hold him close, to be held by him, and to forget there was anything else happening in my life at all. Both options were so equally distant at that time I felt like crying again.

“Why is that your job?” Lourdes asked, whispery.

I couldn’t say the words, even if I knew them. Not without crying. Not with my heart beating painfully in my throat. Not with Harry standing right there.

“Because she’ll be Queen one day.” He said, resolutely.

There was something particularly heartbreaking about hearing it from him, and because the words were the harshest truth I couldn’t hide from, I slowly forced myself to look at him. There was something in his eyes; something so painful and loving I wanted to avoid, and yet, couldn’t look away from.

He gulped, “and people need strength from their Queen.”

“That’s not fair.”

I looked at her. “Nothing about this is fair.”

I didn’t count how long we sat in silence before Harry cleared his throat.

“I should go back downstairs.” He said, and I got to my feet.

“Of course.”

“If…” he started, blushing again, “I know this is terribly difficult, and you may prefer your privacy, which I understand, but… I do know what it’s like… so, if I can be of any service, at all, to you both,” he looked at Lourdes, kindly, “please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

I wanted to hug him again, to tell him how much it meant that he had dedicated time to her, that he’d tried to reach out to this child because he could never forget what it was like to be her. Instead I linked my hands together, painfully tightly. 

Lourdes looked at him, then looked back at her phone, timidly. I mouthed a ‘thank you’ I hoped would convey a lot more emotions than I could name. He gave me a sad smile and bowed again, a final nail to my coffin, before stepping away.

Just as I sat down, he returned.

“Incidentally, how do I go back downstairs?” He asked, blushing, making me smile.

I got to my feet and walked him the few steps to the small corridor leading into the staircase I had just come from.

“Down these stairs, then left ‘till the end of the hall, down the main staircase and then left again.”

He nodded, “Left, end of the hall, down and left again.”

“You got it.”

We exchanged an awkward, overly polite smile. He gave my sister a quick look to where she was still sitting at the window, just out of earshot if we spoke low enough.

It occured to me this was the first time I was alone with him since London. After formally greeting him the night before in front of my family and the world’s cameras, I had gone on to avoid him altogether after the vigil, and ever since.  

“I was wondering…” He started, whispery, looking at the ground, his cheeks slightly redder than usual.

Then, he smiled; not the awkwardly polite smile we’d both been using, but his own, flirty, slightly naughty grin. It was so familiar it caught me completely off guard. He looked at me again.

“Is walking shoeless around palaces a hobby?”

I looked down at my shoeless feet, wrapped only in my black tights, awarding him a sincere smile, my first in a whole week. “Only with you.”

His smile grew a little, and he bit his lower lip. “Hey, I was wondering… Could we… talk?”

I felt my smile disappear, “Later, of course, I don’t want to… to… well, to be a bother, but I… I was just wondering, you know?” he gulped, “If we… if we could… well, talk.”

“I…” I started, completely unaware of where I should take that sentence, “I am… it’s not a good– I’m… I have my hands sort of full–”

“Of course, yes,” he agreed, quickly, “I just mean, later, after the funeral, when you have some… time.”

I nodded, wanting to say yes more than anything, but terrified of what I may say if we did talk. I decided to compromise with,

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

Harry smiled a sincere, sad smile. “Politely diplomatic, as always.”

With one last bow, he turned to the stairs, and left. I wanted to sit on the floor and cry for three days, but I didn’t have that kind of time, so instead I went back to my sister, and sat at the window next to her, putting on my damn shoes.

“Does Chris know you’re flirting with someone else in your spare time?”

I sighed, wondering if she had returned to her spiteful new self. “He broke up with me, why would he care?”

“So you are flirting with him.”

“No, Lourdes, I am not. I am just… reminding you Chris isn’t my boyfriend.”

She gave me a condescending look. “Really? Is that why he’s been here every day this week?”

“He’s being a friend.”

“Not what people are saying.”

She clicked a few times on the screen of her phone before showing me an article on Vanity Fair: ‘Savoy’s New Crow Princess back with childhood sweetheart amongst preparations for brother’s funeral’. Another two clicks and she returned the page to a google search, clicking on the next article, from a Savoyen gossip magazine, which read, ‘Christopher Massé has been Crow Princess Margueritte’s rock during grief, friends say’. Another article read, ‘Christopher Massé has been a frequent visitor to Callois Palace since the passing of crown prince’, and included a couple dozen pictures of Chris arriving at the gates in his own car.

“I can’t believe they really care about that at a time like this.”

“There’s a lot of articles about… us. They’re really invested in who you might marry now that you’ll be, you know.”

Queen. I did know.

“Also about Faye not having been here until yesterday, which I think it’s too much.” She added. “And the Luxembourg’s arriving late. And everything else, really... So, you’re not back together?”

“N--no”, I stuttered, “I think. I don’t know.”

“Does he?”

I sighed, grabbing the phone from her and half-mindedly scrolling through a Buzzfeed article. “He broke up with me for a reason, Lou.”

“He’s been really helpful.”

I smiled, recognizing the tone of hope in her voice, the melancholic nostalgy for us to return to happier days.

“I know. He’s a good friend, he’s always been.”

She stared at the painting across from us. “I like him.”

“Everyone does”, I sighed.

“Do you?”

I smiled. “I spent ten years loving him. That’s not something you forget easily.”

She grinned. “That’s not a no.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you like Harry?”

I sighed, looking at the end of the hallway where he’d just disappeared. I couldn’t give the answer I wanted, so I gave the answer I should.

“...it doesn’t matter. You heard him, I’ll– Well, I’ll be Queen”, I said, trying to scratch my hands through the gloves, the word felt foreign and scary in my throat, “…he doesn’t want that.”

“Then forget about him. Chris is better looking anyway. Even if Harry is taller…”

I rolled my eyes, grinning. In her phone, something started playing. I had accidentally hit play on a video. It showed the people at the palace gates, singing a song. 

“I wish there was something we could do. To let them know we appreciate them.”

The song wasn’t fully understandable because of the video quality, but people’s faces were. Men and women, old and young, children, they were… so clearly sad. It had felt disingenuous before, because surely they didn’t know my brother like we did, but now… my heart just hurt knowing, even if in different ways, maybe in different levels, we were all suffering together.

From my side, I heard more than saw Lourdes trying to stifle a sob, and when I looked at her, she was crying again.

“Hey,” I soothed, scooching over to her, “it’s okay…”

I regretted the words almost immediately. Of course it wasn’t okay, whatever it was. Nothing was okay.

She tried to look away, but it was obvious she was crying. Her face hadn’t really been its normal color all week, it was just in a constant state of red.

“Lourdes?” I tried, fearing reaching over to caress her back. I’d been slightly afraid to touch her all week, scared she might explode at me again.

“I didn’t–”, she tried, stuttering, “I didn’t write it.”

“What?”

She closed her eyes forcefully, “I couldn’t write the letter…”

I reached over with one hand, soothing her back, “The letter for Louis? For the funeral?”

She nodded, hiccuping. “I tr–tried, but I just… I kept crying, and… and it always came out so angry! Not– not at him!” She looked at me, despair on her eyes, “At… everything, and everyone, and I just… I didn’t want– I didn’t think–”

She started sobbing again, and I threw caution to the wind, and my purse and her phone to the side, and pulled her closer in a hug. She let herself lay on my chest as I pulled her hair back, caressing it slowly.

“I didn’t want it– to be about that, it shouldn’t, he– he wasn’t angry, never, but I–”

“Lourdes, it’s okay,” I tried to tell her confidently, but my voice was just as shaky as hers, “I promise, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, it’s not–now I have nothing to read…”

“It’s okay, hey, that doesn’t matter!”

“Yes, it does,” she sat up, “they’ll call my name and I have nothing, I was– I was going to try and improvise, but that’s– that’s so disrespectful, I– I couldn’t even prepare somet–”

“Hey!” I held her face in my hands, so she’d look at me, “Hey, Louis is all that matters, okay? Louis! And you know him, he’d never care about what you do in public! He cares about you, and he knows, whatever it is you want to say to him, he’ll know!”

I caught her falling tears with my gloved hands, trying to give her a steady smile.

“Whether you do it in public, or at the burial, or alone in your room later, he’ll know, and that’s the only thing that matters.”

She nodded, hiccuping again, calmer this time.

“But my name is already in the program.”

“Don’t worry about the program. It only says you’ll do a reading, not what you’ll be reading. I’ll get you a poem. Can you read a poem?”

She took her time drying her tears, and taking a deep breath, before looking at me again.

“I think so.”

“Well, there you go, dollface.” I fixed her hair behind her ear. She smiled a little at the old nickname, and the sight made my heart feel a little less broken. “There’s nothing we can’t fix, okay?”

She stared at her hands in her lap, “Even mom?”

I sighed, caressing her back again. I looked back, through the window at the blue skies beyond the palace, feeling my heart break again. I pulled her in for another hug, and she let me.

We both knew that wasn’t a promise I could make.

--- ---- ---

Outfit

[A/N: Did you notice the moment when lourdes referred to chris as her boyfriend in front of H and MM didn’t correct her and H heard it? Yeah. He definitely thinks they’re back together. SORRY. THANK YOU FOR READING THOUGH IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!!!! LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS?????]

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[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 29 - Preview

“…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.”

---

Chapter 29: posting February 9th!

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