"Sorry, hold up, you two are getting married?" I almost yell, gesturing at the two. When I realise I already messed up the accent, my hand flies to my mouth. "I apologise for my language, it is just surprising is all."
"Yes, we are getting married," Amelia says, grabbing Harry's arm and draping it around her waist. She looks up at him and smiles, receiving one in return. I am shocked to say the least. My heart hurts, I'm not sure why, but I am more surprised as Harry hardly seems like the kind of guy who would kiss someone other than his fiancée.
"Well I am very happy for the both of you," I direct at both of them, smiling at Harry, sending daggers with my eyes. His eyes seem to plead with mine, trying to catch a moment of intimacy, but I won't allow it.
"Amelia, we should be on our way," the butler pipes up, tapping her on the shoulder. She takes another look at me, eyeing me from my head to my toes. I almost think I see a look of disgust in her eyes, but I think it is just in my imagination. Give her the benefit of the doubt. She kisses Harry on the cheek and locks arms with the butler, glancing back at us as she waltzes out of the room like she is some high and mighty princess.
"So you have just met the princess of England," Harry informs me awkwardly. He rubs the back of his head and I stare at him in disbelief.
"So you're engaged?" I ask, trying to hide my emotions.
"Lacey, I-"
"I'm happy for you, Harry. She'll make a beautiful bride," I say, calming down as my words progress, I don't know why I'm saying them, they are the opposite of what I'm feeling, although I am unsure of what exactly I am feeling anyways. I busy myself by chewing on my nails, but Harry walks up to me and pulls my hands away from my mouth. "So, when is the wedding?" I ask, recoiling at his touch.
His eyes fall and his shoulders drop and my actions. "We are to be wed on the first of February, my birthday," he says, burying his head in my hands, which I reluctantly sit through. His hair is soft like silk, his gentle curls tickling my skin.
"Harry, are you alright?" I ask. He sits up and runs his fingers through his hair.
"I believe I should explain further before anything else about me is revealed." I nod my head and cross my arms in anticipation.
"I am not a butler in this palace," he says, walking towards the window, the soft light illuminating his face.
"I was always suspicious of that. Your house is much too large for a butler's salary," I laugh, staying stationary.
"Then you must know I am a prince." Actually, I did not. I just assumed he was some rich, distant relative. "My father and mother are King and Queen of France, I rule over this small kingdom." This is news to me. It takes me a moment to even truly register what he said before I begin to panic.
"Why do you sound British then?"
"I grew up in London with my aunt because my parents thought it would be better for me. They did not think royalty would be a good influence on me, I suppose. I thank them for it deeply, now that I am in it, all I want to do is leave, but sadly it is not an option." He pulls back the white curtain, leaving us blinded for a moment as our eyes adjust to the light. "It has been arranged since I was a child that I would marry Amelia at the age of twenty-four."
"I guess that explains a lot," I admit. Harry nods and the room grows silent. "I mean especially the part about Amelia, I have never seen someone look that uncomfortable in my life," I laugh, teasing him as his face turns bright red.
"Surely it was not that bad, I have tried to grow fond of her and I believe it has been working." I can't help but let out another laugh. He looks at me with a confused expression.
