Samantha
Edith, the marriage commissioner, gave us both grandmotherly hugs as we thanked her for performing our ceremony, but she also kissed Harry on the cheek. I guess she wanted to kiss a prince too. He laughed and returned the gesture, and we all began drifting back to the car, Harry and I still holding hands. I felt like I never wanted to let him go.
"How long can you stay?" I asked.
He squeezed my hand. "I have to fly back to London on Sunday," he said. "I have a meeting with a lawyer—and Meg—on Monday. And hopefully that will be the end of it."
I didn't want to talk about Meg, or the tenuous hold that she still had on Harry. But I was no longer the prince's secret lover—I was his secret wife. The power had shifted in my favor and it was an enormous sense of relief.
"I'm sorry I can't stay longer," Harry said apologetically. "And I do want to meet your family and talk to your father. I'd like to take your father and stepmother out to dinner."
"Can we do that?" I asked. "Go out to dinner?"
He smiled. "There are ways it can be done. Colin will help me arrange it. Maybe tomorrow night?"
"Sure. I can see if they are free. Are you going to tell them about...this?" I asked.
"No," Harry said quickly. "No one can know about our marriage yet. But I want to get to know them...if you don't think they'd mind."
I laughed. "Mind? I don't think they will mind. My dad is pretty outspoken though...he doesn't pull any punches."
Harry pulled me in for a kiss. "Is that where you get it from?"
"Probably."
We kept the kiss brief, even though I knew we were both longing for more. Guiding me towards the car, Harry said, "But no guests tonight. Tonight is room service...and just you and me."
I awoke much later than usual. The curtains were drawn and the room was in semi-darkness and for a moment it felt like it had all been a dream. But there was the weight of the diamond ring on my finger, the scent of my bouquet at the bedside, and Harry, warm and solid next to me.
He wrapped his arms around me and for a long time we just lay there together, cuddling and saying nothing. At last he brushed the hair out of my face and kissed me.
"Good morning," Harry said, his voice husky. "Do you feel different?"
I nodded. "I really didn't imagine, when I woke up yesterday morning, that when I went to sleep last night—"
"—this morning," he corrected.
"—that by the time I went to sleep—whenever it was—that I would be married. To you."
He laughed. "You say that like you had other choices. Were there others you wished to marry?"
"Never," I said. "You're the only one."
After another kiss Harry said, "So what's it like to wake up a princess? By marriage, anyway."
"Am I really? Even without the Queen's approval?"
He nodded. "Technically, you are now Her Royal Highness Princess Henry of Wales—although I doubt anyone will ever call you that. Princess Michael of Kent, who's married to the Queen's cousin, uses the female form of her husband's name, but it's kind of old-fashioned. Most likely, when our marriage is recognized, the Queen will give us ducal titles and we'll be Duke and Duchess."
"It's so very complicated," I said with a sigh. "And it still doesn't seem real."
"Soon enough it will," Harry said. "For now...let's call your father and make plans for dinner."
So I called my dad at work. I'd let him know the night before that I was spending the night with a friend, but gave no other details.
"What's up?" my dad asked, his voice brusque as he picked up the phone.
"Do you have any plans for tonight? You and Jessica?" I asked.
"Not that I know of. Why?"
"There's somebody I want you to meet, and he wants to take you out to dinner. Discreetly, if you know what I mean."
My dad snorted. "I have no idea what you mean. Out with it, Sam. What's going on?"
"I have a visitor from England. He would like to meet you."
There was a ruffling of papers on my dad's end, and I knew he was not fully tuned in to the conversation. "Who?"
"Dad!" I stretched the word out over several syllables. "Who do you think?"
"I'm not in the mood for guessing games."
"Neither am I," I said, ready to slam the phone down in frustration. "He's someone important, okay? To me...and the world." When that still got no response, I simply rattled off the address of the restaurant. "Just meet us there at 8 pm, okay? And Dad—dress up a bit. Please."
Harry and I arrived at the restaurant and were escorted to a private dining room upstairs. It was small, but there was a glorious view of the city lights reflecting off the water. It wasn't long before my father came in alone.
I jumped up and gave him a hug, glad to see that he had at least put on a suit jacket over his khakis. "Where's Jessica?" I asked.
"She had a class," my father said. For a moment I was angry that my stepmom thought a yoga class was more important than meeting a prince, but I quickly shrugged it off. She'd be kicking herself later no doubt at missing the opportunity and besides, I wasn't sure I trusted her to keep this all a secret.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet," I said, taking my dad's arm and turning to where Harry stood beside the table. I was sketchy on the protocol, but I was pretty sure that the person of higher rank should be introduced first. "Harry, I'd like to introduce you to my father, Glenn Walden. Dad, this is Prince Harry. Of Wales," I added, maybe unnecessarily, since there probably weren't that many Prince Harrys out there in the world.
My dad froze, his hand tightening on my arm, and I could tell he was surprised. It was almost funny, in a way...who else did he think I wanted him to meet?
Harry stepped forward and shook my dad's hand. "Mr. Walden. So pleased to meet you. Samantha speaks highly of you."
My dad shot me a suspicious glance, but at least he was recovering from the shock. "Call me Glenn, please, ah...Your Highness?"
Harry laughed. "Only if you call me Harry." He gestured to the table. "Shall we have a seat? I've taken the liberty of ordering us some wine—tell me what you think."
A few glasses of wine later the food arrived and my dad loosened up a bit, talking current events and politics with Harry. I sat back and let them get acquainted, smiling to myself at the way Harry was able to put my dad at ease and make him forget that he was talking to a prince.
Not just a prince...my husband.
Not that I could tell my dad that...not yet, anyway.
The food was amazing and went down well with several more glasses of wine. I was just beginning to relax and think that something chocolatey would be really nice for dessert when my dad put his glass down and said, "So, Harry—what are your plans for my daughter? Aren't you engaged to some actress?"
Luckily I did not spit wine across the table at my dad. I turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer.
Harry took a deep breath. "Mr. Walden—Glenn—can I trust you to keep some secrets for a while? You are a lawyer...I'm sure you understand the need for confidentiality for someone in my...circumstances."
My dad snorted and I rolled my eyes at him.
"Yes, I can keep my mouth shut. Be glad my wife isn't here."
"My rather public engagement to Miss Moran, the actress, is in the process of being dissolved. Of course this requires the assistance of a barrister, a lawyer such as yourself, and the utmost care in how it is handled and announced to the public. My grandmother is...averse to scandal, as you might imagine."
My dad nodded.
"I am in love with your daughter," Harry said, turning a small half-smile on me. "She knocked me on my arse in more ways than one that day we met. I've come to realize that I gave in to pressure to marry Miss Moran when I wasn't in love with her. Samantha is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I'm hoping you will give your blessing to our marriage."
I marveled at Harry's tact and ability to ask for my father's approval without lying or giving away the fact that we were already married.
"And if I refuse to give my blessing, because I don't approve of you marrying my daughter?"
"Dad!" I leaped out of my seat.
My dad waved a hand at me. "Sit down, Sam. You are adults and you don't need my permission. You can tell me to go to hell and get married no matter what I think or say. I can see that the prince is charming and he must be very much in love with you, the way he looks at you and nudges your leg under the table where he thinks I won't notice. And I certainly won't have to worry about your financial future or whether you'll be able to afford a house if you're with him. But you're not just marrying Harry. You'll be marrying into his family and his way of life. You're signing up for a life lived in the public eye, a life in front of cameras and on the front page. You're not a Kardashian, Sam, and I don't think you're cut out for that kind of life. I think you'll be miserable. And that is why I object."
I sank back into my chair. He knew me well, and he had succinctly voiced the fears I secretly harbored. I had no defense against the truth.
Harry took my hand and drew it to his lips, kissing my fingers. "You're partially right, Glenn. Marrying me isn't as simple as it sounds, and being a member of the royal family is not an easy life. And I appreciate the sacrifices that Sam will have to make to be with me. There are some rewards," he said, grinning at me, "although some people might not find them substantial enough to offset the disadvantages. But I think I've been honest with your daughter about all that her new life entails. Oddly enough, I've tried to talk her out of it more than once. But it seems she's determined to take me on, and once she sets her mind on something, she's like a hound on the scent. She won't back down."
My dad laughed, tipping his chair back. "Yes, she is. She's got laser focus when she sets her mind to something. Gods help anyone who stands in her way if her mind is made up."
My shoulders dropped a bit of tension as I looked back and forth between them. Were they going to bond over discussing my faults? I figured that was better than arguing.
"You know how Sam is," Harry continued. "Nothing scares her. Takes life at a full gallop and all that."
"Are you kidding?" I had to step in. "Your grandmother scares me...well, I mean, the Queen scares me. Your grandmother looks like a sweet little old lady who loves her corgis and her horses and her family. But she's so much more than that."
"One of these days you will see her more as my granny, and less as the Queen. But she can be rather...intimidating. Even to me," Harry said.
Growing serious again, he continued, "I'm not going to lie to either of you and pretend that there won't be any scrutiny and that everyone is going to love Sam every day and all the stories will be flattering. You already know the truth about that."
Harry touched my left cheek. The band-aids had come off and the cut was still red, but the swelling was down and the doctor said it was healing nicely.
"But once our relationship becomes official it will be much easier for me to protect you," he said, speaking to me now instead of my dad. "In some ways it's going to be easier for us than for Will and Catherine. I'm never going to be king. Every baby that Catherine bears bumps me farther down the line. When George and Charlotte and the others yet to be born get old enough to have children, those babies will supersede me in the line of succession. We will be working royals but we will have a lot more freedom than Will's family. We can have more privacy. More time to ourselves. And we can shape our roles to suit our dreams and goals more than my brother will ever be able to."
"It's still difficult to think of myself in the category of a working royal," I admitted. "For all of the above reasons."
"You'll have time to get used to it," Harry promised. "We'll introduce you to the working life slowly. There will be someone to teach you all the important stuff—when and how to curtsy, how to address people...all the protocol. And the rest of it? You can hire someone to do your hair and makeup and help you build a wardrobe. You don't think Catherine does all that herself, do you? It's like a movie set or a photo shoot. A lot of work goes into making it look so effortless. Even I have someone who comes in to take care of my wardrobe, making sure all the uniforms are pressed and the medals are polished and so on. I'd rather be wearing battledress or jeans any day of the week, but the Queen wouldn't like that very well."
"I guess not," I agreed.
"We can even get a house in the country if you want, a place for horses and hounds and some day...children?"
Somehow it was a question, and there was hope in his eyes as he looked at me. I realized it was one of the things we'd never talked about, but of course he would want children. Little royal babies.
"That sounds wonderful," I replied, my voice soft, "but can we wait a year or two? Before we have babies? Some time as a couple...time for me to get used to all this?"
"Of course," Harry said quickly. "There's no rush. No pressure. Really."
"Well," my dad said loudly, breaking into the conversation. "I hate to interrupt, but I think it's time for some dessert, don't you?"
"Of course," Harry agreed quickly.
The conversation devolved into small talk, with my dad suggesting places in Vancouver that I might like to show Harry while he was in town. At last, as I was devouring an amazing raspberry-chocolate truffle dessert and wondering if it would seem greedy to order another one, my dad put his fork down on the table firmly.
"Harry."
"Yes, sir?" Harry raised his eyes to my father's.
"I'd like to revise my earlier statement."
"Yes, sir?"
"While I don't think Sam is cut out for a life in the public eye, I do think that both of you have a full understanding of the challenges you will face. I appreciate the love and concern you have for my daughter. And you, Sam—"
My dad tried to look gruff as he turned to me, but his face softened. He shook his head.
"I've never seen you so happy. And yes, determined. I still have some misgivings, but that's a father's prerogative. I will offer you my blessing."
Harry stood up and took my father's hand, shaking it heartily.
"Thank you, Glenn. It means a lot to me." He called for the waiter, ordering some champagne for a toast.
"One more thing," my dad said, looking grim again.
"Yes?" I asked.
"If you decide to have one of those crazy-ass TV weddings, with carriages and all, I expect to walk you down the aisle. In a really nice suit from one of London's best tailors."