The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 22 - A Quiet Place

Samantha

A few days after Christmas I got a cryptic text from Harry.

H: Can I send a car for you?

Me: Anything special in mind?

H: Late lunch in a quiet place

Me: Sleeping Lion?

H: Quieter and more private than that

I read his words a few times before responding, my heart beating a bit faster. Though we'd spent a lot of time over the last few weeks texting each other, we'd spent very little time actually together. The fact that he wanted to meet in a place with more privacy than a pub seemed promising.

Me: Sure. Dress code?

H: Whatever you want lol. Nothing formal. Be ready in an hour?

Me: Ok

It wasn't a lot of time, but I wasn't one to spend ages sticking on false eyelashes and slathering on foundation. I pulled out the new dresses I had made and eyed them judiciously. So far Harry had only seen me in jeans and casual wear...what would he think of me in a dress?

I decided on a wrap dress based on a 1940's pattern, out of navy fabric with tiny white polka dots and crisp white collar and cuffs. I pulled on black leggings and my black riding boots because I'm a west coast girl and took a critical look in the mirror. I liked the look, but would Harry?

Is that the way a princess would dress? whispered a voice in my head.

"Like I should care how a princess would dress?" I asked out loud. "I'm not a princess. And never will be—"

I stopped. I was dating—kind of!—a prince. It was, theoretically speaking, within the realm of possibility that I might, some day, somehow, be a princess.

That was a scary thought.

"I'd be a really weird princess," I said, testing to see how the words sounded, then shook my head. I couldn't think that far ahead. I had to focus on what was happening now, not what might happen in the future.

I was interrupted, thankfully, by a knock on the door. I opened it to find a casually dressed older man holding two frozen pheasants in a plastic bag.

"These are from...the gentleman," he said carefully. "I've brought the car."

"Okay. Let me just put these in the freezer. Come in?"

"I'll wait in the car."

I put the birds in the freezer, thinking that I might ask Randa for dinner when she was back from her holidays. I slipped into my coat, grabbed the present I had wrapped yesterday, and went out to the car.

I didn't pay much attention to the drive, but it was not long before the driver pulled into a private garage. Holding the door open for me, he motioned to an elevator door in the far wall. "Just take the elevator up to the 2nd floor," he said, "and His Royal Highness will meet you there."

I still got the tingles every time someone addressed Harry by his proper name, so I was a bit flustered when the elevator door opened. I walked into an elegant living room, with a gas fireplace burning low on one wall.

Harry stood up from a gray sofa as I walked in. "Why, hello there," he said, as if I had surprised him, and smiled.

His smile almost undid me and I found myself momentarily shy in his presence. He kissed me on the cheek, took my coat, and led me to the couch.

Lunch was already laid out on the sofa table—fancy sandwiches with salads and garnishes, a plate of tarts, and small bowls of a fluffy chocolate dessert.

"Is this your flat?" I asked, confused.

He laughed. "Like you, I also have friends who are willing to let me borrow their flat while they are off on holiday. I thought it would be nice to meet in a place where we don't have to look over our shoulders the entire time, wondering if we will be spotted."

"Of course," I said, and then, awkwardly, I handed him the package. "Merry Christmas. Or I guess, Happy Christmas, as the British say."

I watched him open the package, a bit nervous as to how he might react. Not knowing his size, or his taste in clothing other than what I had seen so far and in photographs, I opted for something far less personal. Over the last few days I had sewn up a large canvas bag with leather handles to hold his polo mallets, with pockets for balls and gloves, and embroidered it with his monogram.

Harry was quiet for a moment as he looked at it, and my stomach plummeted.

"Did you make this? For me?" he asked quietly.

"Well, yes. That's why I put your monogram on it, and not someone else's."

He smiled and shook his head wryly at my attempt at a joke. "Do you know," he said, "that other than gifts from the children, I don't think I've ever received a gift that someone made by hand. Especially for me."

"I suppose you've gotten tons more impressive presents," I began, but he cut me off.

"No," he said. "I haven't. Truly. It's very awe-inspiring to think that you took the time to make something and didn't just send someone out to the store to buy it for you, without even seeing it for yourself."

He smiled, and I almost thought there was a hint of tears as he leaned towards me. "Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Show me," I whispered as our lips touched.

And then for an undetermined length of time I was lost in sensations—the warmth of his breath, the feel of his mouth on mine, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. When we separated, I drew a deep, shaggy breath, and so did he.

He ran the back of one hand across my cheek. "If you like, we could move to someplace more comfortable..." and his eyes went to a door beyond the living room.

If I liked? Oh, there were so many things I thought about doing in that moment, if we crossed the room and shut that door behind us. So many things that I wanted to do, but didn't want to rush into, for so many reasons.

"Maybe we should save something for later...?" I said, and somehow it was a question.

Harry smiled again, and I noticed his hair was tousled. Had I done that? Had my fingers clung to his hair, as he had clung to mine?

He took a deep breath, straightened his sweater, and shook out his cuffs. They were nervous gestures, endearing.

"I know you might think I am somewhat forward—" he began.

"I don't think that at all, actually," I said.

"You don't feel that we are rushed for time?" he said. "I don't mean just today but...in general?"

"No," I said, and surprised myself by leaning in for another kiss. "We have as much time as it takes to get to know each other. No matter what happens in your life—in our lives—when we are apart."

Harry kept the kiss brief—too brief—but there was relief in his eyes.

"Then let's have some lunch," he said, "and see what happens later."