Aisha and the Prince of Wales

Chapter II: His Royal Highness

"Aisha, this is His Royal Highness Prince Edward Nicholas Arthur Philip," said Colette, the manager, rather unnecessarily. Her tight posture was at odds with her careful nonchalance, and Aisha immediately knew that Colette was trying to conceal her nervousness behind a carefully-cultivated veneer of snootiness. The more high-profile the client, the snootier she appeared, as if she was trying to prove that she wasn't fazed by stardom. With the Prince, however, she needn't have bothered. 

"Call me Nick," he said, offering Aisha his hand, and a charmingly dimpled smile. Returning his handshake with a firm, professional one of her own, Aisha prudently decided to adhere to protocol, and did not call him 'Nick.'

"Welcome to our store, Your Highness," she said smoothly, "Allow me to show you to the menswear section." she turned on her heel and marched smartly to the exclusive collection of menswear in the private room meant only for high-profile clients, keeping her face smooth and placid to hide the fact that her heart was hammering at the rate of about a million beats per second. She took a deep breath as she walked, determined to show that she was entirely unaffected by the royal presence obediently following her. 

Once they reached the sprawling rows of shelves, neatly categorised according to occasion, she turned to him. "May I know what you're looking for, Your Highness?" she asked crisply, meeting his stormy grey eyes with her own dark brown ones. 

"A bit of everything, really," he said with a crooked smile that brought out his dimples, looking slightly lost as he took in the vast collection before him, "I'm doing a bit of a wardrobe update at the moment."

Aisha nodded. "Please take a seat, and fill up your sizes on this form," she said, handing him a small clipboard from the round, glass-topped table beside the sophisticated leather armchair. The Prince sat, placing his glass of champagne on the table, and accepting the clipboard from Aisha. As their fingers touched, she felt a zing of electricity travel up her arm, leaving her feeling rather wobbly. 

Aisha chanced a glance at his grey eyes- they were clear and open. She looked away, fighting the hot flush threatening to rise up her cheeks. What was the matter with her? 

He's just another client, she told herself firmly as she turned to the rows of pristine merchandise, Stop acting like a starstruck schoolgirl! 

She approached the formals section first, taking a look at the clipboard in her hand, making a mental note of the Prince's generous measurements. He was tall and broad- much bigger in person than he appeared on television, where he was usually flanked by tough, muscular bodyguards who could put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame. 

Keeping his tanned complexion in mind, Aisha picked out a selection of crisp white and cream shirts, punctuated by the occasional navy blue and black. Running her fingertips over the neatly-rolled ties on display, she selected half a dozen in colours she thought would be appropriate for his various royal duties. Next, she picked up a pair of cream cabochon cufflinks emblazoned with the distinctive Elise Alva logo, along with a silver tie pin. 

Moving on to the semi-formals, Aisha tried to imagine what kind of social engagements a prince would have, and selected accordingly. When it was time to move on to the casuals, she chose mainly polo neck T-shirts, crisp khaki shorts and trousers, and a casual jacket that could be thrown over the shoulders when playing golf, for instance. 

Aisha inhaled the scent of freshly-polished leather, and referred to the Prince's measurements on her clipboard as she picked out formal shoes in both black and brown. She even threw in a few pairs of snowy Elise Alva socks for good measure. 

"Would Your Highness like to take a look?" asked Aisha politely when she was done. The Prince stood up with a disarming smile, his dimples flashing as he approached the clothes laid out in neat piles. 

"Wow," he said with a low chuckle, "I'm going to look exactly like my father."

Aisha's smile faltered, and she reached out to pick up the pile of clothes and return them to their shelves. "I apologise, Your Highness, maybe we can start over?" 

"Relax," smiled the Prince, covering her outstretched hand with his. Aisha's cheeks burned, and she felt like an electric current had just jolted up her spine. "I was just joking. Your selection is perfect. And please, call me 'Nick,'" he said. 

Aisha gently extricated her hand from his large, warm one, her cheeks pink. "Okay, Nick," she said, trying to appear calm and confident. "Aisha," he returned, with a small nod.