Chapter 42
City Girl's POV:
It was a lot bigger than I ever thought.
Buckingham Palace was huge, though I don't think it was big enough to contain the nerves and intimidation swelling up inside me at the mere thought of being here. Not to mention the ever-present disbelief that I was here in the first place; picked up at Heathrow Airport by a car service provided by the palace and brought straight here. Being in London was one thing, but inside the royal palace? I had muttered under my breath plenty of times that this was real that I'm pretty sure the driver and the security detail accompanying me thought I was crazy or something.
Much to my relief, I wasn't left to my own devices for too long. I was waiting in one of the sitting rooms of the palace, nervously declining anything to eat or drink because I feared I'd throw it up because of how anxious I was, when I heard the jingling of a collar before a familiar dog was trying to climb all over me.
"Jagger!" I exclaimed with a delighted giggly, crouching down to allow the dog to easily lick at my chin, my face scrunching up at the slick wetness. As I rubbed at his face and head, giddy joy washed over me at once again being reunited with Jagger. I pouted, "oh, I missed you too, buddy. So much."
"I hope you missed his dad just as much."
My hands stopped rubbing at Jagger's head at the familiar deep accented voice—the voice I had only been able to hear through the staticy speakers of my laptop or cell phone—which was now so clear and present. Slowly I stood up, feeling the pace of my heartbeat quicken as I turned around to catch sight of Harry standing in the wide entryway of the room. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black sweater that had colorful planets on it and he looked so damn good. Seeing him in person rather than through a screen spread a smile so wide on my face, my cheeks were already beginning to hurt in the best way possible.
"More than you know," I answered him, almost breathlessly, and the words had barely passed my lips when the two of us were already gravitating towards one another.
Harry's hands reached out as we got closer, and the second they grasped mine I felt my grin widen and chest lighten as he used his grip to pull me into a hug. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, I hugged Harry close, eyes squeezing shut as I felt his own arms wrap around my waist and his achingly familiar scent intoxicated me wonderfully.
Giddy excitement and utter elation shook my body as Harry held me close, a happy giggle passing bubbling past my lips as I buried my face in his shoulders and mumbled, "I missed you so much."
"And I missed you more," Harry's raspy voice responded as I felt his fingers thread through the back of my head. The two of us pulled back, bodies still close as his green eyes met my dark ones, mirroring the dimpled smile that I could still feel on my face. I know I talked to him every day and saw him through FaceTime, but actually seeing him in person—holding him and feeling him—was a kind of ecstatic joy that I didn't think was possible.
Over the past few months of us being separated I obviously hadn't forgotten how green Harry's eyes were—but I'd only been able to see them through a pixelated screen. Now though, with him right in front of me and only inches away instead of thousands of miles, I could properly take in just how bright and gorgeous I remembered his eyes to be.
Harry's hands grasped my cheeks, rings cool against my skin as his gaze flickered to my lips briefly. "God, I missed you," was all he breathed out before pressing his mouth to mine, the force of the kiss nearly knocking the air out of my lungs as I instantly kissed him back.
It wasn't a surprise how easily I melted into him; into his touch and taste as our lips moved together and my hands fisted the front of his sweater. My mind was dizzy with delight and pleasure, heart thundering against my ribcage at the pleasant taste of mint gum Harry seemed to have. We hadn't been able to hold each other like this for a while, and being here, locked in this embrace with Harry, felt like home.
In this foreign country, in this huge palace. . . Being able to hold and kiss Harry made it feel like I belonged here, and it was a sensation I never wanted to be deprived of. How the hell had I managed to go months without being with him? It seemed almost barbaric to not be able to experience something as pleasurable and comfortable as this. His lips molded against mine familiarly and his hair was soft between my fingers and, God, it'd take an army of men to get me to let go of Harry.
"Oh, my goodness—she's here!"
Or, in this case, Harry's sister.
Immediately, at the sound of her voice, I pulled away from Harry with slightly widened eyes as I took a step back, pressing my lips together. Harry's lips twitched up into a smile, almost sheepish, as his gaze traveled over my shoulder to the woman behind us. Taking a breath, I hesitatingly turned around and caught sight of the woman I'd only spoken to through video calls.
Letting go of Harry, I mustered up a smile at the woman who was excitedly making her way over, blonde hair braided back and green eyes wide with enthusiasm as she pulled me into an unexpected hug. "Oh," I gasped as I felt her arms around me, awkwardly hugging her back as I stared at the gold and white wallpaper in front of me.
"It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Vera," Gemma laughed delightedly, pulling back so her eyes could meet mine, and my smile relaxed and instantly became genuine at the sight of her sincere happiness. "Harry's been keepin' you all to himself, it's about time we met."
My own laugh mixed in with hers as Gemma squeezed my hands, rolling her eyes when Harry stepped up beside me. "Alright, you gonna let go of my girl or what, Gem?"
"No, because Mum and Dad are waiting in the garden and they're just as impatient as I was," Gemma informed, before raising her eyebrows enthusiastically at me. "Come, Vera."
Before I knew it, she was pulling me along, out of the living room and down a wide hall as I heard Harry let out an affronted exclaim followed by the sounds of his footsteps behind us. We passed multiple closed doors and decorate side tables in the hall, expensive looking vases on them and paintings hung up as Gemma opened a white door that led out into a vast garden at the back of the palace.
It was just as I had expected it to be; beautiful and colorful bushes of flowers along the side nearest to us with a pathway leading to a pretty white gazebo where I, admittedly anxiously, realized the King and Queen of England were seated. There were a couple of security details spread across the huge garden, stoic expressions on their faces and hands held together in front of them as they stood ready and alert.
Since I really had no other choice but to follow her, Gemma let go of my hand as we approached the gazebo and the closer we got, the more the pacing of my heart picked up. Truthfully, I couldn't tell if my anxiety was skyrocketing because I was about to meet the King and Queen or because they were Harry's parents. The combination of both couldn't possibly be good for my health.
Briefly, a part of me—probably the denser, dumb part—wondered if I was supposed to bow or something once I reached them, but then I quickly dismissed that thought. I don't think people still bowed. . . Did they?
"Oh, here they are," I heard Harry's mom say and I took in a breath as we neared and she and Harry's dad stood up from the benches they were sitting on. Oh, God, here we go. As Harry's mother neared me, I took in the pretty yellow and white floral dress she wore, fitting and reaching her knees and makeup done perfectly. Did she look like that on a regular basis? Wow.
"Vera," Harry's mom—The Queen? Mrs. Styles?—smiled as we finally reached them, and I once again was pulled in for an unexpected hug as she said, "it's lovely to meet you. Harry's told us so much about you."
"Yeah, same here," I returned, admittedly a bit awkwardly, as we pulled back and shook hands with Harry's dad, who had a kind smile on his face as he repeated the sentiment.
Harry's dad gestured towards the benches. "Come sit, sit," he smiled before I sat down next to Harry. The next few moments consisted of small talk; his parents asking me how my flight was, offering me some tea all the while I tried to relax myself.
I think I was in a perpetual state of anxiety while being here—especially knowing that his family was curious about my own. Or, to be specific, my dad. Just because I had forgiven him and had mended my relationship with him, doesn't mean other people would be accepting of his residence in a prison cell. Especially if those people were the King and Queen of England.
For a while, we talked about my job as they asked me details about what I did at work and, to my relief, looking impressed at the fact that I was the head of our branch. With every approving raise of eyebrow and smile, I began to feel more relaxed in front of Harry's family, trying to push their status to the back of my mind. Thinking of them as just Harry's parents rather than the king and queen helped calm me down a bit—not too much, but a little was better than none.
"Harry showed us photos of your friend's wedding," Mrs. Styles, who insisted I called her Anne, said as she lowered her cup of tea. "It looked beautiful—your mum was the planner?"
When his mother had caught him FaceTiming me about a month ago—the day I felt my heart drop right out of my ass at the sight of the Queen on my laptop screen—Harry told me he had also come clean to her about everything. From moving to a different, less secure apartment to meeting my friends and even attending a wedding where he was obviously spotted. It was a miracle no one had blabbed about the Prince of England being at Zoe's wedding, though once Harry returned to England and told an interviewer about his year away, pictures had began surfacing. What was a real miracle was that none of those pictures were of me and Harry looking more than friendly.
His parents had reacted as expected; surprised about his mild carelessness, though it was all said and done and they got their son back in one piece, so they had nothing to complain about.
"Yes; she's amazing at what she does," I answered Anne, smiling at the mere thought of my mother and the work she loves doing. "She's planned my brother's wedding and all my friends want her to do theirs, too," I added with a light laugh.
"I'm assuming you do, too?" Anne raised a perfectly done brow, the knowing action contradicting the innocent way she said those words.
The warmth traveled up my neck and spread across my cheeks, a bit uncomfortable treading on the topic of marriage with my boyfriend's family with him sitting right next to me. It was a topic every couple needed to discuss at some point, and Harry and I have been together for almost a year—which, in my opinion, may be a bit too soon to have this conversation. Hell, our one year anniversary was coming up in two months, so I was focused on celebrating that rather than anything else.
Glancing at Harry, I saw him shooting his mother an exasperated look—he obviously wasn't too big of a fan of this conversation either—as I pressed my lips together before offering a small, reserved smile. "I think my mom would be really upset if I didn't have her plan it," I responded with an awkward chuckle, purposefully avoiding saying wedding.
Fortunately, his parents laughed along in agreement. "Very true," Harry's dad nodded. "What about your father, then? What does he do?"
The rigidness in my shoulders returned as my back straightened, having expected this question yet not fully prepared to answer it. My mouth dried as Gemma shot me an assuring look, as well as feeling Harry's hand press against my lower back comfortingly. However, knowing I had both of their support still wasn't enough to give me the courage to answer their question. Lying was something I was even more uncomfortable with—especially if, somehow in the future, they found out the truth and thought of me as a liar. That may just be worse.
But that didn't mean this would be any easier.
"He was, uh," I cleared my throat, placing my now empty cup on the circular table in front of me where the benches were placed around. Sitting straight and fingers fiddling in my lap, I forced myself to meet Harry's parents' curious, patient gazes as I continued, "he worked at a pharmaceutical company."
"Worked?" Harry's mother tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, the gesture portraying nothing but elegance. "What does he do now?"
Oh, God. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears through the anxiety rising, the fear of what they might think of me, of my family, prompting the words to die in my mouth. I so desperately wanted to just lie, but I couldn't. That had the potential of embarrassing me in the future. Even if getting humiliated in the future sounded better than feeling so now. The familiar trickle of anger I felt towards my father for putting me in this position sparked inside my chest but then again, how could he have known I would someday have to relay his misdoings to the King and Queen of England? Fuck, life was weird.
"My dad's, uh, he's made some mistakes in his life," I slowly started, bringing myself to find solace in the soothing way Harry rubbed his hand up and down my back. Glancing at him, I saw the small smile tilting at his unfairly naturally pink lips, encouraging me. It'd be okay, with him here, I knew. Looking back at his parents, I took a breath. "I spent nearly a decade being angry with him, not speaking to him for making a mistake when I was a kid. But he's—he's a good person. A good man."
I watched as Harry's parents exchanged confused expressions, looking to their kids to see if they were following any of what I was saying, but Harry and Gemma were both looking at me. Harry's mom shook her head once. "I don't under—"
"My dad's in prison," I blurted, feeling a crushing weight on my chest as soon as the words escaped my mouth. Especially when I saw the older couple blink in startelement, clearly not having expected that as they stared at me with widened eyes. My mouth was dry, tongue feeling like sandpaper as I forced myself to explain, "his business was failing and he was desperate so he—he switched to selling illegal drugs and that. . . Obviously it didn't end well."
Part of me wanted to throw up after confessing that, feeling utterly nauseous as I forced myself to take in their expressions of bewilderment, trying to make sense of what I had just admitted. Time had stopped, it seemed, as a heavy silence blanketed us, the only sounds registering in my mind being that of the occasional chirping of birds. My skin felt like it was on fire, nervously waiting for Harry's parents to say something—anything. Yet also knowing whatever came next, I wouldn't be prepared for.
Especially when Harry's mother suddenly stood to her feet, expression blank and unreadable as she cleared her throat. "Excuse me," was all she stated before promptly walking out of the gazebo and in the direction of the Palace.
Our gazes followed her purposeful strides further away from us, and I felt my throat tighten as the air got caught in my lungs. Harry squeezed my hand. I was screwed.