History Repeats Itself - A Prince Harry Fanfiction

Chapter Nine

But she couldn't. Taylor was right – this was her life now. And whether she was happy with it, or whether she hated every breath, she had to get used to having the photographers around.

Emmy took a deep breath, mumbling "I'm going to go have a shower", before stumbling towards the bathroom.

"You ready?"

"You think so?" Emmy snapped. Her fear and stress has shown itself in bad manners. She glared at the floor.

"Try not to look so angry," Taylor said. "You look prettier with a smile."

"I don't give a-" Emmy stopped herself. She was not going to let the paparazzi reduce her to profanities before even a day had passed. "I don't care."

"Em, you've made an effort," Taylor noted, her eyes flickering to the fact that Emmy had straightened her hair – not something she normally did for work. "You obviously care what they think."

"I want to look as good as I can for a day at work," Emmy hissed. "Because I don't want people to say 'ooh, look at her, why on Earth is Prince Harry dating her?'. They're already going to say that because of my age. I don't need it because of my appearance too."

They were walking side by side down the stairs, down to the ground floor. Taylor took Emmy's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Em? You'll be fine, okay? You're far prettier than anything Harry deserves and, to be honest, he's just lucky to have you."

Emmy didn't answer. She knew Taylor was just trying to make her feel better.

Finally they reached the lobby, and Emmy felt her heart stutter in her chest – well, somewhere in her throat by now. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans and filled her lungs with air as they turned the corner; the paparazzi came into sight, lurking beyond the tinted glass doors. Taylor walked ahead, head held high, while Emmy followed, in her mind looking like the ugly duckling following its beautiful, confident siblings.

The second Taylor's hands pushed the door, the paparazzi looked up. And as soon as Emmy had stepped onto the pavement, the paparazzi were ready.

"Emmaline!"

"Emmy, isn't it?!"

"Rumour has it that you're seeing Prince Harry!"

"Can you explain why you were seen on a date with him?"

"Someone got a picture of him dropping you off at home!"

"How do you feel being ten years younger than him?!"

Taylor glanced back at her friend, wincing at the volume of the photographers' questions and the aggression in their voices. Emmy raised her eyebrows at her, trying to act nonchalant, trying to act like the group of middle-aged men surrounding her wasn't scaring her to death.

Together, Taylor and Emmy – closely followed by the paparazzi – made their way down the street, heading towards the nearest tube station. Passers-by stopped and stared, trying to see who it was the cameras were chasing, trying to catch a glimpse of the celebrity. Some that Emmy knew frowned in confusion. No, she supposed they were thinking, that's just Emmy and Taylor.

She followed Taylor into the station, hurrying down the filthy stairs, joining the swell of Londoners heading for the underground. Glancing behind them, Emmy saw a few of the photographers pull back, unwilling to follow, but a few continued after them. She noticed them pull out tube passes.

"They're coming with us," she muttered to Taylor, as the two girls swiped themselves passed security.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Taylor hissed, then added cheekily, "Your boyfriend better make this up to us."