I didn’t know what to expect when Harry pulled me out of Wilton’s and into his waiting car outside. The waiting green Ferrari was the same vehicle of choice from our escapade the other day. This must be his favorite, and I could guess why. His driving still hadn’t improved, and we sped through the streets of London. We followed the river towards Buckingham, but instead of heading south we diverted north, passing Hyde Park. I realized then where he was taking me.
Kensington Palace, where he lived. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I was trying to gain the courage to speak up and ask what he intended, but I couldn’t until we were already pulling into the back drive.

“Harry, I–”

A flashlight shone into the car, illuminating Harry’s and my faces. The security man waved us through and the iron gates creaked open. I couldn’t see the man’s face and I wondered if he was shocked at all that I, probably a stranger to him, was being brought back to the royal residences with Harry.

“Is this a good idea?” I spoke up again as we drove through the gates. His apartment was closest to the entrance, while Prince Alfred’s was the one further back. King William and Victoria lived permanently at Buckingham but sometimes retreated to Kensington during the spring and summer months. Their apartments were behind both the princes’ apartments, sandwiched between them and the parts of the palace that was open to the public.

“What do you mean?” He pulled directly in front of his door and shut off the engine. Without waiting for an answer, he hopped out of his seat and jogged over to my door. He held out his hand to help me out of the low vehicle, but my hands were clammy so I instead hoisted myself up.

“Harry, I don’t think this is smart…” I glanced around, but we were alone except for the guards at the front gate. Whatever alcohol I was feeling disappeared the moment we got into his car. I felt completely sober.

“Well then stop thinking,” he replied, already putting the key into his door. So strange – a normal key fitting into a door that appeared completely normal and yet I was entering the house of royalty. “Come in, I won’t bite.”

“That’s what Pierce Volier said,” I replied, standing my ground. I wasn’t about to be trapped again.

Harry’s face went immediately white and his smile dropped. “Shit, Carolina, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know. I promise I’m nothing like Pierce, okay? I won’t force you into something you won’t want to do. I’ll drop you off at your place if that’s what you want.”

I swallowed, looking at the car behind me. I knew he was nothing like Pierce. Hell, he punched the guy. He would never do anything like that to me. Besides, what was a little bit more time with the prince? And how many other people got to say they’ve been inside Prince Harry’s apartment?

“Fine. But only for a little,” I relented.

The smile appeared back on his lips and he opened the black door. “After you.”

I took the three steps up to the door and passed him into the first room. He flicked on the lights and I gasped. All the walls were white, the vintage-looking wood floors looked freshly waxed, and the furniture was either a matching white or soft shade of grey. It was so clean, but I guess it should be expected to be so clean with all the cleaners that must come through here. But it definitely didn’t look like a 24-year-old boy lived here. Maybe a millionaire lawyer who was more often at the office than his home, but not Harry.

The foyer was round, with arches on my left and right, leading to separate rooms. On the left was a living space and on the right looked like an office of sorts, though I doubted he used it very often. Arches in each room led off somewhere else, but I couldn’t see. Ahead of me was a grand curved staircase, wrapping around a huge crystal chandelier.

“Holy…” I gasped, taking in everything.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said beside me. I saw him lift his arm and ruffle his hair with his hand. “I didn’t have much of a choice for the front rooms. They’re mostly for show. I only got to decorate my private rooms. Come on.”

I knew what was upstairs, and I was nervous he would lead me up but instead, he led me through the office and into the next room – a kitchen. This still looked spectacular, like it would be seen inside a five-star restaurant rather than a home, but it was significantly less nice than the others. The counters were a bit messy and not as pristinely white, the sink had a few dishes soaking, and the bin was almost overflowing with rubbish. I was surprised we hadn’t run into any maids or servants yet.

“Everyone leaves by ten,” he said as if reading my mind. “You hungry?”

“No,” I lied. I wasn’t about to eat this man’s food, even if he did probably have a surplus.

He popped open the stainless steel freezer door and pulled out a tub of ice cream. He grabbed two spoons from a drawer and placed everything on the counter of the island stationed in the middle of the room. Ignoring the bar stools, he hopped onto the island and sat on the edge. I felt awkward standing around, so I did the same thing while he popped open the tub of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. The tub was huge – like, industrial size.

“I didn’t know they made them this big,” I said, almost laughing while I took the spoon from him.

“They do for princes,” he joked, dipping his spoon in and taking a bite. After swallowing, he added, “Unfortunately, they don’t yet make this size of those core Ben & Jerry’s yet. I’m waiting on that.”

I laughed and took a spoonful for myself. I was beginning to relax now.

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry?” he said, eyeing my large spoonful.

I cocked an eyebrow. “You can’t put Ben & Jerry’s in front of me and not expect me to eat it.”

His grass-green eyes twinkled with a smile. “Fair enough. I’ll have to remember that.”

I felt bold. “So what’s your plan here, hm? Seduce me with ice cream?”

“Well, I was hoping to seduce you with my charm, but ice cream will do.”

I laughed again, dipping my spoon once more into the tub. “No, but really – why?”

“Why what?”

I put the scoop of ice cream into my mouth before motioning around the house with my spoon.“Why all this?” I mumbled with a mouthful of cookie dough. “Why bring me here?”

“Is it so bad that I like spending time with you, Carolina?”

Every time he said my name, a shiver traveled up and down my spine. My skin threatened to prickle.

“I like spending time with you, too,” I whispered, afraid to say it. Afraid because once it was said, there was no taking it back. I didn’t know the road those words would take me down.

“Then it’s settled.” He thrust his spoon into the ice cream, leaving it standing straight up.

“What?”

I could barely say the words before he crashed his lips onto mine again. On the drive over, I began to think I had hallucinated the kiss. I kept doubting that it actually happened, but here he was again, doing the same thing. His lips tasted like vanilla and his tongue was cold. At some point I dropped my spoon – it should have been a loud, raucous noise but I never heard it. One of his hands was on the side of my face, the other on my waist pulling me closer. I was pulling his neck closer to me. He never felt close enough. His lips traveled to my chin, my jaw, my neck, trailing ice and fire in its wake. There was an alarm going off in the back of my mind, telling me this was all wrong; that he was a prince and I was just a commoner whose job it was to photograph his older brother, the next in line for the British throne. This was the literal definition of problematic. But in these minutes, I didn’t care. I didn’t care about William’s words of people who tried to worm their way into the royal family. I told myself I’d be doing this regardless of whether Harry was a prince or just a regular man.

His lips were back on mine in seconds. They felt like satin and tasted like sheer seduction. I don’t know how long passed. It could have been seconds or hours. Decades could have passed for all I knew. The only thing that I was focusing on was his hands roaming my body freely and his lips hungrily devouring mine.

When we finally parted, we were both panting. He had a look in his eyes like he just remembered something. I wanted to keep kissing, to keep feeling his body pressed against mine, to rip his god damn clothes off, but he only pulled away further.

Then he spoke the worst possible words.

“I should be taking you home.”

My body was overflowing with heat, and I wondered if his was, too.

“What?”

I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. They were red and flushed. I did that. We did that.

He hopped down from the counter and began cleaning up the ice cream. My spoon had somehow fallen to the floor, leaving a splotch of melted vanilla ice cream beside it. He picked up the spoon but ignored the splotch. Once the ice cream was put away and the spoons are thrown in the sink, he held out his hand for me to jump off the counter.

The ride home was silent, aside from me directing him where to go. There was no talk of what just happened, or what it would mean for either of us. This time I knew it was real. I could still feel his lips on my neck, his hands pressing into my waist to pull me closer.

Finally, we reached my building and I expected, awkwardly, for him to jump out again to open my door. He didn’t.

“I’ll call you,” he said before I shut the door. I knew he was lying. He didn’t look at me.

---

The weekend was spent with Pippa flooding me with questions on where the hell I was on Friday night. Obviously, I couldn’t tell her because of the NDA but it was driving me insane that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. On Sunday, she convinced me to take a trip with her to the Tower of London. They had just reopened the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula, where Anne Boleyn was buried. She’d always had a strange fascination with Henry VIII and all of his wives, so she dragged me along with her.

The chapel was small but Pippa was wandering for what felt like ages. You couldn’t even go up to the altar where Anne was buried. You had to stand on your toes and peer over just to see her name on the flooring. I told her I would wait for her outside and she waved a hand in dismissal.

Outside, I sat on the bench and scrolled through my phone, bored as I ever could be. I had lived in London for some time now and had already been to the Tower three times.

I felt a drop of water hit my forehead, and then another landed on my phone screen. Soon enough, a small downpour began. The Chapel was full of people, so instead, I raced to the building beside it, where the Crown Jewels were kept.

The first room’s walls were decorated with the story of the Crown Jewels, tracing back in time to William the Conqueror. I followed room after room slowly, just trying to dry myself off and wait for the rain to stop. I gawked at the coronation robes, which glittered of gold. There were eagles and roses hand-embroidered all along it. As beautiful as it was, I would hate to wear it. It looked to weigh almost as much as me.

Finally, in the room of the crowns, I stepped onto the slow conveyer belt, which slid you past all the magnificent crowns and coronation regalia so as to keep the visitors moving.

I passed the scepter and rod that held the largest cut diamond in the world. I passed the gold orb, which signified Christian values and the world. There were different crowns worn by different monarchs for their coronation, including King Henry’s from fifteen years prior. There was also the State crown, which was worn whenever the King opened parliament each year and for other formal diplomatic events.

The final object on the conveyer belt, though, stopped me. Even as I was forced off the conveyer belt, I stood at the end out of the way for everyone else. I stared at it from the side, taking in the sight of it all. It was the royal engagement tiara , reserved for only the women who were marrying into the immediate royal family’s bloodline. So it was expected that Prince Alfred’s fiancée would wear it, as would Prince Harry’s. Once they were married, she would be able to design her own from there on out. This tiara dated back to the seventeenth century and was created just after the Reformation.

It looked stunning. It glittered in the light that shone on it. It had one large diamond suspended in the middle, and curls of small diamonds swirling all the way to the back. They almost looked like vines. It was so small but held such significance. It told the world, “Soon, I will be one of them.” Every fiancée of the royal family had worn it prior to their weddings, and so has since developed the nickname of “The Love Tiara.”

“Ma’am,” someone said, stepping up to me. I turned and saw they wore the uniform of the security that worked there. “I’m going to have to ask you to move along now.”

“Oh, sorry,” I stuttered and began stepping away. I looked at it one last time as I was walking to the next room. It was too late. I had imagined myself in the tiara already. I could see it balancing on top of my auburn hair, tied in a low bun, while Harry and I sat at a large banquet table at some formal gala or event. He would reach under the table and grip my hand in his as a way of telling me, without speaking, how much he loved me.

It was stupid, I know. We had only kissed two times and here I was, already planning a future of forever with the man. I had told myself last night I wasn’t kissing him to weasel my way into the royal family, but I sure damn wouldn’t mind wearing that spectacular piece of work.
I moved through the rest of the exhibit like a ghost. I stopped to look at things but didn’t comprehend what anything else was. The tiara was all my mind could see anymore. How it dazzled and captured the light mesmerized me.

When I reached the end, just after the baptism items, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. It was a text from Pippa, asking where I went. It was sent half an hour ago, but I guess the building was so thick with steel for security I never received it until now. I quickly responded that I had been in the Crown Jewels exhibit, where she immediately told me that she was waiting inside the café for me.

---

On Monday, I had the photoshoot for Prince Alfred, which was chosen by the Press Secretary to be done inside his home in Kensington Palace. I tingled at the thought of returning there again, wondering if Harry knew I was going to be so close. I decided to be early, just to see if Harry was home. I didn’t know if it was even okay for me to just show up at his place but before I knew it, I was knocking on his front door.

Of course, he didn’t answer the door. It was a stranger, to which I quickly flashed my ID badge, stating who I was. She nodded and let me in. I couldn’t get Harry’s kiss out of my head the whole weekend, and it felt like walking into déjà vu when I entered the foyer again.
“Is His Royal Highness expecting you?” she asked. She was a maid from her black uniform. She was holding a pair of rubber gloves that made the rooms smell faintly of lemon.

“Yes,” I lied. Sort of. He should be expecting me at some point, right?

She nodded and left the room to go up the stairs, and I instantly regretted coming. He didn’t reach out for the whole weekend, despite now knowing where I lived and probably had some way or another to get my phone number.

He didn’t reach out for a reason, Carolina.

I told myself to shut up.

Just as quickly as she had disappeared, she bounded down the steps and following right behind her was Harry. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face upon seeing him. If anything, he looked more disheveled than usual. More buttons than the normal three on the top were undone as if he had hastily buttoned them when the maid walked in. Maybe he had just woken up.

“Carolina,” he breathed, visibly confused, “what are you doing here?”

“I have that shoot with Alfred – His Royal Highness Prince Alfred – this morning but I thought I’d stop by before just to say hi.”

He had a wild look in his eyes, but not wild in the way I wanted them to be. He looked almost panicked. He ran his hands through his curls multiple times before responding.

“Look, I really don’t–”

“Oh, no! It’s fine! I assume you probably have a busy day. I just wanted… to say hi,” I repeated, dumbly. I mentally bashed my head against the wall. I could only assume how red my face was.
He glanced quickly back at the stairs and then back at me. He obviously didn’t want to chat.

“Look, Car, I’ll – I’ll talk to you later, yeah? I’ll find you after your meeting–”

“Photoshoot,” I corrected.

“–in a – yeah that’s what I meant – in a bit.”

He was so panicked and I couldn’t find out why. He put a hand on my lower back, but this time not to draw me into a kiss. It was to lead me to the front door. He was pushing me out. In a split second, I knew why.

“Who’s she?” a voice called from behind us.

Instinctively, I turned around. There, halfway down the stairs, was a half-naked woman whose unblemished, tanned legs seemed to go on for days. The only clothing she had on wasn’t even clothing – she was wrapped in a red, silk bed sheet. Her long, blonde hair was as disheveled as Harry’s, yet still looked model-perfect. Her swollen, beautiful lips were bruised red, just as mine and Harry’s had been on Friday night. She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place her face to a name. She could be some famous actress or porn star, for all I knew. I knew she was looking down on me, not only literally but metaphorically.

My eyes quickly flicked from her to Harry, her again, and back to Harry. Harry’s eyes widened in more panic.

“Carolina, I can–”

“Don’t you dare say ‘explain’,” I hissed. Now, instead of Harry’s hand being on my lower back to lead me out, he was gripping my arm, trying to keep me in. I ripped it out of his hand and slammed the front door behind me.

I had felt special, for one split second of my life. I felt seen – which is more than I could say for my parents or even sometimes Pippa. He had made me feel welcome and wanted. He looked at me, not as a commoner, but as someone who was his equal.

And it was all a show.

He had taken my heart, my head, my lungs, and smashed them. He shattered me like glass on a mirror, ground me to dust. I ran next door to Prince Alfred’s apartment, furiously knocking on the door. Harry had exited his apartment and was making his way toward me before the door was finally opened by Alfred’s servant. I flashed my badge quickly and entered the apartment. I shut the door behind me and locked it.

The servant looked at me like I was crazy.

“You alright, miss?” he asked in a thick, cockney accent.

“I’m fine,” I wheezed. My eyes were just barely holding back tears, but I knew they would spill any second. “Where is His Royal Highness? I’m here for the photoshoot.”

The servant only pointed to the stairs, obviously still wondering if I was sane. As I ran up the stairs, I swore I heard the servant mutter something about there already being a photographer there.

At first, I didn’t try to find the Prince of Wales. I only wanted to get away from anyone who might see me cry. Luckily, the first door I opened was a bathroom. Everything was made of white and grey marble, with accents of gold such as the sink faucet or the handle on the toilet. I shut the door, dropped my camera bag from my shoulder, and slid down the wall. Finally able to catch my breath, I cradled my head in my hands and let the tears drip into my palms.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care…

Of course, he doesn’t. He’s a goddamn prince! What am I? Nothing. I am nothing. I come from nothing, I amount to nothing. I’m not even dust anymore. I’m air. I feel empty. I am empty.

Why would he ever want someone like you?

Whoever the girl was, she was the one he should want. She was beautiful. Far more beautiful than I ever could be. She wasn’t even wearing makeup and she was glowing. I could never compete with someone like her. Of course, he would go after her, not me. I was just a toy; a game to pass his time.

Eventually, I ran out of tears. I had gathered my breath. My heart began to slow. I picked myself up off the floor and grabbed a tissue. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes, trying to make myself presentable for the prince. After all, no one else knew about Friday night. Suddenly, I was very thankful I didn’t tell Pippa. I didn’t want to tell her about what I just saw. I didn’t ever want to relive that memory.

Once I deem my face to look normal enough, I leave the bathroom. I didn’t even take in the magnificence of the apartment. Harry’s was quaint in size compared to Alfred’s sprawling home. The upstairs seemed to never end. I had no idea where Prince Alfred was, but he had to be in one of the dozens of rooms, according to the servant. I opened doors to different bathrooms, guest bedrooms, a library, and an office before finally opening a door with Alfred inside. But he wasn’t alone.

“Oh my god,” I gasped.

The image I was seeing didn’t make any sense. Jude was there. He was standing close to Prince Alfred – too close. Prince Alfred’s hands were cupping Jude’s face. Jude’s hands were wrapped around Prince Alfred’s waist.

And they were kissing.

Notes

Here's the tiara I used for reference!