Running Around Royal (Prince Harry #4)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Having flown into Amman, Jordan, in the early nighttime, everything hadn't been prepared. Harry and Meredith didn't care much. Meredith was happy to be out of there, and she wasn't ready to deal with more people anyway. The flight was short on the way over, literally just hoping the boarder. The airplane hadn't even made it close to normal cruising altitude.

Thankfully, there were no cameras to watch them as they drove through Amman and to the British consulate. From there, supper was brought to the royal couple as they were allowed to relax. Harry had some business to attend to when his father called, which led him into another room while Meredith stepped into a hot bath. His voice was loud and quiet, back and forth as tension raised in the room over.

She grabbed the poetry book the witch doesn't burn in this one by Amanda Lovelace and read: "'warning I:/ this is not/ a fairy witch tale./ there are no/ witches./ there is no/ witch hunt./ there are no/ match-boys./ there are no/ burnings./ there is no/ fiery revolution./ there is simply/ a story/ where women/ fight against/ the manmade/ structure/ that has long/ overstayed/ its welcome.'"

Harry's rumbling voice came through the walls.She rumbled too, shaking slightly. The alcohol hadn't helped.

Setting the book on the table, Meredith dipped below the surface of the water, feeling the hot water scald her skin. Her hair came out of its loose bun to hover at the top of the surface. The only sound came from her heart pumping and water lapping against itself.

"Mere?" A voice grumbled from above, and Meredith slid upward and sucked in a deep breath.

"How is your father?" she asked, wiping water from her face.

"Fine. He's... upset about what happened." Harry leaned against the counter in the bathroom, undoing the tie from around his neck.

"What does the queen think?"

He wiped his face in exhaustion. It had been a long day for him too. "He didn't say. The prime minister is dealing with it."

Meredith rolled her eyes at the thought. Slowly, she moved in the bathtub and made her way close to Harry, trying to grab at him. "There is space in here," she offered.

A smirk spread on his lips. "You said you like bathing alone."

"I do prefer it, but I don't mind getting a bit dirty."

Harry let out a chuckle. "What book are you reading?" He picked it up.

"I'm not sure how much you'll like about it."

"What's it about?"

"Down with the patriarchy."

"Sexy." He was serious. He picked the book up and flipped through the pages until he found a poem he liked: "'they/ tell us/ over & over/ & over/ again/ the women/ need/ to stay/ small// thin// skinny// petite./ that way,/ we are/ effortlessly/ pocketed/ to be used/ & thrown out/ at a later/ time./ curves/ & fat/ & rolls/ are a/ colossal/ "fuck you"/ to the/ patriarchy--/ our accidental/ rebellion.'" Harry looked at his wife seriously.

Meredith didn't look at him. "That's a very unique one to choose."

"Did I tell you today that you're sexy?" Harry asked with that mysterious smirk of his. "Did I tell you that you turn me on and I just have to look away? Did I tell you today that you are the sexiest woman alive and I cannot believe that I get to call you my wife? Did I tell you that you make me weak in the knees?"

If Meredith's face wasn't red before from the hot water, it was going to become a tomato. However, she liked what was she hearing.

His voice turned soft. "Jessica might still have you on the die and the monarchy might tell her and you how a princess 'should be,' but you're not a princess. You're a duchess. The people want something that they can't have, and you shouldn't give it to them, Mere."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. You should never be less than who you are, Mere, and I love you for who you are. Every bit of you, no matter what it is or what people call it."

"Thanks, Harry." She swallowed. "Now, can I have my book back?"

"Nope, one more." He flipped through, and it was a dangerous question of what he might find. It was actually only a few pages later when he found what he wanted. "'to/ describe myself/ as/ fat/ is not/ to/ describe myself/ as/ ugly, lazy, worthless/ or undesirable.'" Walking over, Harry bent down and kissed the top of her head. "I think I'm going to turn in early."

"You don't want to hear the patriarchy get a smack down?"

"I'll listen from the bedroom." Harry tilted her chin back. "I also hear it often from you. Good night, Meredith."

"Good night, feminist."

"I love you," he called from the master bedroom as he left the door open.

If he wanted to hear more poems, Meredith obliged. She read for him. "'to be a/ woman/ is to be/ warbound,/ k n o w i n g/ all the odds/ are stacked/ against you.'"

Harry didn't have a comment as he changed.

Meredith read another poem: "'red lipstick:/ an external sign/ of internal/ fire.'"

"You do like the red," Harry called from the other room. In the monarchy, the bright red and dark red lipsticks had been retired for more natural colors, like pink, but Meredith wished to have them back, to make her feel alive again.

She read to him again. "'be the/ unlikable/ woman/ protagonist/ (synonyms:/ bitch,/ realistic,/ manhero)/ all the/ men/ just love to/ complain about.'"

Harry chuckled from the other room, for how many people called Meredith all of those things since it was announced that she dated him. Even now, people liked to call her a bitch, like they knew anything about her. Maybe she was a bitch, like they said, but the only reason they called her that was because she was different. She wasn't the "princess" to sit there and look pretty. She didn't go quietly. Perhaps, it was the issue, or maybe-- on the other hand-- it was the solution.

When Meredith finished soaking, she stood up and made her way to bed. Harry was well asleep by the time Meredith crawled into bed. Sensing she was there, he rolled over and cuddled with her. "You're hot," he whispered. Meredith fell asleep in her husband's arms.