Princess in Training (Prince Harry #3)

Chapter Sixty-Three

Later that day, Meredith sat in a lawn chair and read. Loud waves crashed against the beach. Protected by the canopy, Meredith was protected from some of the sun's beams. With her sunglasses on, she continued to read on the deck. After this morning's excitement, Meredith preferred to have the rest of the day in calmness. When she became warm, she took a dip into the sea, but for now, she laid peacefully as she dried.

A few minutes later, Harry came out with drinks, and he put them carefully down. He tried to hold one up for her to take, but Meredith didn't even take her eyes off the book. When he came to stand in front of her, she still didn't move. "Are you going to continue to be angry at me?" he asked with his hands on his hips.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Meredith flipped the page.

He groaned. Laying on the bench next to her, he watched her with his blue, hopeful eyes. 
"What are you reading?"

"A book."

"That's helpful." He tilted his head and arched his back, trying to get a look. The page she was on wasn't normal looking with too much space and not enough punctuation. "It looks like poetry?"

"It is poetry."

"Whose it by?"

"Rupi Kaur."

"What's it about?"

"Many things."  Meredith's eyes hadn't moved from the page, but her tone had grown more annoyed. Granted, he had her more annoyed before in their relationship.

Harry decided to push his luck anyway, even though it was going into a dangerous situation. He knew she wasn't able to stay mad at him forever. Pushing the button anyway, Harry slid his hand across Meredith's leg softly, where she was freshly shaved. Goosebumps arose on her skin afterward. Harry inched closer to her and then started to kiss her cheek.

"Agh!" Meredith pushed him off gently. "I'm reading, Harry." Her eyes had finally come off the page, and she glared at him.

"You are still angry."

"Or maybe I'm trying to read." Meredith started to read again.

Harry watched his wife, deciding if it was best to annoy her. The answer was most definitely no, but he pushed his luck today already. "Can you read to me, please?"

Meredith arched an eyebrow.

"You've done it before, and I do love to hear you speak." Harry kept a safe distance, and he remained calm.

Even from under her sunglasses, Harry saw her contemplate it before his eyes. She had the ability to be mean and say no, but Meredith was also a kind person. She also knew how much he liked to hear her read and the joy that it brought him. Since Harry was dyslexic, he didn't it enjoy it like Meredith did. He didn't get lost in the stories; he got frustrated. Finally, Meredith motioned him over.

Harry curled up beside his wife. His eyes looked to The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur, but Meredith kept the book shut. She hid the pages away so he couldn't read ahead.

Meredith opened the book so that she read aloud, "Your voice does to me/ what autumn does to trees/ you call to say hello/ and my clothes fall naturally."

Harry smiled. "Was that one especially for me?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself." She chose another page randomly, just flipping, and then, like she spotted something, she stopped. Her eyes ran over the small poem before she said, "To hate/ is an easy lazy thing/ but to love/ takes strength/ everyone has/ but not all are/ willing to practice." 

Harry's blue eyes glanced at her, wondering what she thought, but Meredith never gave it away.

"The irony of loneliness/ is we all feel it/ at the same time." Meredith's eyes glanced over to Harry, like she waited for him to say something.

He did not say anything. It wasn't that he wanted to be mute, but he had nothing to say. No words dared to touch his tongue, and no proclamation of love exploded from his lips. Even if love had, Meredith may have just smirked, knowing it was rushed.

Taking her time, she flipped and flipped through pages, just glancing at what there was. She never stopped long enough to read one until she finally settled on a page, "You are a mirror/ if you continue to starve yourself of love/ you'll only meet people who'll starve you too/ if you soak yourself in love/ the universe will hand you those who'll love you."

Harry smiled. "I think I much prefer to the other."

Meredith glanced at him. "Which other one?"

Reciting it from memory, Harry said, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways./ I love thee to the depth and breadth and height/ My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight/ For the ends of being and ideal grace./ I love thee to the level of every day's/ Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light./ I love thee freely, as men strive for right./ I love thee purely, as they turn from praise./ I love thee with the passion put to use/ In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith./ I love thee with a love I seemed to lose/ With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,/ Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,/ I shall but love thee better after death."

Staring at him, Meredith couldn't believe Harry memorized the whole poem.

"Don't tell me you forgot about our poem, Mere?"

"No, of course not, but you..." she trailed off. Her eyes were wide, and she didn't know how to explain it. "When did you memorize it?"

"A while ago." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"You're just using it on me now?"

"I know I had to make you really angry before I whipped it out."

Better the poem than the other thing, Meredith thought. Leaning over, she kissed him deeply, wrapped her hand underneath his chin as if to prop him up. Harry didn't hesitate, as he finally returned to her good graces. The laughing had only gone so far.