A note about Prince Harry – he was a terrible driver. He sped way too fast down the city streets of London. We headed northeast, following the curve of the Thames River where, of course, the traffic was thick. He weaved his way through lanes, just barely passing through red lights. The security meant to follow us has a hard time and eventually fell far behind. We left the Thames and continued on past the Tower of London. He stopped at a dead end and parallel parked the small vehicle next to an alley.

“Allow me,” he said, jumping out of the driver’s seat, walking around the front of the convertible with his umbrella, and opened my own door. The rain was still pelting down, so I popped open my own umbrella.

“I feel like I’m supposed to do that for you,” I said as he closed the door of the car behind me. With a beep of the keys, the doors locked.

He only chuckled at my statement and pointed down the alley. “Know what’s down there?”

At the end of the alley was an opening to another street. On the left was a short brown brick wall while the other side had a taller building where the first level was white cement and the others matched the brown brick. He was right – I’d never been here before. I had probably passed it many times, but never once have I walked down this alley.

I shook my head. “No idea.”

“Come on.” He began walking down the alley.

I glanced back at the street, wondering where the security team went. Did they know where we were? What if something were to happen to the prince? I was nowhere near prepared for what to do if a hoard of crazy people mobbed us.

But the streets and alleyway were empty. No one but us, it seemed, was here.

I followed Prince Harry into the alley, my shoes getting soaked from the wet pavement. Pots of plants lined the walkway, but they were empty from the winter. Soon, something would bloom here.

In the middle of the alley, there was a door on the cement and brick building that Prince Harry opened with a key. A sign hung on the door that said, “Wilton’s: Push to enter.” With a hard shove on the door, Prince Harry walked inside and held it open to me. He flicked on all the lights one by one. The floors and walls were of stone, and a beam overhead had the words, “To Great Apollo, God of Early Morn” written across it.

“Why do you have a key to this place?”

I turned and saw him putting the key into his trouser pocket. “Wilton’s went bankrupt a couple years ago. I used to come here a lot as a kid to watch some theatre productions or small music shows. I don’t know… When I heard it was shutting down, I just didn’t want a piece of my childhood ripped down and turned into something else. So I bought it. It still holds a couple shows a month, but I just like to come here sometimes to get away from everything. Come on.”

Straight ahead of us were stairs, but he didn’t take me up there. Instead, he turned left at the steps where a long stone hallway was. Pictures hung on the walls, which seemed to be drawn by children. Upon further inspection, I saw a tiny name scribbled at the bottom right corner. Tony Wright. The next was Helen Peck. Names I didn’t recognize, but for some reason was expecting to be done by Prince Harry.

Midway down the hallway, the prince stopped at two old wooden doors and drew them open. It was the theatre hall. Chairs were in rows, but they weren’t attached to the floors like they would normally be. They were the type of chairs one would see at their Nan’s – metal legs, worn cushions, no armrests. The paint on the walls was so faded and chipped, one could never be sure what the original shade was. Twisted columns lined the room, which held up a balcony. The yellow lights around the room cast a golden glow around the room, up into the curved ceiling. I remembered the words on the beam at the entrance and did indeed feel as though I were looking at a hazy sunrise.

We stepped further into the room and I realized the seats closer to the stage were circled around small tables instead of rows like all the rest. The stage had two tiers – one about a meter tall and the other, further back against the wall, another meter in height. The stage was bare, except for a piano, acoustic guitar, and microphone. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, but for some reason, I didn’t mind. It only added to the aesthetic.

“So what do you do when you come here?” I asked, still trying to see everything. I was spinning in circles, unable to get the full view.

Prince Harry was leaning against the stage, one leg crossed over the other and both his arms folded across his chest. I noticed he was looking intently at me, smiling. I stopped spinning, thinking I looked foolish.

Prince Harry shrugged. “Nothing much, really. Just read or write sometimes. Not many people know, but I write songs. Nothing amazing; just something out of boredom.”

“Really?” I grinned and nodded towards the stage. “Play something.”

His cheeks flushed deeply. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Come on!” I leaned against one of the tables. “You can’t just tell me you write songs and then not play one.”

He squinted his eyes at me, but the smile said I had won him over. Something told me that not many people asked him to play his music, but he was dying to show it off.

“One,” he said adamantly. He jumped onto the stage, ignoring the stairs on either side. “I really only have one finished, and I wrote it a few years ago, so it’s going to sound rough. Don’t get your hopes up.” He steps behind the piano and sits on the bench. He plays a little tune, fiddling with the keys. “Watch your pants – this drives all the ladies crazy.”

I laughed obnoxiously loudly and took a seat at the nearby table. Prince Harry cleared his throat and then began playing a repetitious melody on the keys. He played the three-note melody several times, and I wondered if he’s going to sing at all. But when he did… My skin prickled. His voice, that husky, throaty voice, caught the breath in my chest.

“Now you are standing there, right in front of me,” he began, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “I hold on, it’s getting harder to breathe. All of a sudden, these lights are blinding me. I never noticed how bright they would be.” He drew out the last word, letting it drop three notes. The piano stopped for a brief moment, and the notes rang out in the theatre. I hoped he didn’t decide to stop, being too embarrassed, but with a cheeky smile, he continued on the piano. “I saw in the corner, there is a photograph. No doubt in my mind it’s a picture of you. It lies there alone, in its bed of broken glass. This bed was never made for two.” The last word dropped three notes, just like earlier. The break on the piano didn’t last as long, and he played without even looking at the keys. Instead, he was looking at me with that stupid cheeky grin. “I’ll keep my eyes… wide… open… I’ll keep my arms… wide… open.” The notes on the piano sped up, and I knew he was reaching the chorus of the song. I realized I’m involuntarily smiling. “Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… don’t let me go… ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone.” The piano slowed again as he headed into the second verse, “I promised one day, that I’d bring you back a star. I caught one and it burned a hole in my hand, oh.” His voice rose, almost yelling but keeping control, “Seems like these days, I watch you from afar… just trying to make you understand. I’ll keep my eyes… wide… open, yeah.” He sped the keys up once more, and sang the same chorus again, “Don’t let me… don’t let me… don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… Don’t let me go…” Instead of completing the chorus, his fingers danced across the keys, playing one of the most beautiful melodies I’d ever heard. I raised a hand to my mouth, trying to control my smile. He was magnificent. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes were closed, feeling the music beneath his fingers. After a few moments, his fingers pressed lightly on the keys once more, and his voice rang out in a falsetto that I doubted any mere mortal could sound as good at, “Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go.” His voice rose again, building in sound now, “’Cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me... Don’t let me… Don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… Don’t let me go… ‘Cause of sleepin’ alone.” The original three-tone melody played out a couple more bars, before slowing and eventually fading away.

He kept his eyes closed and his head tipped down and only looked up when I clapped loudly several times.

“Harry!” I exclaimed then realized my error. “Your Royal Highness, that was amazing. Have you shown anyone that?”

His face went a deep shade of red. He ran a hand nervously through his long, wavy hair. “Oh please. No one wants to hear that.”

I shook my head furiously. “No, seriously. It was beautiful. Whoever you wrote that for… well, I hope they listened.”

Prince Harry chuckled. “Young love, nothing more.”

“I used to wish I could be a singer. I would put on these shows as a kid, truly believing I was Celine Dion or something. Of course, I couldn’t sing if my life truly depended on it, but it was dream nonetheless. I guess people always dream of things they can never have, huh?” I left out the part where my mother had always asked me to sing to her whenever she was drugged up so she could fall asleep to me singing to her. She would pass out with a smile on her face, but now I can’t help wishing that it were the other way around. After all, isn’t the mother supposed to sing her daughter to sleep?

“Well, come on up!” Harry stood from the piano bench and extended his arm, showing off the stage. “Live your dream, Miss Pearson.”

“No, really,” I said. I stayed planted in my chair. “I can’t sing. I promise you. I couldn’t even make it into my school’s choir.”

He had cocked an eyebrow but didn’t push it further. Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the loud ringing of my phone. I pulled it out of my pocket and read the name. Shit.

“It’s William,” I muttered, sliding the unlock button and holding it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re out for a late lunch.”

“Um.” I didn’t feel comfortable lying to my boss who had covered for my ass with the King. I heard William sigh loudly on the other side.

“Get back here, now.” And then my phone beeped, signifying he’d hung up.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “Seems like our time is up, superstar.”

Prince Harry was biting his lip, but his smile made his dimples dip into his cheek. “I’ve gotten you in trouble, haven’t I?”

“We’ll find out when you get me back.” The prince hopped down from the stage and I stood from the chair. We began heading out of the theatre, but I stopped him with a light touch of his arm. “Your Highness, I want to thank you for bringing me here and showing me this place and your music. It really was what I needed, so thank you.”

He smiled again and glanced out at the theatre. “It’s a cool place, innit?”

I also looked out again one more time. “I wish I could come here all the time. My flat’s so cramped; it feels like I have no space to myself. Wilton’s seems the perfect amount of solitude but gives the air of homeliness. It’s a gorgeous place you’ve got here, Your Highness.”

“Harry,” he said, and I felt him look down at me.

I could feel his eyes on me, and I realized how close we were standing together. I could smell his cologne – a deep, musky fragrance with just a hint of something floral. I had never been into guys who wore cologne, mostly because they doused themselves in it and it became sickeningly overwhelming. But his was the perfect balance of there, but not there.

“You can call me Harry,” he said, his voice softer now.

I tried not to look at him, I did. I tried to act cool and aloof, but anyone who knew me knew I was nothing of the sort. Eventually, I did meet his eyes and all traces of his smile was now gone.
“Harry,” I whispered since he was so close. The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I held my breath, unsure what was to come next. I knew what I wanted to come next, but he was a prince. I couldn’t just kiss him.

Turns out, I didn’t have to. Within a split second, he turned his body and continued walking out of the theatre. I let out an audible breath. I realized I was sweating now, and my heart went into overdrive inside my chest. Was I hallucinating? Did we just have a moment? If we did, he would have kissed me, right? I didn’t just make this whole thing up. I was, in fact, standing in a place that was very special to him, heard him sing a song no one’s heard, and had him stare into my soul. I couldn’t even dream these things up.

I followed him back to the entrance, watched him flip all the lights off, and he locked the door behind us. We walked back to the waiting convertible, rain now momentarily stopped, without saying a word.

---

We didn’t speak through the entire trip back to Buckingham. Again, we walked through the main entrance instead of the side staff entrance. I would have thought Prince Harry – Harry, I guess, now – would just drop me off and leave, considering the weird silent treatment he was now giving me. But he parked the car and tossed the keys to the awaiting man and opened my car door.

“If you’re in trouble with Willy, I’ll help,” he said, walking into the palace.
We wove through the hallways and stairs until we ended up in the office. The moment we walked in, everyone quickly stood from their seats and bowed – men bending over, woman curtsying.

Without acknowledging them, Harry walked into William’s office and I followed in tow, like a sad puppy. Once Harry crossed William’s threshold, William stood from his desk.

“Your Highness,” William said, bowing. When he straightened, he saw me beside him. Confusion crossed his face. “Miss Pearson.”

“I must apologize, Willy,” Harry began. William’s face went red. He did not enjoy being called Willy, at least not in front of anyone except Harry. “I took Miss Pearson on an assignment, and I didn’t ask for your permission to borrow her. I hope this didn’t cause any distress.”

“Uh, no, Your Highness,” William stuttered, his eyes flicking from me to Harry. “Although I would have preferred advance notice. I was worried when she didn’t return from the visit with His Majesty.”

“Yes, well…” Harry glanced at me. His face was stern and serious. The smile I had seen at Wilton’s was gone.

“I look forward to seeing the photos,” William said.

“Photos?” I stuttered.

“Well, yes,” he said, “since it was an assignment you were out on with His Royal Highness.”

He knew, I realized. William knew we weren’t out on assignment and wasn’t going ballistic for the fact that Harry was in the room. I moved away from one screw up, barely getting by, before walking headlong into yet another.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t that kind of assignment,” Harry interjected.

“No?” William asked.

Harry continued, “We were scouting for a location for a photoshoot for Alfred. The one you’ve set up for next week.”

“I thought that would be in Buckingham or Kensington. Why wasn’t Alfred consulted?”

“He was far too busy today, I’m afraid. I stepped forward as a volunteer. I know Alfred’s taste better than anyone. I know what he would have preferred.”

William wanted to shout at me, I could tell. Veins were pulsing on his neck.

“I appreciate you stepping in, Your Highness,” William said, forcing a smile.

Harry nodded, William bowed, and Harry left William’s office. I quickly exited with him, only because I didn’t want to face his wrath yet.

“Thanks for that,” I said. But Harry didn’t turn around. He kept walking.

I felt everyone’s eyes on me. God, I probably looked pathetic to them.

“Carolina,” William called behind me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Here we go. I walked back into his office and William shut the door behind me. He sat behind his desk, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily. For the longest time, he didn’t say anything. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat.

Eventually, he spoke. “You’re putting me in a difficult position, Miss Pearson.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Mastfield. Harry – His Royal Highness – asked for me to–”

“Enough.”

I shut my mouth quickly.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on?” William continued. He opened his eyes now and looked at me. “You’re not the first person to come in here, trying to worm their way into the royal family. Do you know how many applicants applied for your position?” I could feel this was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t answer. “Thousands of qualified applicants could have been sitting in your chair, but I picked you, Carolina. I picked you because I thought you had the tough skin and determination for this job. Your background was the toughest I came across in all of the applications, but your work spoke volumes. To me, it showed me you could have more potential than most professional photographers. It told me that your background didn’t matter to you – that you were willing and able to overcome it. You have yet to prove to me that my initial thoughts are true, though. Two weeks into this job, and you’ve made grave mistakes that I cannot let slide. Are you understanding me?” Not rhetorical.

“Yes,” I whispered, trying not to tremble.

“Prince Harry has covered for you twice now, so I cannot fire you. But you should be aware that you are on thin ice, Miss Pearson. One more mistake, and I’m afraid I will have no choice but to terminate your employment.”

I swallowed a giant lump. “Yes, sir.”

“Now get back to work. I expect to have all your photos from the fashion event emailed to me by the end of the day today.”

I left his office before he could chastise me any more. I sat at my desk, put my soundproof headphones back over my ears, and got back to work. I had dozens of photos that still needed touching up, and it was already into the late afternoon. I didn’t have the time to even be self-conscious about the whispering or eyes on me. My phone dinged next to me, but I didn’t look at it until I had already finished editing three more photos. When I did look down to check it, I saw it was a text notification from Jude.

What were you doing with Harry?

I replied, Long story.

I edited another photo and saw another waiting text.

Drinks?

Can’t. I have to finish these tonight.

Two more edited photos.

You’re not upset with me about last night, are you?

No.

To be honest, I barely had time to even think about my awkward conversation with Jude since coming to work, and now I really didn’t have the time. Jude didn’t message me anymore after that. That night, I was the last one to leave the office. I didn’t get back to my flat until 9. Pippa had already made dinner and I heated up the leftovers while she got ready for bed. I was buzzing, wanting to tell her about Wilton’s and Harry, but knew I contractually wasn’t allowed to.
As I ate, I played the moment where I thought Harry was going to kiss me over and over in my brain, trying to analyze every aspect of it. Pip and the rest of the country were hanging on the belief that Harry was gay, and Alfred was the playboy. But the way Harry seemed to open up to me in that music bar and how his eyes gazed into mine so fiercely made me believe that everyone was wrong, at least about Harry. He couldn’t possibly be gay. There was no way. Unless, in my weird Harry-crushing mind, I had hallucinated all the signs at Wilton’s. Maybe he was just trying to be a helpful friend. He knew what it was like to be in the public eye and be constantly scrutinized – he knew when I needed an escape.

Then I remembered the drive back to the palace and how he left so abruptly from William’s office, without even looking back as I said thanks for covering me. Something wrenched inside of me. Had he realized as we left Wilton’s that I was just annoying? Or that I was, as William had said, “trying to worm my way into the royal family”? Of course, that wasn’t true. I had no intentions of “worming” into anything. It was Harry that had confronted me, not the other way around.

While I slept, I had dreams of Harry reaching out to me, and I took his hand only to realize I was balancing on the edge of a cliff. Below me was nothing but blackness. He was smiling. It reached his eyes, and I smiled in return. He had saved me.

And then he let go and I fell.

Notes

"Don't Let Me Go" by Harry Styles

Wilton's Music Hall