Princess and the Popstar | Harry Styles

A Royal Gala

Bernie traced her fingertips along her jawline as she stared up at the ancient portrait of her ancestor, Queen Elizabeth. Though the bloodline had been watered down since Elizabeth's time, there was still a trace of her features within Bernie, a fact that made her shutter.

Two pair of heeled footsteps against the marble floor of Buckingham Palace alerted Bernie to the presence of her mother and sister. They came up behind her and stared at the portrait.

"I know I've got her chin," Bernie said, "but god I hope the hair isn't hereditary as well."

"The balding was a side effect of all the lead in her makeup," Lou replied. "So don't go smearing lead paint on your face if you don't want to be bald as an egg."

Bernie snorted.

"Neither of you need to worry," Meesh added. "My hair genes are so strong, not even lead paint could deter its growth. Trust me, one day you'll have more hair then you'll know what to do with."

The two sisters looked at their mother. "What's that supposed to mean?" Lou asked.

"You'll have hair sprouting from every nook and cranny."

"Meesh, are you saying you've got a hairy arse?" Bernie laughed.

"Not just the arse," Meesh answered. "Cheeks, crack, hole - might as well have a pet gorilla in my trousers."

Bernie doubled over in laughter as Lou wiped the hysterical tears from her eyes.

"Don't—don't you," Lou panted, fighting to get her words in between fits of laughter. "Don't you get that taken care of when Charlotte waxes?"

"Don't tell me you lot have got poor Ms. Charlotte Edwards waxing your fannies," Meesh said, exasperated. "That woman sees enough without having to be acquainted with your undercarriage."

"She offered," Bernie shrugged. "She's been waxing me since about thirteen. Started with eyebrows, then we eventually worked our way all the way down."

"That's because your face was in danger of being overtaken by one large, furry caterpillar of an eyebrow," Lou retorted, which earned her a swift kick to the shin from her sister.

"Don't get mad at your sister for telling the truth, dear," Meesh said. Bernie let out a disgruntled scoff as she glared at her mother with an open mouth. "Tell me more about the waxing, though. How, exactly, does she get between the cheeks to remove the hair?"

"It's kind of like yoga—" Lou began before Bernie interrupted.

"—Yoga? The hell, are you doing downward dog on the table? That's a great way to pull a bloody muscle. Don't listen to her, Meesh, it's much easier than that. You just get on your knees and spread 'em." Bernie adjusted her skirt and was halfway down to the floor to demonstrate when a throat cleared behind them.

"A-hem," Grandfather said again, causing all three to spin around. "Perhaps this isn't the conversation to be having whilst we host the Dalai Lama, the Aga Khan, and other spiritual leaders are in the palace this week."

"Yes, perhaps, girls," Meesh said, her face immediately sliding into Serious Mum mode. "You should be very ashamed." Bernie balked while Lou glared at their mother. "What if the Pope heard all this talk about fannies and bumholes on his way to tea in the garden? He could bloody well stroke out, and then who would be the figurehead to distract from the consistent sweeping under the rug of countless accusations and insurmountable evidence of sexual abuse within the church?"

Both Bernie and Lou stayed tight-lipped, biting their tongues to keep even the tiniest of a snicker from escaping as Grandfather merely blinked at their mother.