Prince Harry of Wales is engaged to marry a beautiful American actress. He loves her...or so he keeps telling himself. He's ready to marry. She's the one. She has to be.
So why is he having so many doubts?
And then, a chance meeting with aspiring cl...
"You ditched a summons from the Queen to talk to me?" I asked.
He smiled. "Yes. But don't tell her that."
Growing serious again, he said, "When we were in Cornwall I asked you to think about what it would be like to be with me on a more..permanent basis. Now that you've had a chance to see what that might really be like...at least for the foreseeable future...I'd like to know what you think."
For a few moments I just stared at him. On a more permanent basis...what did that even mean? What was he even asking me? Was he...was he hinting at what I thought he might be hinting at? Was he asking me...to marry him?
And, as always, my mouth opened before I really thought about what I was going to say. "What the hell are asking me, Harry?"
For a few seconds the look in his eyes was hurt, almost angry, and my stomach dropped. But he recovered and his cheeks colored a bit as he gave an awkward laugh.
"I'm not very good at this. Sorry. I wasn't very clear. I know this isn't usually how it's done, and I probably shouldn't be doing this now. But I need to know where we stand before I go talk to the Queen."
I held my tongue, with supreme effort, and waited.
Harry just looked at me expectantly.
"You still haven't made yourself very clear," I said finally. "I don't even know how to answer a question that hasn't really been asked."
Harry took a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Sam."
And there it was, spoken aloud. My stomach went into free fall and I realized, in that instant, that was the question I had been hoping to hear. What I wanted to hear.
I stepped back.
Harry was still talking, but I couldn't understand his words. He took my hands and tried to draw me back into his arms, but I resisted.
"...I can't," he was saying. "I can't ask that of you right now. I am not free to ask you to share my life. Hell, I shouldn't even be asking you this, but I have to know. When I go talk to the Queen I need to know. Are you willing to wait for me to be free? Can you stand the pressure and the photographers and the haters? The loss of your privacy? Are you willing to take a back seat while I jump through all the hoops to unravel this engagement and become a free man again?"
I stopped pulling away.
"On the surface my life probably seems like an easy one. I know that. People see my photo and they think I have it all. But you are just now beginning to understand the down side to this life. And it will get worse before it gets better, Sam. The press and the haters are going to try to rip you to shreds. And my family is...well, some of them are not going to be very welcoming of you at first. And until I am officially un-engaged there is not much I will be able to do to stop all that. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"This life killed my mother," he said, emotion raw in his voice. "All of this. The pressure to get a photo, to publish a story, whether it was the real story or not. And back then it was only the press, the newspapers, the magazines. Now everyone is taking a photo, taking video, posting it on the internet. Everyone has an opinion about everything and there are haters out there who only want to hurt other people...especially people like me. And now, people like you."
"I just want you to understand all this." He drew in a ragged breath, and this time I let him pull me closer. "I will do everything I can to protect you. I will support you in every way possible. But you will have to be patient. This will take months. Maybe a year. And it is going to be very ugly."
He stopped and looked at me intently. "You're not talking. That worries me. Usually you say exactly what you are thinking."
"There really wasn't room for me to get a word in," I said.
"Point taken."
"What was the question again?" I asked, with a hint of a smile.
He dipped into the front pocket of his jeans. "Maybe this will help," he said. "I wasn't going to do this part until after, because I didn't want to pressure you, but...are you willing to wait for me to be free?"
And in his hand was a ring. Not a big diamond solitaire, not even something that could be construed as an engagement ring. It was a man's ring of heavy gold, engraved and set with what looked like a ruby and two diamonds. It looked like an antique, something I could wear every day without garnering too much attention.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
For a few heartbeats I thought about all he had said. I thought about the photographers outside my door, and Randa storming out of the pub, and my job at the polo yard, and the piles of fabric in my borrowed flat, waiting to become funky coats and other strange creations. I thought about my family and friends far away in Canada, and all that I thought I wanted in life before I became involved with a prince.
I thought about what might lie ahead...the palaces, the state dinners, the jewels, the tiaras. The Crown. The Queen.
And then I thought about Harry, and how it felt to spend time with him, about his laughter and his bright blue eyes and the way it felt to love and be loved by him.
