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16 - We Never Learn

"This is so good, innit?" Harry asks. I force a smile, and eye my squid, that was beginning to get more and more disgusting, each time that I looked at it.

I could tell that Harry was trying to make this as normal as possible for me. He thought if he made small talk that I wouldn't notice the many people crowded around the small window snapping pictures of us.

Even the people in the restaurant were sneakily taking pictures of us. I shoot a glare at the next person who flashes a picture. The man lowers his phone, a blush creeping onto his face.

We were at one of those restaurants that charged $200 for a small plate of food, that couldn't even fill a newborn child. I knew that Harry could afford everything in this restaurant, hell, Harry could buy this restaurant, and still have a couple million to spare.

My much too tight shoes continue to press against my toes, and I could already feel the scab formulating on my big toe.

I always wondered what it would be like, to be famous, to have people want to take a picture of you. To have everyone looking in awe and envy as you crossed the street. To have paparazzi catching you on a glamorous day, and feeling like a model. I was a naïve little girl then, and would trade a normal life for fame any day.

Harry doesn't seem to mind the people taking pictures though, and I figure that he might be used to it.

"Hey, you never told me why you and your dad never got along," I finally speak. If Harry was going to pretend that we were just two people having casual dinner, then I would play along. Even if that meant pressing him with uncomfortable questions.

Harry swallows the last spoonful of his rice, and sits back, a frown glued to his face.

"Well, we always fought, even when I was younger. He expected me to be a person that I wasn't, he wanted me to take his title, but I didn't want that. We would always shout back and forth until one of us left the room," he says.

I nod, picking at my squid.

"So... why did you eventually move to the US and how?" I ask.

Harry purses his lips, I could tell that this was not on his list of things to talk about tonight.

"Well, I moved to the US when I was about 10, then moved back to England for 6 years and attended boarding school, then I came back my junior and senior year to graduate from there," he says.

"My parents emancipated me on my 17th birthday so they wouldn't have to travel back and forth from England to the US, to see me."

I guess Harry's life wasn't as royally perfect as I thought that it could be. His life honestly sounded like it sucked, and I begin to feel bad for him. But that doesn't stop me from continuing to ask intrusive questions.

"Why couldn't you have just told me that you were a Prince? In Vegas, I mean, I would've understood, I would've helped you somehow, when your father died," I say now.

My intention was not to get emotional at all. In fact, that was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted us to be just two casual friends, having a conversation. I didn't want to think about us getting married, or having a child in a few months.

Harry mumbles something underneath his breath that I don't quite catch.

"Because I wasn't a Prince okay? Not to myself at least, I just wanted to be Harry, not Harry Styles, Prince of England. I didn't want the title, yet my parents kept forcing it on me. When my father died, I just knew that I had to take the title because it was his last dying wish for me. And even though the man and I argued from the moon and back, I still loved him. So, in Vegas, when I found out that he died, I was just making preparations. Calling my mum, calling the secretary that manages all of this, to get things ready. I didn't want to be the king of England, and I still don't want to be," he says now.