Waiting for Prince Harry

by Aven Ellis

  Shoot me. Shoot me now.

  I clear my throat. “Brandon, do you want to let them know we’re all here now? I’m starving.”

  “Sure thing, K,” Brandon says.

  He goes up front to talk to the hostess. And as I follow him with my eyes, I see that some people are taking pictures of Harrison. And with a sinking stomach, I know these will be thrown up on Twitter, Instagram, and Connectivity in seconds.

  “Excuse me, Harrison?”

  I turn around and see a stunning redhead with an A+ boob job standing behind us.

  Harrison turns around. “Yes?”

  “I’m so sorry to bother you at dinner, but could I please get your autograph? I’m one of your biggest fans.”

  I bite down on my lip. I can’t believe this. We’ve been here less than 10 minutes and two people have interrupted his personal time for autographs. Two adult women, who should know better.

  Or is that two Flynnbabes who have their radars locked and loaded on single Harrison Flynn?

  “Sure,” Harrison says, taking the Sharpie she has extended to him. “What would you like me to sign?”

  The redhead casually leans forward. “You could sign my chest,” she says, suggestively batting her eyelashes at him. “I’m afraid I don’t have any paper on me.”

  Are you fucking kidding? Sign your chest?

  “Let me get a napkin from the bar,” Harrison says. He glances over at Candace, whose eyes are popped wide open at the horror movie unfolding in front of my eyes. “Candace, would you please hand me a napkin?”

  Candace does as she is told.

  “Thank you,” Harrison says. Then he uncaps the Sharpie, holds the napkin against his thigh, and scrawls ‘Harrison Flynn #22’ on it. He hands the cocktail napkin back to her. “Here you go.”

  “Ooooooh, now I can say I have something that has touched your thigh,” she says, winking at him. “Thank you so much.”

  I feel nothing but anger as I stare at her retreating back. This fan knows Harrison is trying to have a night out. It’s obvious he is with me. And she has the nerve to come over here and flirt with him right in front of my face?

  I glance over at my parents and Candace, who are all wearing stunned expressions.

  Harrison clears his throat. “I’m very sorry about that.”

  “Does this happen all the time?” my mother asks, concern floating over her face.

  Harrison is about to answer when Brandon comes back and announces our table is ready.

  I silently thank God and we make our way to the table, which unfortunately is in the freaking middle of the restaurant.

  Harrison quickly pulls out my chair. I sink into it, keenly aware that we are being stared at.

  Like animals in a zoo.

  He takes the seat next to me and as soon as he does, Harrison reaches for my hand underneath the table and gives it a squeeze. Although I’m rattled by the people taking pictures of us while we try to have a family meal, his touch instantly brings me comfort.

  Harrison flips open the menu and leans over to me. “What’s good here, Kylie?”

  I smile at him. “Fajitas. I love those. I like the shrimp ones the best.”

  “That works for me,” Harrison says, closing his menu.

  Chips and salsa are brought to the table, and for a moment everyone is distracted with looking at the menu and devouring sweet potato and blue corn tortilla chips. After we order, I feel all eyes at the table shift to Harrison.

  “So, Harrison,” my mother says, running a hand through her short dark hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I read that your parents are Harvard professors. That’s incredible, to have that kind of genius in the family.”

  Fuck. I resist the urge to down my margarita and ask for a row of tequila shots to get through this.

  Of course she picks another hot button topic. Of course.

  Harrison takes a sip of his beer and puts it on the table, fiddling with the coaster underneath it. “Yes, they are. They’re brilliant people. I can’t even begin to speak of all they have accomplished. I can only aspire to accomplish a tenth of what they have in my lifetime.”

  “But what about all that you’ve accomplished?” Candace pipes up. “You almost got the Demons to the finals last year. Not to mention your modeling career.”

  “I’d like to think, other than my achievements on the ice, that my Harrison Flynn Foundation supporting mental illness health is my biggest accomplishment, actually.”

  I love you. I’m so in love with you.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Candace nods. “But back to your modeling for a moment. I have a teeny favor to ask you, Harrison.”

  Oh, please don’t, Candace. Please don’t ask him a favor.

  Unless it’s to pass the salsa. That would be okay.

  “Sure, anything,” Harrison says.

  Candace reaches into her YSL tote—one of the uber expensive gifts Brandon gave her right before the wedding—and whips out a color photocopy of his Esquire photo shoot article.

  “Could you please sign this?” Candace asks. “And then if I could get your picture with me next to you holding it up to put on my Connectivity page?”

  She did not just ask him that.

  “Because we are practically family, right?” she adds.

  My stomach completely rolls over. Harrison is going to dump me in the parking lot tonight. Who would put up with this?

  “Sure, I’d be happy to, Candace,” Harrison says easily. “But would you mind if we did it at the end of dinner? Otherwise people might start coming over to take pictures, and I don’t want to ruin your family dinner tonight.”

  I squeeze his hand. Harrison is handling this like he does when he’s on the ice playing a game. Agile, quick thinking, and swiftly able to move around the obstacles in his path.

  But living all this just brings home the fact that Harrison is bothered at all times when he goes out. He just can’t go out and be “Harrison” like we do when we are at Home Depot early in the morning before people really get going, or when we were at the Dallas Arboretum. In fact, right now, people are still taking pictures and pointing at us, which is really weird for me.

  But it is something I’m going to have to learn to accept to be with him.

  Harrison begins asking questions of my parents, Candace, and Brandon, who is still eying Harrison with a lot of suspicion. But anytime Harrison tries to talk to them about their own lives and interests, like a normal boyfriend would—my family comes right back to talking about Harrison Flynn, Hockey God.

  It’s so strange. To me, he’s Harrison. My boyfriend. The man who is kind and compassionate, protective, and fun to be around. He’s an excellent cook, dog-lover, and knows how to renovate homes, and is passionate about helping people struggling with mental illness.

  But my family doesn’t care about that Harrison, the man I have come to know and fallen in love with.

  They are simply intrigued with celebrity Harrison, and that is who they want to know tonight.

  So this goes on, with fans stopping by to talk to Harrison and congratulate him on the Demons’ great season, or to say they are his biggest fan. Just to add some more awkwardness to an already awkward evening.

  Finally our food arrives and for a few minutes my family is distracted with that, thank God.

  “So, Harrison,” Brandon says, putting his fork down on his enchilada plate, “the life of the professional athlete. From everything I’ve read, it seems that womanizing and heavy drinking are the norm. Do you find that to be true?”

  What? I’m about to go mental. How dare Brandon ask him this kind of shit? I open my mouth to speak but Harrison beats me to it.

  “Fair question, Brandon,” Harrison says evenly. “Yes, that’s true for some athletes.
But not all of us. And certainly not me. It’s always dangerous to make a stereotypical assumption like that, though. It’s easy enough to do, of course, I’ll grant you that. But it’s dangerous. I mean, that would be like me accusing you of being an ambulance chaser because you are a lawyer. And that would be wrong, of course, now wouldn’t it?”

  I love this man.

  Harrison had just put Brandon right in his place. Brandon meekly agrees with him and goes about eating again, and finally the subject and grilling of Harrison Flynn Hockey God has stopped.

  And if Harrison doesn’t break up with me tonight after all of this crazy nonsense, I’ll be utterly amazed.

  The meal ends, Candace gets her picture with Harrison, and we all exchange goodbyes. We begin making our way back toward the car, and as soon as we are alone in the SUV, I nearly burst into tears.

  “I . . . I’m so sorry!” I blurt out. “I’m so sorry they acted like that!”

  Harrison turns to me, confusion on his face. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “They were grilling you,” I cry, the words tumbling out in a rush as Harrison stares at me. I bury my head into his broad chest. “All they wanted to know was Hockey God Harrison Flynn. I’m embarrassed. I’m mortified about all of it. They don’t even know you, the man I—”

  I can’t tell him I love him. Nothing would make a guy bolt faster than going through all that craziness and then—after a mere few weeks—some woman confessing her love to him. No. I can’t say it, even if I know I do love him.

  “—the man I have come to know,” I correct.

  Harrison puts his hands on my arms and pushes me back so he can look at me.

  “Whoa. Stop right there, Kylie. They’re protecting you, and that is what a family should do. You have no reason to be upset about tonight. In fact, I’m worried about what you thought about dinner.”

  “What?” I ask, utterly confused.

  Harrison looks away for a second. He turns back to me and I see nothing but worry on his face.

  “No woman should have to deal with the bullshit that comes with me,” he says, reaching for my hands and squeezing them tightly. “All the Seekers interrupting our meal, the Puck Bunnies, people taking pictures. It’s fucking insane, Kylie. I know that had to make you feel awkward. Tell me, Kylie. How do you really feel about that?”

  I hold my breath. Confide in him, my head whispers. Just tell him it’s annoying and strange and upsetting and I need help to get used to it. Tell him the truth.

  But as I see the panicked look in his eyes, I can’t do that to the man I love. I can’t worry him further. Because in spite of how I feel, I know I can talk to him later about it. At a better time.

  “I’m okay,” I say, putting on a brave face. Then I smile at him and utter the words I mean with all my heart. “And I’m not going anywhere either.”

  And as Harrison squeezes my hand in his and then turns the engine on, I know one thing. None of this—the way my family acted, the way the public treated us, the way social media is probably lit up with pictures of Harrison drinking a beer while he was holding my hand—will ever matter to who we are as a couple.

  We’re good here, I think. And we always will be.

  Chapter 26

  The Pop Quiz Question:

  Things are going along swimmingly with your man. He’s met your family; his family knows everything about you via the magic of FaceTime. You have met his friends, and you like them and they like you. Where do you see things going from here?

  A) Right now I’m happy. Let’s leave it at that.

  B) It definitely has potential.

  C) This man is my future. I know it with every fiber of my being. And nothing could ever change that . . .

  Things couldn’t be more perfect.

  It is already near the end of August. It’s Friday night, and I’m sketching in my sewing studio. Harrison has just run out to pick up salmon to grill for dinner, and I’m working on new apron designs while I wait for him to come home.

  Home. I think of how drastically my life has changed in a month. Because this guesthouse practically is my home now.

  I’m over here more than I’m in Uptown. And we have developed our own routine, too. Harrison goes and trains for hockey in the mornings and then works on the house in the afternoons. I go to work, hit my yoga or cardio dance class at the gym, and come home to my Prince Harry.

  We find that we like being at home more than anywhere else. I’m a homebody anyway, and Harrison really is at heart, too. Of course we have been out—we have been to the Dallas Museum of Art and the Perot Museum; to the movies, to restaurants where we can book the chef’s table or reserve seating in the back for privacy.

  We had a romantic dinner at Reunion Tower, at Wolfgang Puck’s Five Sixty, and it was breathtaking. The restaurant was sleek and modern, the views of Dallas just stunning, and the food was some of the best I’ve ever had. We decided that is our place and we will eat there once a month to celebrate us being . . . us.

  I’ve met some of his teammates and their wives/girlfriends, too, at a cookout at a fellow player’s house. Everyone was very nice, which eased my mind a lot. Of course, all the players’ girlfriends are really gorgeous, and that’s intimidating for sure. But they all welcomed me and that was good. And, Harrison would look at me from across the patio in that way he has, and I know I was the only woman he had eyes for. It’s the way he always looks at me. And he always will.

  My family is getting more used to Harrison Flynn the person—not the superstar athlete—and even Brandon is starting to come around, just like I suspected.

  The house renovations are coming along brilliantly. We moved forward with the interior designer to create a master suite in calming hues of gray. First, we used a gray silk covering for the walls, providing a rich texture. Then we installed a muted silver-color carpet on the floor.

  I made a tufted, padded headboard. We scoured antique stores on the weekends and found a gorgeous chandelier as a focal point of the room. Harrison even made the nightstands and dresser out of dark-stained wood then we found cool vintage crystal knobs to install on them. The designer located a great pair of cream lounge chairs and a large, round leather ottoman in gray to use as a table between the chairs. In essence, we created a chic bedroom with an Old Hollywood vibe to it.

  Next, I found an amazing silver cream-colored fabric for the duvet and pillow shams and I sewed those in the studio. I also made stunning long curtains in gray for the windows, and completed the look with cream-colored Roman shades for added privacy.

  I pause for a moment. I still feel like the next-door neighbor spies on us. Because whenever we are grilling or in the pool, those lights always come on. Sometimes I even notice it when we are in the guesthouse, too. Harrison assures me it’s just a nosy neighbor and that’s all, but it’s still unsettling to feel watched. But since it doesn’t seem to bother Harrison—who is used to being watched all the time—I don’t mention it. I don’t want him to worry about me.

  Just then the door opens and Harrison walks in with a Central Market shopping bag.

  “Hi, Gorgeous,” Harrison says, coming over to me and looking over my shoulder. “How are the designs coming?”

  “Very well,” I say happily. “I’m so inspired in this studio to sketch and sew.”

  Harrison leans down and brushes his lips on the top of my head. “That’s my girl. You are going to be ready for Etsy very soon.”

  I fidget on my stool. “Maybe,” I say cautiously, “a better time might be when the house is finished.”

  Harrison nods and moves to the kitchen. “How was work today?”

  I get up from the studio table and follow him. I lean against the kitchen counter and watch him unload the bag. “We got our heavy coats in, and boots, and I’m putting together an amazing
display in the front of the store with them.” Then I sigh. “And there is this gorgeous pink Prada cross body bag that I’m in love with. It’s the perfect pink, just perfect, and it adds a vivid pop of color against black clothing.”

  Harrison grins at me. “Well, since you have not cashed one single check I’ve given you, I’ll make that Prada purse happen.”

  “Oh no! No, no, no!” I cry, putting my hand out. “Don’t do that. You know I’m here not for a check, but because I love working with you and being with you.”

  “That wasn’t the arrangement,” Harrison says good-naturedly as he puts the salmon on the countertop. “Besides, since I’m your boyfriend, I’m allowed to buy you a gift.”

  I’m about to argue when his iPhone rings. Harrison digs it out of his shorts pocket and glances at it. “It’s Dan. This is about the labor meetings,” Harrison says, referring to the Dallas Demon who is the team union representative. “Hello?”

  I wind a strand of hair around my finger, watching as Harrison talks to Dan.

  “. . . that’s awesome! Fucking awesome! What are the details? . . . Yeah . . . Right . . . Okay . . . So when is training camp? . . . Okay . . . All right, talk to you later.”

  Harrison puts his phone down and stares at me. “The dispute has been resolved. There won’t be a lockout. We’re on!”

  I see the look of relief that is on Harrison’s gorgeous face. His biggest nightmare—of having a life without hockey—has been avoided for now.

  But I know it’s an issue he’ll eventually have to deal with.

  Harrison lets out an excited yell and picks me up, swinging me around. “Did you hear that, Kylie? I’m back. Back on the ice!”

  I hear the joy in his voice, nothing but pure elation, and I laugh with him. “I’m so happy for you. And I can’t wait to see you play.”