Samantha
It was a cold and rainy evening by the time Simon escorted me into a living room somewhere in the distant suburbs. The escape plan, which began with me calling the cops to clear out the press in front of my flat and then ducking into the Sleeping Lion, only to duck out through the back into a waiting car, worked perfectly, as far as I could tell.
I changed cars, landing at last in the passenger seat of a beat-up Land Rover which I suspected might be Simon's personal ride. He watched the rear-view mirror constantly, but as we pulled into the garage of a modest home and the door glided shut behind us, he seemed pleased.
The house seemed to be suddenly empty, as if its occupants had been hurried out at the last minute. Child's toys and a large plastic ride-on duck were scattered around the edges of the room. Whoever this house belonged to, it was not one of the royal set, or even one of Harry's well-to-do London friends.
The back door opened and Harry entered, shaking the rain off his dark jacket. He removed a knitted cap and his ginger hair sprang out at odd angles as he looked at me and opened his arms.
I went to him and snuggled into his warm embrace, breathing in his scent and the smell of his cologne. We kissed, and his voice was husky as he said, "I've missed you."
"I've missed you too," I said, and then, looking down at his muddy boots, "Did you jump over the fence into the back garden to get here?"
"Not quite, but I did jog a few blocks and duck down a few alleys. Felt a bit like James Bond or something."
"Yeah, me too."
"Sorry I can't offer you a fancy dinner tonight, but I can make you a cup of tea," he said, hanging his wet jacket by the door and ducking into the kitchen. "Might even manage a plate of biscuits, if I can find any."
"Should I ask whose house this is?"
"One of the staff. Someone Duncan trusts. But we can't stay long."
I followed Harry into the kitchen and tugged at his arm. "I don't want any tea. Or biscuits. I just want to be with you...for as long as I can."
He turned and leaned against the kitchen counter, and again I stepped into his embrace. For a few minutes we stood there, hip to hip, our arms around each other, saying nothing. I closed my eyes and let my head rest on his strong chest, feeling the scratchy wool of his sweater against my cheek, and listened to his heartbeat.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
"For what?"
"For having such a complicated life. For being unable to do what I want to do right now, instead of waiting. I'm not an overly patient person, Sam. And I don't like feeling helpless and unable to change things."
"And if you had the chance...what would you do right now?"
"Right now?" He gave me a wicked grin and tugged me closer, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of my jeans. "Oh, I would do many, many things with you right now...if we had the time and the space to do it."
I slid my arms around his neck and we kissed again. As we parted I said, "You don't need to apologize for your family and your life. You can't change your history."
Harry's face was somber. "I should not have gotten engaged to Meg. I should have broken it off before it got this far. I knew it...and I didn't do it. That much is my fault. If I had been free when I met you—"
I shook my head. "Don't even go there. It's not something we can change now."
"And the things that I can change right now are very limited...because of who I am. What I am." He looked down at me. "The Queen demands to see me, no doubt to talk about all this. But I needed to talk to you first."
"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.
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.
And really, there was only one answer possible.
"Yes. Of course."