This chapter was about 15 pages on Microsoft Word, damn. Hope y'all enjoy!
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Chapter 8
City Girl's POV:
I was having trouble gathering my thoughts.
Actually, that would be the understatement of the century, because it truly felt as if my brain had literally melted and I was no longer even capable of processing anything. As I sat in the back of the Uber, I couldn't help but bring my fingers up to my mouth, incessantly biting the nails as I stared out the window with a frown permanently etched on to my face. My brain had either melted or was running a million thoughts a minute—I wasn't sure. A headache was in the making, though, I could feel it.
The Prince of England. I had met the actual Goddamn Prince of England last night, which I had told myself was probably just a dream until I realized my cell phone was missing and, lo-and-behold, he was the one that had found it. Last night had been a whirlwind, what with Zoe being a drunken mess and throwing up, and I had yet to tell her on whose shoes she had puked on. The fact that I had met Prince Harry when it was all going down hadn't properly sunken in my brain, and I hadn't had much time to actually dwell on it seeing as I had to take care of my best friend.
But seeing him today? Looking even more gorgeous in person than I thought possible? That was enough for me to double over. Not to mention the fact that he asked for my number! That brought up a whole other set of emotions that I couldn't make out for the life of me—all I knew is, I was nervous and anxious and excited and curious. As well as completely and utterly thrown off, but that was to be expected. And when realization dawned on me that this man—this extremely well known, rich and intimidating-by-status man—had asked me out to lunch. Me! An ordinary woman with an ordinary life and an ordinary job. I half expected someone to pop out and tell me this was some sort of practical joke, but nope. It was real. It was all definitely real.
Although. . . Seriously? What in the holy hell was the Prince of England doing in New York City? Not only that, but what was he doing at a bar in the middle of the night in this city? It wasn't even some type of extraordinary bar—it was completely normal and relative. Shouldn't he be going to some popular and expensive joint in the Upper East Side where one shot is worth twelve dollars?
Still with my head in the clouds, I thanked the Uber driver when he pulled up in front of Zoe's apartment building, and I got out before hurrying up the front steps and inside the building, making my way to the elevator as I repeatedly pressed the button. My right foot impatiently tapped on the marble floor as I waited, internally freaking out as the elevator arrived.
Stepping inside and pressing the button for the fourth floor, I nervously chewed on my lower lip. My heart was once again erratic in my chest, and I was surprised it hadn't burst out at this point, seeing as this has how it's been since the moment I had called my phone and realized who had picked up on the other end. At this very moment, Zoe was the only person I could talk to about this—especially since it's practically her fault that I met the Prince of England.
Not that I'm complaining that I did, but all of this extraordinary stuff is way too out of the blue for someone as ordinary as me. I was all types of freaking out, which was evident in the way I reached Zoe's apartment door and began knocking on it incessantly to the point where my knuckles started to ache.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" came Zoe's mildly irritated voice from the other side of the door, moments before she swung the door open and her annoyed expression melted away into a confused one. "Vera? What the hell, man?" she asked as I stepped inside, not bothering to be invited in because, really, it wasn't needed.
"You will not believe what your drunken ass got me into," I claimed as I entered the apartment, shrugging my coat off and dumping it on the yellow couch before plopping myself down on it as well, releasing a heavy sigh as I did so.
Zoe frowned, approaching me after shutting the door and using a hair tie to knot her almost black curly hair into a messy bun. She sat down next to me, back against the arm rest as she crossed her sweatpants clad legs. "What're you talking about?"
I took a deep breath, grabbing one of the couch cushions and hugging it to my chest as I faced her, staring at her intently as I asked, "Do you remember throwing up outside of the bar last night?"
Zoe's small nose wrinkled at the unpleasant memory, nodding, "Yeah, why?"
I pressed my lips together, unsure of how to phrase my next words, until I just spit them out, "Zoe, you literally threw up on the Prince of freaking England's shoes."
My best friend stared at me for a couple of moments, eyes narrowed in confusion and brows scrunched, before laughing out a disbelieving, "What?"
My face, however, remained serious as I nodded, shifting slightly to fold my left leg under my body as I hugged the cushion tighter. "You threw up on Prince Harry's shoes, Zoe," I reiterated, watching as her expression gradually went from disbelieving to shock. "Like, completely destroyed his three thousand dollar shoes."
Still unable to believe it, Zoe scoffed with a nervous smile, "You're not serious." The shaking of her head died down when she caught sight of my expression, her smile dropping and eyes widening as she stated, "Oh, my God—you're serious." Zoe then gasped as I nodded, lips pressed together, as she shot to her feet and exclaimed, "What the fuck, Vera?! What the hell is wrong with me? Puking my guts out on Prince Harry motherfucking Styles' shoes? How does that even happen?"
Unhelpfully, I tried to joke, "With a dozen shots too many?"
Zoe glared at me with dark brown eyes, rubbing a hand over her makeup free pale face as she groaned. "What kind of fuckery is this?" She then looked at me, exasperated as she questioned, "The hell is he even doing in New York? In front of my favorite bar? This is mortifying!"
"There's more," I told her, watching as her eyes met mine once again as she let out a breath, settling back down, although the astonished and disbelieving look didn't disappear from his face. "This morning, I realized that I didn't have my phone on me—which is ridiculous, I know," I added at the sight of her puzzled expression. "So I used my home phone to call it, right? And guess who fucking picks up my damn cell."
Another gasp escaped Zoe, eyes widening to the size of saucers as her left hand flew up to cover her mouth, diamond ring glinting in the sunlight as a muffled, "No!" escaped her.
I nodded, my own eyes wide as I said, "Apparently I had dropped it when I was trying to get you in the car, and he had picked it up and kept it until I called. And then he gave me his damn address of where he was staying and told me to come by so I could get it."
"Oh, my God!" Zoe exclaimed, hand dropping from her mouth to reveal the surprised smile that was growing on her face, looking as amazed as I did and felt. "Then what happened?" she urged, completely riveted in the story.
"Well I got to his apartment, and that place was so huge, dude—fit for a king, which would be appropriate," I recalled with a light laugh. "But, Zoe, I'm telling you—he's so much more handsome in person. His eyes—holy shit, dude, his eyes," I couldn't help but reminisce, shaking my head in amazement as Zoe's smile widened. "They were so green, fucking gorgeous, I tell you. And that smile! That damned smile and dimples, completely swoon-worthy. And his tattoos, holy fuck. Like, he never really shows them off too much but his arms have a shit ton of tats. And he was so nice, y'know? Complete gentleman, not that I'm surprised, especially after I made some fucking dumbass comment about him beheading me."
Zoe's mouth dropped at my words, staring at me in bewilderment as she repeated with an incredulous, "Beheading?"
"I was nervous, okay!" I defended instantly, ignoring her laughter. "Besides, you should feel lucky. He said he wasn't gonna make you pay three grand for the shoes you destroyed."
Her eyes widened, letting out a whistle as she said, "Yeah, no, I would've been fucked."
I chuckled, nodding in agreement before I remembered the one small detail I had somehow forgotten to mention. "Zoe. . . He asked for my number."
My best friend froze. And then, "What?!"
"He asked me out to lunch. He wants to be friends."
"What?!"
Her shriek sounded throughout the apartment, even making me flinch at the sheer volume of it as I bit my lower lip and hugged the cushion closer to my chest, watching as Zoe stared at me with wide eyes and her jaw dropped, a look of complete disbelief and excitement written clear as day across her face. Snapping out of it, she reached over and grasped my shoulders, shaking me almost violently and prompting me to leaning back as she demanded, "Did you give him your number? Did you say yes? Tell me you fucking said yes, Vera!"
"Yes! I said yes!" I managed to get out through slight laughter, trying to get her to stop shaking me and release her grasp. She finally did so, calming down as we both sat straight and I moved a few strands of my hair from my face. "I mean, it'd be rude not to, right? He's royalty," I added, feeling myself become giddy the more I thought about it.
Obviously, all of this was beyond crazy, and completely unbelievable. Although I was still having trouble trying to figure out how all of this came to be, I didn't want to complain about it. It was by complete chance that my best friend threw up on Prince Harry's shoes, and that I had accidentally dropped my phone and had to go to his place to pick it up. It got even more insane when he asked me to join him for lunch, because he wanted a new friend and out of everyone in this humongous city, he picked me—the friend of the girl that had thrown up on his shoes. This story was definitely one for the books.
"I can't believe this," Zoe grinned, relaxing on the couch as she stared at me with a dumbfounded expression, shaking her head slightly. "The Prince of England, man. Literally the hottest man in the entirety of Europe, in my opinion."
I couldn't help but nod in agreement wholeheartedly, unable to help the grin on my face, either. With my left elbow resting on the back of the couch and hand cradling my face, I stared at my friend in wonder as I dreamily mused, "How does shit like this even happen, Zoe? Of all the people—the Prince of England was the one you puked on."
Zoe's expression went from excitement to mortification once more, face crumbling in embarrassment as her hands went to cover her face, groaning out a muffled, "Oh, my God! That's so bad!"
I couldn't help but grin, patting her knee with my right hand as I teased, "It's okay, he can afford the damage."
She dropped her hands, showing me off her deadpan expression as she bluntly stated, "That's not the point, but thanks so much," before shoving my hand off of her. "Did you tell anyone about this?"
I immediately shook my head, eyes widening slightly as I said, "No, no." Then with a warning tone, I added, "Don't say anything to anyone either, okay? This whole thing is so weird, I'd rather keep it to myself."
Zoe nodded, but scoffed nonetheless as she quirked a dubious brow at me. "You? Queen of tweeting about your life, keeping this to yourself? Have fun with that," she laughed, leaning back and holding her arms up to deflect the cushion I was hitting her with in response to her mocking words, no matter how true they were. I was addicted to Twitter—sue me.
"It's probably not gonna even happen," I then said after the laughter died down, sighing slightly as my shoulders slumped. "Or if it does, it's a one-time lunch and then I'll never see him again." Granted, that thought kind of dimmed my spirits a bit, but I was being realistic.
"Or," Zoe stressed, staring at me intently as she continued, "You'll have lunch with him and he'll realize how great you are and will definitely wanna be friends with you. Don't be such a Debbie Downer."
Rolling my eyes, I picked the imaginary lint off my jeans as I told her, "I'm being realistic, Zoe, but yeah, hopefully it all works out." And as if a switch had been flicked inside of me, my eyes widened and I sat up, catching the attention of my friend as I said, "Holy shit—what the hell am I gonna do if we actually do meet up for lunch? How the fuck am I supposed to act around him? What if we go to a really fancy place because he's a prince and everything is as expensive as his three thousand dollar shoes?"
Yes, it's safe to say that the reality of the situation was settling in and I was on the verge of having a freaking panic attack. But Zoe sat up, too, hands on my shoulders as she forced me to look at her, an intense expression on her face as she spoke. "You'll be fine, don't freak out. Just be yourself, you're pretty charming without knowing it. And he should pay if it's expensive, it's the chivalrous thing to do."
I frowned, lips probably frowning as well as I responded, "I don't need a guy to pay for me, I'm capable of doing that myself, thanks. Just not when it's overly pricey."
Zoe rolled her eyes, not bothering to argue with me and my feministic ways as she released her grip on me and settled back on the couch. "Then maybe you guys will go to some regular restaurant that doesn't charge twenty bucks for a bowl of soup."
A scoff escaped me as I shot her a blank look. "He's the Prince of England, Zoe. I wonder if he even knows if restaurants under a five star rating exist. You should've seen his apartment—it was big enough to accommodate two families perfectly. I was scared to even breathe in there because everything looks so damn expensive. And, oh my God, you should've seen me. I was such a nervous wreck in front of him! It was like I didn't even know how to speak."
Zoe giggled, a look of amusement on her face as she replied, "That's expected if you're talking to a prince. And a gorgeous one, at that."
I grumbled, head tilting back as I stared at the ceiling and groaned out, "F.M.L."
*****
The next day, right before my lunch break, I walked into the office of Teresa Deahl, the head book editor, and dropped the manuscript I had finished working on for her to finalize. Not that she ever had to do so, seeing as she always told me I made her job easy because I was so thorough with my work. Teresa glanced away from her laptop, shooting me a wide grin that revealed her perfectly white teeth.
"You're a Godsend, Vera," she claimed, flipping through the manuscript I had deposited on her desk with a look of approval on her face. "Holman's script looks good, yes?"
"Grammatically, yeah," I nodded, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "All the facts and statements are accurate as well, as far as I could tell."
Teresa grinned, flipping the script shut and putting it back down. "Then that's all I need to know," she said, hands folding on top of her desk.
I couldn't help but laugh lightly, nodding along. I then told her I'm off for my lunch break and left her office, and just as I stepped out, my phone buzzed in my hand and I looked down to see that I had received a text from an unsaved number. But when a light bulb went off in my head, I froze midway to my desk in the middle of the office and all the desks, realizing just who had texted me when I read the message that said Hi, Vera! It's Harry, wondering if you were free to have lunch with me today?
My lower lip pulled into my mouth as the words stared right back at me, jumping a little as one of the literary agents, Luis, walked past me. Quickly settling into my seat, I mindlessly bit my thumb as I contemplated on responding. I know I had told Zoe yesterday that I would say yes should Harry actually proceed with his invitation, but now that the text was right there on my screen, I was suddenly unsure of how to respond. Really, I didn't actually think he was going to go through with it, or if he was actually serious. Apparently he would, and he did, and now I'm at a loss.
"You okay, Vera?" I heard Rufus's voice question, and I glanced up to see him in his seat opposite of me, staring at me with raised eyebrows as he looked away from his computer.
"Yeah," I responded with a reassuring smile, hand holding my phone in my lap. "Just, uh, not sure if I should say yes to a lunch date."
Rufus stared at me for a second before he asked, "Is the dude cute?"
I didn't miss a beat in answering, "yes."
He shrugged then, casually saying, "Then go for it. What's the harm in that?"
With that, Rufus went back to continuing his work, and I let out a sigh before unlocking my phone to respond to the waiting recipient. Instead of over-thinking it, I typed back a response, Yes, I'm on my lunch break now if you want to meet up.
As I waited for a response, I quickly saved the phone number as Harry Styles, and it was right when I saved that where I received a response.
From: Harry Styles
Perfect! Do you have a preference of where you want to eat?
To be honest, I felt sort of relieved that he was giving me the opportunity to pick where to eat, seeing as it was a chance for me to choose a place that I could actually afford. But at the same time, what if the place of my choice wasn't up his alley or something? What if it was too shabby? What if—
Alright, since when did I become someone who fussed over what other people thought?
Probably since I met the Prince of damn England. . . But whatever.
To: Harry Styles
My break's an hour long, so I can't go too far from where I work. There's a small cafe by where I am, if that's okay with you.
Locking my phone, I grabbed my bag from the desk, remaining in my seat as I took my coat that hung from the back of my chair and put my arms through, my phone lighting up with a message.
From: Harry Styles
A small cafe sounds lovely. What's the address? Xx
Taking a breath, I texted him the address of the cafe I liked to go to sometimes, before standing up and hooping my arm through the strap of my bag. Telling Rufus I'd see him after my break, I left the office and got into the elevator, unable to help myself as I pulled out the nude lipstick that was in my bag and reapplied it, using the reflective surface of the elevator door as a mirror as I reapplied. Once I was done, the doors swung open and I stepped out, leaving the building and walking out in the brisk air of the city, although the sun was kind of out, hiding behind clouds occasionally.
The cold air felt nice against my skin, my coat keeping the majority of my body warm as I kept my hands in the pockets of it, the short heels of my boots clicking against the pavement as I walked down the familiar pathway to where the cafe was a couple blocks down around the corner. My heart was doing that strange erratic beating again, but I willed myself not to get too freaked about this situation. Harry was human, just another person—a hugely rich person who was the prince of a country—but a person nonetheless. He seemed nice enough the two times I briefly met him, so this shouldn't be too insane.
Which I knew sounded stupid, seeing as I still couldn't believe I was meeting Prince Harry of England for lunch in a few short minutes, but I was doing my best not to pass out from being overwhelmed. Unreal, I tell you—completely and utterly unreal.
In about fifteen minutes, I reached my destination—Manhattan Mocha—I entered the cafe, the smell of coffee and food intoxicating my nose. It was a cute cafe, kind of reminded me of Starbucks, but they also sold different types of sandwiches and salads and burgers, as well. Tables for two or four would line up the glass walls, as well as a bunch of tables in the middle. A couple of waiters and waitresses wandered around taking orders or bringing out food, and the opposite side of the room where I entered from had a display case of desserts.
Since we were supposed to seat ourselves and it was relatively empty, I grabbed a table by the corner, a few feet away from the window, sitting on the side that faced the front door as I took off my jacket and draped it on the back of the wooden chair, sighing as I sat down. Resting my phone on the table, I looked down at the laminated menu that was already on the tables, keeping myself busy as I looked it over.
Honestly, each second that passed by, I could feel myself relaxing as I waited for Harry's arrival. My nails tapped impatiently on the wooden tabletop, chin resting on my left hand as I looked ahead and out the window, watching the several people walk by in the busy streets of the city. And that's how I spent the next few minutes, gazing out the window as I watched people move along, until a few minutes later when someone took a seat on the chair opposite of me.
Inaudibly taking in a breath, I lifted my head from my hand to take a look at the person who was now sitting with me. Harry had taken residence on the vacant seat, but his face was sort of hidden behind dark Ray Bans and a light brown fedora that rested on top of his head. He had shrugged off his black coat, and was wearing a grey shirt with an unbuttoned dark brown flannel on top.
He grinned, exposing his dimples and white teeth. "Afternoon, Vera," Harry greeted, his British accent absolutely riveting. "I'm sorry about the glasses and hat, it's a safety issue."
After saying that he subtly ticked his head behind him, and I glanced over his shoulder to see a rather large guy sitting by himself at the table behind Harry, his eyes flickering around the restaurant before landing on the boy sitting with me. A bodyguard, I correctly presumed, as I returned my gaze to Harry and offered a smile. "It's fine, I understand," I assured him because, really, it made sense. He couldn't just go walking around without some kind of protection.
Harry smiled, before folding his arms on top of the table as he asked, "So how's your friend doing?"
I let out a light laugh, leaning back in my seat. "She's better now. Kind of embarrassed about what she done." And then my eyes widened ever so slightly as I hurriedly said, "I'm sorry if you didn't want her knowing it was you. She promised not to say anything, if you want to keep your stay a sec—"
"Relax, love," Harry laughed, a sound that was so deep and rich that it could make anyone smile. "I don't mind at all. The whole ordeal is kind of funny, if I think about it."
Quirking an eyebrow, I disbelievingly shot back, "It's kind of funny that you got throw up all over your shoes?" Before Harry could respond, a waitress came by and asked if we wanted anything to drink, and Harry gestured to me to answer first, to which I told the waitress, "A Sprite, please."
Once she jotted that down, the waitress looked at Harry, not at all questioning why he was wearing sunglasses inside, and he responded, "Coke, thank you."
After she left, I looked back at Harry, feeling myself relax once more as I loosely crossed my arms over my stomach and asked, "So. . . What're you doing getting thrown up by my friend in New York?"
Harry laughed at my words, head bowing as he did so and dimples once again in full show as he looked back at me—or at least, I think so, since his eyes were hidden behind his dark shades. "I'm staying in the city for a year," he admitted, prompting me to raise my brows in curiosity. "Wanted some time away from all the insanity that is my life, so I get to stay away for a year without worrying about any of my royal duties and just live like a normal person."
That was not what I was expecting, actually, and his answer was extremely intriguing. The fact that he's taking a whole year off, as if it's some gap year for college, was interesting because I figured that was living the life. Like, being royalty and rich and all that fun stuff—seemed like the perfect life. I guess not, if he was willing to get away.
"Wow," I dumbly replied, before recovering swiftly. "I mean, you'd think with a life like that, no one would wanna get away from it."
Harry's smile softened, seemingly understanding what I meant, as he shrugged lightly. "That's what everyone thinks, but it gets quite boring after a while. The same parties with the same people, they're never interesting. Not to mention I have no interest in actually being some kind of monarch."
My eyebrows shot up. "Really?" I asked, finding that surprising as well.
He nodded. "My sister's more of a queen than I am a king. I'm glad she's next in line, because God knows I'd fuck up the country."
Unable to help myself, I snorted out a laugh, covering my mouth in sheepishness that diminished a bit when he just laughed as well. Just then, the waitress returned with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. I ordered a roasted chicken wrap, while Harry got a beef cheese steak sandwich. Once she left, Harry took a sip of his drink and said, "Enough about that. Tell me about you. Where do you work?"
I put my glass down as well after taking a sip of my Sprite before I answered. "I'm a copy editor at Simon & Schuster Inc., which is just a few blocks down from here."
"Do you enjoy your work?"
I nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah, I do. I write in my free time, but I also enjoy reading other people's work and being able to help them publish it, y'know? It's really. . . Rewarding being able to be a part of that process."
Harry grinned once again, playing with the straw of his drink as he said, "That's great. To be able to do something you love and not be so reluctant to actually go to work."
"It is," I agreed with a nod, and I was silent for a few seconds before I spoke up and sat up straight in my seat. "So, let me ask you something." Harry nodded, paying complete attention with his arms still folded on top of the table and leaning a bit closer. "You said you're trying to live like a 'normal' person, right?" I asked, using air quotes around the word normal, which caused Harry to frown ever so slightly yet release a chuckle. "I gotta be honest with you, Harry, that apartment of yours crosses way past the boundaries of a normal person's living arrangement."
At that, Harry released a laugh, head dropping in what seemed like sheepishness as he shook it, prompting me to let out a small chuckle as well at his visible response. He let out a quiet groan and lifted his head, surprising me by taking off his glasses to reveal his bright green eyes. "That's all my mother's doing. The flat she got me was, in her words, fit for a king."
I rolled my eyes at the irony, commenting, "Yeah, I can see that." Shaking my head, I added, "How can you possibly live a normal life if you're living in a place as lavish as that? It's a constant reminder of who you are."
"Now, love," Harry disagreed, lips pouting a little in a frown as he added, "I'd like to think I'm more than just some prince."
"I'm sure you are," I assured him, not meaning to insult him in any way. Sometimes my habit of being outspoken can make my words sound harsher than I mean for them to be. "But, really. Do you seriously need to live in an apartment that costs more than what I make in a year? Be honest."
Harry's brows furrowed a little in a thought, lips pursing to the side as he answered, "No, I suppose not." He then sighed, leaning back in his seat yet keeping his eyes on me. "But it's the issue of security with my mum. She feels at peace knowing I'm in a flat that has good security and I'm safe."
I pursed my lips, understanding his mother—the Queen's—thoughts about this. "No disrespect to your mother, but high security doesn't always mean being safe. Anything can happen anywhere. And besides, you should live in a place of your choice. Do you actually like living in a place like that?" Before he could respond, I added, "I mean, you say you wanna get away from your life back in England. One look at that apartment and it's like that life followed you all the way here."
Really, who was I to be saying all of this to Harry? Obviously my opinions didn't matter, but it's just who I was. If I found something a little sketchy about a situation, I couldn't help but comment on it so the person that was involved could make it right. Besides, if he truly did want to live a normal life, as he said, the first step is to live in a space that doesn't scream money and high-class. Normal people really just need a roof over their heads and the necessary things to get by—everything else was just there for pure pleasurable purposes.
Harry, who had been contemplating my words, eventually nodded as a small smile kinked at the corner of his lips, hinting at his dimple as he mused, "I suppose you're right. That flat is a bit. . . Excessive."
I couldn't help but grin in response as I couldn't help but say, "Of course I'm right," to which Harry just chuckled in response to as the waitress returned with our food. I noticed how when Harry thanked her, he kept his gaze focused on the plate in front of him so the rim of his fedora could hide his face, now that his sunglasses weren't shielding his eyes. It was a subtle action that went unnoticed by the waitress, who walked away after a chirp of you're welcome.
Fortunately, there weren't many people crowding the cafe at this time, seeing as this entire block was made up of restaurants and other cafes and so customers tend to spread out throughout the area. With our food now in front of us, Harry and I dug in, and after swallowing the first bite of his sandwich, Harry nodded in approval as he complimented, "Bloody hell, this is delicious."
I couldn't help but let out a small laugh at the expression of complete delight on his face, finding it extremely relatable at how happy he got by tasting food. But I still found it amusing that he found a sandwich from some small cafe in Manhattan better than the food he got to eat back home. "I come here a lot for my lunch breaks," I supplied off-handedly as I used a fork to pick up the coleslaw that was on my plate, "their wraps are to die for."
Harry nodded along, seemingly agreeing with my statement as he dipped a French fry in ketchup and ate it. As we kept ourselves busy with our food, Harry's phone let out a chime signaling a text, and he murmured a soft, "excuse me," as he checked whoever texted him. In that moment, I found myself realizing that, truly, he really was just like any other guy—except Harry was well-dressed and pleasant to be around. At this point, I found myself to be completely relaxed in his company, the initial intimidation of his status dying out. Sure, it still keeps hitting me every now and then that, crap, he's the damn prince, but I try to push that thought away.
"Sorry about that," Harry finally said, shooting me a sheepish smile as he locked his phone, "my mates back home keep asking me if I'm bored yet and want to come back home."
His words prompted a laugh from me in response, raising my brows in amusement as I asked, "They miss you a lot, I'm guessing?"
The British guy nodded, smiling fondly as he most likely thought of his friends while taking a sip of his beverage. Putting the glass down, he told me, "There's this pub back home that one of my friends owns, and I go there along with my other mate practically every day." He then backtracked quickly with a light chuckle, "Not to say that I drink every day, but just go there to visit them. It's my happy place, really."
I grinned at the effort he made to clarify his statement, trying not to make himself seem like some alcoholic, which I found adorably funny. "I get it," I acquiesced, biting into my wrap and reveling in the taste of it before swallowing the bite. Then, crossing my right leg over my left knee under the table, I continued, "It's good to have a happy place with your friends. It's probably a good place to get away from the royal life, huh?"
"Completely," Harry nodded with a smile, putting down his now half-eaten sandwich and rubbing his hands with a napkin. "Some of the locals of the bar are so used to seeing me there that they don't question it anymore."
"If it's a known thing that you go there often, don't people, like, come by just for you?" I inquired in curiosity, using my fork to play around with the coleslaw. "I mean, if people knew some celebrity went to the same place all the time, they'd arrive just to see him."
Harry shrugged, fixing his hat a bit so the rim around the front could be tilted back just a little. "It only happens sometimes," he informed me, "most of the time I have my security detail with me who makes sure nothing like that happens."
Nodding along in understanding, I finished off the rest of my wrap, leaning back in my seat at the sight of my now empty plate. As usual, the wrap had filled me right up, and I let out a satisfied sigh before taking a sip of my drink. "So, Vera," Harry spoke up, catching my attention once more, "are you from New York?"
"Not really," I responded. "I was born in New Jersey, but moved here for the last two years of college, and I've been living here ever since, over at Morningside Heights. My family still lives in Jersey, though."
"Oh, so they're pretty close, yeah?" Harry quirked a brow, before taking the last bite of his sandwich as well.
I nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah, it's just a fifteen minute bus ride from Port Authority to my hometown, so it's not bad at all. Gives my mom the perfect opportunity to drop by whenever she wants," I added with a light giggle.
Harry scoffed, shaking his head in amusement. "My mum wishes she could visit me unannounced over here. She was mostly against this because I wouldn't be in her line of sight."
Quirking an eyebrow, I couldn't help but asked in an unimpressed tone, "A little old to be babied by your mother, aren't you?"
Taking no offense to that, Harry laughed in good nature as he sipped his drink through the straw. "Tell me about it," he agreed, "why do you think I wanted to get away? My life my way, you know?"
Raising my hand to gesture to the waitress, I made the motion of asking for the check before saying to Harry, "Start with that apartment of yours. As your friend—I'm assuming we're friends now—it's a good start on trying to live, as you say, normally."
That prompted a laugh from him, and I was glad that so far, we've gotten along pretty well. Sure, it's only been an hour, but he was actually very pleasant to talk to and he held a conversation well. Plus, with someone as nice as him, it was difficult not to want to be friends with Harry. Forget the fact that he was a prince—he was just an overall sweetheart of a person.
When the waitress brought the check and took away our empty plates, I reached for the small black folder until Harry snatched it from right under my fingers. I stared at him in surprise, to which he merely responded to with a boyish, dimpled grin, "Friends don't let friends pay for meals."
I stared at him, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out his wallet and shot back, "That's why I was going to pay."
Harry shook his head, putting a twenty and five dollar bill in the folder after reading the receipt and closing it. "I invited you, Vera, so I'm paying." Then, with a mischievous wink, he added, "You can get next time."
My lips pressed together to stop the smile from widening any more than it already had, liking the idea of there being a next time to this little lunch session. The waitress returned to take the check and money, and Harry then left the tip under the napkin dispenser—a quite generous one, I may add. "I'll hold you to that," I finally said, and when the waitress came back to give back Harry his change and thanked us for the tip, the two of us stood up from our seats to shrug our coats back on.
After doing so, we stepped back out to the busy sidewalk, with Harry's bodyguard right behind us. Once we were outside, I faced Harry, who had returned his sunglasses to his face, and smiled gratefully. "Thanks for lunch—I really appreciate it."
"No problem, love," Harry smiled pleasantly, "I enjoyed it as well. And I look forward to this friendship we've got building."
I laughed, nodding in agreement as I hiked the strap of my purse on my shoulder. "Same here," I said, before glancing at my watch on my left wrist. "Alright, I better get going." Looking back at the tall boy, I said, "I'll see you around, then?"
Harry nodded, and then his left hand lightly grasped my elbow before he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to my cheek. I felt my breath hitch at the feel of his soft lips against my skin, taken slightly aback at the action, but when he pulled back and offered me a smile as if nothing happened, I chalked it up to British manners because God knows no American boy I've been on a non-date on would ever kiss my cheek. "That you will," Harry said, taking a step back. "Have a good rest of the day, Vera."
I smiled, beginning to walk away, "You too, Harry," I replied before offering a single wave and turning around to walk in the direction of my work building.
The entire time I was walking back, I thought to myself how this friendship was definitely going to take some getting used to, but I found myself getting excited at the aspect of this. Truly, it didn't matter that Harry was the Prince of England—I mean, it mattered but it also didn't—because the guy seemed to be genuinely nice and funny. So, yeah, this was definitely going to be interesting.