That Stupid Ring

Part 16

Please tell me this is not happening. 

I look at the tiny room, that one bed beside the wall, trying not to look at William's face. This is going to be super awakward, I thought. 

"I can sleep on the floor," he says. 

I nod. "Great, thanks." 

"Let me go out for a bit, give you some privacy while you get ready for bed," he says.

I nod again. William is, and always will be, a thoughtful gentleman. 

Except for the part where he left me without a word in Nettleton. 

He steps outside the room. I  sit myself on the bed, slowly removing my boots. I push them under the bed and take off my coat. Something rustles as I do that, and I remember I put Edith's letter in its side pocket. 

Awhile ago in the car, I showed the letter to William. 

===

"Well," he said after he's done reading it, "Who would have thought."

"The funny thing is, I don't even remember seeing that barn back there," I said, "I stood in the verandah of that new inn and wondered where the barn and Edith's gardenias have gone." 

"They're gone?"

I shook my head, "They built a pond over it. I really didn't recall a barn still standing there."

"I see."

"What if it's not?" I ask him, "What if they took that down too?" 

"Then the ring is lost forever," he says.

===

I let out a long sigh. I was dreaming of a hot bath earlier but now that I have to share this tiny room with William, I don't feel like doing it anymore. He must be sitting awkwardly outside waiting for me, so I do need to hurry. 

I wash my face, brush my teeth, and get myself into my PJ's. Then I open the door to find him. 

He's sitting in the front porch, overlooking the field. There's a small wooden table with two cups of tea and a plate of fruit cakes. 

"Compliment from the host," he says, gesturing over the table. 

"I am a bit hungry actually," I sit on the chair and grab the small fork. 

"Aren't you always?" he smiles. 

"Shut up," I wave the fork at him, "The bathroom is ready if you want to use it."

He looks at me, and he looks back at the field in front of us. "I'd like to sit here for a bit actually, if you don't mind. I don't get a lot of this back in London."

"What? Grass?" 

"Quietness," he says. 

"Ah," I nod, munching on the cake. 

"Don't you wish for quietness once in awhile? You live in a big city too."

I shrug, "I take vacation from work from time to time. That's when I get quietness. For me, quietness doesn't have to mean being in a quiet place. It could simply mean not having to answer calls or emails."

"Aren't you lucky?" 

"Surely you get a break too."

"From what?" he chuckles, "The title is attached to me where ever I go."

"Well you cannot take a break from being a Prince. But you sure can take a break from work too, right?"

"They still follow me, even then," he says, drifting his eyes back to the field.

I remember I came across this tabloid at the airport and I read a story about him. The headline said, "William, Having Too Much Fun?" He was pictured with his face all red, obviously intoxicated, stumbling into the backseat of a car. It was a long time ago though, probably the time when he just finished college. 

Everybody who just finished college may had a drunk night or two, and that's fine. But for him, it was a "too much fun" with a question mark.

I remembered I let out a "Ha!" when I saw that. He deserved it, I said to myself. But I thought to myself, he must have been really sad right now. I knew it for sure because he told me that the one thing that forces him to be the best version of himself is his mom's legacy. "Someone needs to carry it forward," he said to me one afternoon when we both were watering Edith's gardenias, "And it's going to be me."

This guy is living up to so many standards. Being born a Royal, a second-to-the-throne, is already hard. Add it all up with his mom's legacy and the pressure of being a King in a much different time than his grandmother's. 

I bet he can't even have an Instagram account.

"Do you have an Instagram account?" I ask him.

He shifts his gaze toward me, "Pardon me?"

"Instagram. You know, the photos━"

"I know what Instagram is. No, I don't have one."

"How about a fake account?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you make a fake Instagram account? Pseudo name, pseudo picture. So you get to do all the fun of Instagram without anyone knowing it's you."

"But then what would I post?"

"Plenty!" I shriek, "Interesting stuff you see in your daily life."

"My daily life consists of public activities, meeting Parliament, a tea with the Ambassador of South Africa, stuff like that. If I post something from my daily life, at the end of the day people would find out."

"Ok, nevermind."

I forked a bit of fruit cake and put it in my mouth.

"Why did you ask?" he said, "Why you want to know about my Instagram?"

I shrug, "Just asking."

"If I had one, would you follow me?"

I burst out laughing. He laughs too.

"I already know what your bio is gonna say... 'Exclusive look of the Buckingham Palace...'"

"'...from the eye of a Prince'," he added.

I laugh even harder. "Oh my God, you're gonna have more followers than a Kardashian."

"Yes but the question was... Would you follow me?" he asks again.

"I'd consider it," I say, sipping my tea.

"Yes!" his fist punches the air.

I laugh, "I can't believe you're still a dork."

"As a matter of fact, you're the only person who has ever called me a dork."

"Really? I don't believe you."

"I swear to God."

"Well then perhaps they don't know you that well."

He looks at me and our eyes meet. He smiles, "Perhaps." 

***