#all in favor of dragging him still along with meghan

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Maybe its just me who thinks this, but if you see Diana's Death in The Crown Season 6 and your takeaway is, "William turned out well despite her death while Harry is a mess.", your fucking disgusting.

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 3 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 7.2k

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Geoff drags him out Sunday night, reminds him that he promised to play guitar for karaoke at the SandTrap for at least an hour until their regular guy can get there. 

“Besides,” Geoff rasps as he pulls Shawn into local-filled pub on the beach, “you need to have some fucking fun, dude. Stop wallowing over Maya.” 

“I’m not wallowing,” he insists, but he sounds a little too defensive even to his own ears. He re-adjusts his grip on his guitar case, following Geoff towards the stage. “Just, you know, processing. It’s a lot to process, dude.” 

Geoff takes Shawn’s guitar and sets it down next to his bass on the stage. He gives Shawn a look, amused but sympathetic, then jerks his head towards the bar. “C’mon,” he says, clapping Shawn on the back, “Let’s grab a beer before they need us on stage.” 

Shawn doesn’t argue, just lets Geoff push him forward. He takes the first empty seat at the end of the bar and nods at Meghan, the new bartender who started a few weeks ago. She smiles and he thinks maybe she blushes. He wonders if she’d flirt with him, if he tried. Probably. It could be fun, if it sounded at all remotely like something he wanted to do. 

Instead, he orders two beers and listens to Geoff talk about the woman at work he’s trying impress until they’re summoned to the stage. 

Maya scans herself in the reflection of a too-shiny BMW in the SandTrap lot. She hasn’t seen herself in these shorts since she was in her mid 20s, probably. She found them in the bottom of a box as she unpacked from her storage unit that was shipped over from Manhattan. 

She tried them on as a joke initially. But… they looked great. Especially a couple wine glasses in.

She’s heading for the SandTrap tonight because it’s just… time. Truthfully, she hasn’t left the house really since her run-in with Shawn at the farmer’s market last weekend. She’s been in and out to surf but has otherwise gone full hermit. When she realized this morning by looking at a paper that it was Sunday, she felt a sting of shame. 

So the SandTrap. 

It’s a dive on the beach. Their food is terrible, their service isn’t great, but the music is consistently awesome and Avila is so tiny that the nightlife is limited at best.

Just a drink or two, just to feel like she’s been out. It’ll be fine. Sure, she opened a bottle of shiraz to give herself the courage to get out the door, but this is an adjustment period. She shouldn’t judge herself. And she’s been trying to get him off her mind all week. She needs this.

But the shorts may have been a choice too far. I mean yes, she looks hot. CorePower Yoga and regular pilates were her vices while she was working. She’s in excellent shape. But the little cutoffs with her platform sandals and the drapey tank top? She’s too old for this.

But it’s too late. So she chews on her lip, tasting chapstick and wine, and walks inside.

It’s not the busiest night, and Shawn prefers it that way. The crowd is mostly locals chatting, exchanging a laugh or catching up about their weeks. No one’s too drunk, so the singing on stage hasn’t been awful. Besides, he’s likes watching his friends make idiots of themselves, and he likes listening to the ones who actually manage to carry a tune. 

He’s reminded of what fun is, for a little while. 

He can’t help but laugh at one of the locals’ rendition of Never Gonna Give You Up, and Geoff catches his eye from across the stage, an approving smile spread across his lips. 

It’s not like Shawn needs anyone to take care of him, but it’s nice having Geoff around. He’s never had an older brother, but he thinks Geoff fills the role well. 

Cheri claims the last song of the hour before the band goes on break and Shawn passes guitar duty back to Beckett, the kid who regularly plays the gig. The barista picks Careless Whisper as her anthem, and Shawn loves her for it. 

He loves this song. This song makes him want to pick up the saxophone, but he’s not sure he has the lung capacity for it. Either way, he finds himself melting into the chords, into Cheri’s pretty voice that soothes him even with the saddest lyrics. 

He’s caught up enough not to notice the woman who broke his heart standing in the back of the bar.  

Oh, come the fuck on.

She’s able to actually chuckle to herself because of course he’s here. Of course he’s on stage in those tight black jeans bobbing his head as he looks around the dimly lit dive bar. His fingers move deftly against the neck of the guitar she’s known almost as long as she’s known him. She wonders if he remembers the nights he spent holding her between his legs, kissing her neck and shoulders while she tried to learn to play. She hasn’t thought about that in a long time. She got really good at not thinking about that.

Maybe she should take this as a sign and just leave. Maybe she’s done enough just by getting out of her yoga pants to come tonight. Maybe she can count this as a brisk walk by the beach… a little tipsy and in platforms. That’s fine, right?

But then he’s getting off the stage and settling into a stool by the bar and he clearly hasn’t seen her so maybe she’s safe? She recognizes the song the band plays next and it’s giving her a conflicting sign. She has to stay through the end of it, at least. The woman singing has a nice voice.

A woman he doesn’t recognize gets on stage after Cheri, and Shawn’s glad he’s not accompanying anymore, because he kind of hates the song she picks. It’s Ashlee Simpson, an artist he hasn’t heard since college, when Maya would blast her music in her car as they sped through Toronto in search of a hot club or some chicken nuggets. Whichever they’d run into first. 

The song makes his heart beat faster. Too much reminds him of Maya these days, including the woman herself. She’s somewhere in this town, breathing the same salty beach air he breathes, watching the same sun rises he watches. Buying the same Starbucks, listening to the same radio stations. 

He takes a sip of beer. Forces himself to stop thinking about it. About her. He used to be so good at not thinking about her at all. 

Ok, new plan. She’s going to sneak up to the bar behind him and get herself a drink then retreat to where she can stay out of sight. One or two cocktails and she’s out the door, no problem.

Problem: the floorboards are warped by decades of sea salt air and bad weather. She catches an edge and rolls her ankle, crashing into the man standing in front of her with a wince. She apologizes quietly but knows she’s made a scene.

He’s caught up in his effort to push her from his thoughts when he hears a bit of a commotion at the other end of the bar. A barstool screeches, a beer bottle topples onto its side. 

When he looks over, he’s not even surprised. She’s always popping up when he’s trying to forget her. 

Maya slumps into a stool in defeat, now very sure Shawn’s seen her. She can’t bear to look though. She needs a fuckin’ drink.

Maya’s face looks red as she slips around the man to settle at an empty barstool. Shawn feels his own face turn a similar shade of crimson. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know when she got here or if she’s seen him, but for a moment, he’s stuck. 

It’s like a video game, where you’ve got two choices, and one choice moves the story along while the other sends you down a dead end, or over the edge of a cliff. Shawn doesn’t know which decision is which. None of his options now feel right. Staying in his seat and ordering another beer feels like a dead end. Getting up and saying hi feels like flirting with the cliff. 

He decides dead ends are boring. 

He plucks his wallet from his pocket and tosses a couple bills on the bar before moving down to the other end. He approaches Maya from behind, makes sure she can’t spot him before he’s leaning his forearms on the bar next to her and getting Tom’s attention. He’s the kind of bartender that responds to familiar faces, so Shawn’s pretty sure Maya isn’t making much headway. 

The bartender is busy and Maya is impatient. She’s staring at him and leaning most of her weight into her elbows that are propped on the bar but he’s definitely ignoring her in favor of chatting with some patrons she assumes are regulars. She’s about to go full New York Woman and start clearing her throat loudly when she feels a wall of warmth settle in behind her.

She doesn’t have to look. She knows what he feels like even when he’s not touching her.

The hair on the back of her neck stands up under where the rest is clipped up at the back of her head. He’s not so close that she can feel his breath. It’s probably a blessing. 

“Shawn, buddy!” Tom exclaims when he makes it back to the end of the bar. “You looking for a whiskey sour?” 

“Hey man,” he says with a smile, “Yeah, please. Whiskey sour and a scotch, neat.” 

Tom nods, turns away, and Shawn finally risks a look down at Maya. 

“That’s still your drink, I hope,” he murmurs with a smile, forgoing any sort of formal greeting. 

She turns and lowers back into her stool. His curls are frizzy from the humid air. His eyes are warm and soft. She swallows.

“Yeah. I still drink like an old man,” she confesses, “I think working on Wall Street made it worse.”

She remembers what he tastes like when he drinks whiskey sours. Her mouth waters completely against her will. She squeezes her fingers into the lacquered bar top and drops her eyes to his chest.

She doesn’t even look surprised to see him, which makes him think that she showed up when he was still on stage. And that she knew he was gonna approach her. He hates how predictable he is, but he couldn’t stay away. He’s drawn to her, whether he wants to admit it or not. 

She makes him laugh. She always has. And her drinking like an old man joke is one of the oldest they share. His heart flips. He feels inexplicably comfortable and out of control, all at once. 

He laughs. Her skin sizzles with the sound. She licks her lips and lifts her eyes to face him.

“Wall Street, eh?” He didn’t know that. “So does that mean you’re rich? Are you the wolf?” 

He’s flirting with her. He can’t fucking help it. He’s never not flirted with her. It also gives him something to do besides stare at her, like he wants to. He wants to sit her down and take a proper look, find all the things that have changed in twelve years and commit them to memory, so that he can know her just as well as he used to. 

He keeps his gaze on her fingers, instead, watches her nails dig into the bar because it’s the safest place to look. Anywhere else, and he’ll be lost. 

Maybe he should’ve picked the dead end.

He’s laughing, he’s joking. She can see the hesitancy in his eyes -- it seems he really doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing either. It’s strange. They used to say whatever came flying into their heads without thinking. 

She looks sheepish. “I never even saw that movie,” she confesses, “But I did meet a couple of the guys represented in it.”

She’s so lame.

“I do okay, though. Financially.”

A gross understatement. Maya has more money than she’ll ever know what to do with. Part of stepping away from the office was brought on by realizing in a sweeping wave of guilt how relatively little she’s given to charity in the last decade and change, too caught up in her own life. Another thing to work on.

She sounds like she does whenever she’s trying to be modest, like she totally is rich but it makes her uncomfortable to admit it. He feels stupid for asking the question in the first place. You’re not supposed to ask people about how much money they make, and here he is, hasn’t seen the woman in twelve years, and he’s asking if she’s fucking rich. What’s wrong with him?

She makes him crazy. He decides to blame her, even though it’s totally unfair. 

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he murmurs as he drops his gaze to the drinks that appear on the bar in front of them. His fingers curl around his whiskey and he swirls the glass in smooth circles. 

Maya wants to scramble all over the place to make him feel comfortable -- it’s an instinct. Her working environment has largely dulled it over the years. She couldn’t get anywhere in New York finance if she was always tripping over herself to make the men around her comfortable. But Shawn brings it out of her easily like it was just at the surface.

“It’s okay,” she laughs, and it feels as light as her head does, “You’re not exactly a stranger, Shawn.”

Not exactly a stranger. Understatement of the year. He feels like he knows her better than he knows himself. But he thinks of all the things he doesn’t know anymore, and the feeling goes. He’s not exactly a stranger, no, but he might as well be. 

“What are you doing for work these days?”

He’s watching the ice spin in a vortex, when her question breaks him from his trance. He smiles to himself, then gives her a sideways look. 

“I’m, ah, I refurbish and make guitars. And basses and other strings too. And I just started working on my first piano, actually.” 

He feels sick, telling her what he does like she’s an acquaintance from the street. He hates that she doesn’t already know. He hates that there’s any time in between them at all, when looking at her makes him feel like he was hers just yesterday. 

He remembers the last time he kissed her so clearly. It doesn’t feel like it was years ago. It feels like minutes. Seconds, even. He’s dying to kiss her again, but he knows he can’t. He shouldn’t. 

He sips his drink instead. 

Maya’s nose twitches as she tamps down a goofy smile. Of course he’d find a way to get even closer to the music. She used to joke that if he could climb inside a guitar and live in there, he would. It seems he found a way.

She watches his adams apple bob as he swallows. She finds herself swallowing around nothing and turns the glass between her hands.

“Of course you are,” she murmurs. It’s a little gentler and warmer than she intends it to sound. It feels like a brush of a hand against someone you’ve loved since you were a kid.

“That’s… that’s amazing, Shawn.” She finds she keeps saying his name. She hasn’t said it in so long. It feels nice.

The way Maya says his name makes his head spin. He tries to find solace in his whiskey. He takes a sip, then another, attempting to ignore how his skin buzzes pleasantly at the sound of her voice. 

She uses his name and ‘amazing’ in the same sentence and he feels like a freshman in university again, eager and hopeful and dying to be as impressive to her and she is to him. He’s always preened in the light of any compliment she’s been gracious enough to give him. Seems like that’s still the case, all these years later. 

He finishes his drink and slides it away from him, the alcohol pulling him down onto the barstool next to hers so he can order another. 

“I’m not the wolf of Wall Street, but it suits me,” he says as he turns on the stool to face her, one forearm pressed along the edge of the bar so his fist is curled near her elbow. If he wanted, he could stretch his fingers and touch her, feel her skin beneath his fingertips once more. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t do a lot of things his body tells him to, lately. 

As Shawn drinks, Maya drinks. She slings back gulp after gulp of scotch until her glass is empty. She shouldn’t have another, probably. She never drinks this much anymore. She doesn’t know what she’d be like drunk now, especially around him. There’s no telling what she’ll do or say.

Fuck it. She orders another scotch.

She admires his hulking frame as he sits beside her. He continued to fill out and bulk up a bit in their time apart. Every curve of muscle suits him beautifully. She thinks about what it would be like to draw him again like she used to. The thought has her back in her fresh glass of booze.

They’re quiet for a moment, both sipping drinks like they’re thankful for something to do with their hands.

And then—

“I could show you around the shop, some time. If you wanted.” 

He says it without thinking, without considering what having her in his personal space might do to his heart. But he can’t stop being reckless now that he’s confronted her and they’re actually talking again and she’s not walking away from him like he used to think she might. Now that she’s looking at him almost like she used to.

He wants to close himself off to her, but he’s like a hungry flower in the sunlight. He blossoms and blooms and basks in her warmth because it’s the only way he’s ever known to be around her. 

She perks up when he offers to show her the shop. He wants to see her again. He’s not just being his unfailingly polite self. He wants to be around her, he wants to show her something that’s important to him. It makes her breath catch in her chest. She’s nodding before he even finishes his sentence.

“Yeah. Definitely. Yes. I want to see your shop.”

It’s not subtle, but it’s very honest. She blinks up at him with a big grin.

She doesn’t hesitate. He feels his cheeks flush. She wants to see his shop. His life. He has a feeling she knows how important work like this is to him. It makes him all that more nervous to show her, but no less eager. 

It feels too good to be true and for a moment, he waits for this to be another dream. He’d ask to buy her another drink, reach to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she’d nod, part her lips to speak, then nothing. He’d be awake. 

He takes a sip of his drink to make sure everything is real, though he’d much prefer to pinch himself. He swallows and smiles at her, setting his glass down on the bar. He can’t stop smiling, and each smile is easier than the last, especially with the whiskey. 

“Don’t get too excited,” he laughs gently, “It’s not, you know, Gibson, or anything.” 

He’s giggling and smiling and drinking and Maya’s halfway to lifting herself into his lap, so she should probably put her glass down and let the world right itself. But she might be as drunk on him as she is on the booze.

“Fuck Gibson. I bet you’re better,” she says easily. It’s very honest. Her tongue is loose. At least she’s still keeping her hands to herself. For now.

If she’s been working on Wall Street, she probably knows all sorts of impressive business moguls and financiers. He doesn’t think he’s much compared to the people she’s got waiting back at home for her. He doesn’t know who it is she’s got in New York, a boyfriend or what, but he’s just a beach bum with a bunch of guitars. He won’t pretend to even compare, no matter how badly his gut tells him to peacock for her. It’s not who he is anymore. 

“We could go now, if you want,” he hears himself saying, to his honest fucking horror. He must be drunk. He’s only halfway through the second whiskey, though, so it’s not the alcohol that’s so intoxicating. 

He finishes his drink, then wets his lips and quirks a brow at her. Fuck it. 

At his suggestion, her glazed eyes brighten. “Yes! Let’s go now!”

She’s definitely loaded. There’s no getting around that now. But she thinks maybe some fresh air might help.

Who the hell is she kidding? She just wants to be alone with him where she can hear herself think over the bad karaoke. Not that she’s really thinking at all now. This all feels too good to think about it. 

She stands and bites her lip at him.

She’s tipsy. He knows the signs. The laugh in her voice, the flush in her cheeks, the glossy gleam in her eye. His heart warms. He missed this. He missed her. 

It doesn’t scare him the way it did only an hour ago. He guesses he can thank alcohol for that. 

She stands before him and he checks her out, openly, blatantly. He hasn’t let himself before now, but the alcohol has control of some of his baser judgements at the moment.

Or maybe that’s just a convenient excuse. 

Either way, she looks good. Just as gorgeous as she was in college. More so, actually. Elegant, even buzzed on scotch, in a way she wasn’t in her early twenties. She’s a woman now, when they were both just kids before. 

She feels his eyes all over her and tries not to squeeze her thighs together desperately, but finds it a challenge to keep them apart. Her mind wanders absently to which box her Hitachi magic wand might still be packed in. She… will probably need it tonight.

Finally, he sucks in a breath and drags his gaze from her beautifully round thighs to her face. He grins, unfolds himself from under the bar and stands to face her. As he drops a $50 on the bar, Shawn holds his hand out and gestures towards the door. 

He lifts himself to stand and puts a bill down on the bar, which is good because she forgot all about that. She flushes pink and smiles at him as a thank you. She follows his hand, turning toward the door.

“After you, Lulu.” 

She stops short at the nickname. No one’s called her that since he did 12 years ago. She doesn’t have the presence of mind to play it off. She blinks and spends a moment reveling in it.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking over her shoulder at him, “That’s an old one.”

He’s just as caught off guard as she is. The name slipped out before he could stop it, but the way she’s looking at him makes him glad he didn’t. 

He tries to play it cool. 

“Oldie but goodie,” he says with a quirk of his lips and a gentle shrug. 

Maybe he doesn’t take the nickname as seriously as she does. Maybe that won’t keep him up at night the way it will her. Maybe he assumes other people have picked it up and used it in his absence, though they haven’t.

She tucks the moment away into her big, drunk brain for later use.

He takes a step towards her, his hand moving to the small of her back of its own accord. He doesn’t realize what he’s done until it’s too late, his palm is firm against her back. 

Fuck it. 

He guides her forward, through the door and away from the parking lot. Geoff’s got the keys to the Jeep, and it’s just a short walk down the beach anyway. 

And then his hand rests on the thin silky fabric covering her back and she freezes again with her hand on the door. She recovers faster this time and hopes he can’t feel her shuddering breath through his touch.

His hand is so warm.

“This way,” he murmurs as he steers her towards the stairs that lead to the boardwalk. His hand is steady on her back with each step they climb. He doesn’t drop away from her until they reach the top. 

She’s grateful they’re not driving. The fresh air should help her sober up a little. She watches her toes as she walks with him and finds she can’t concentrate on anything other than feeling all five of his perfect fingers that are so close they may as well be on her bare skin. He hasn’t dropped his hand yet. She shouldn’t consider why.

“It’s just like, five minutes down the boardwalk, if that’s cool,” he says with a sideways glance at her as they walk, his hands sliding into his pockets.

“That’s fine,” she answers breezily, blinking quickly when his hand leaves the small of her back. She fights against the desire to curl into him and suck up all his body heat. She laces her fingers together in front of her and tugs at them to keep herself busy. 

“Do you live close by?” 

He watches her concentrate on her feet, then feels like he’s been caught once she finally looks up. He presses his lips together and nods, then looks away from her, trying to play it off like he wasn’t staring. 

She’s a little startled to look up and see he’s watching her. Maybe she shouldn’t be, because she’s been doing the same thing to him all night. She’s curious about him. Maybe he’s just curious too.

“My house is back the other way, though. Lease it with Geoff,” he looks back at her, brow quirked, “Do you remember Geoff? He was the year below yours.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s asking about G. He doesn’t know why he even mentioned him at all. He’s also starting to feel embarrassed by admitting to being a dude in his thirties who still lives with one of his bros from college. 

She’s probably used to far more sophisticated company than he can provide, but he tries not to dwell on it. 

She smiles. “I remember Geoff. Nice guy.” 

He lives with his best friend from college. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single, but it at least means he’s not too serious with anyone.

NOT THAT IT MATTERS!

She berates herself and shakes her head a little to rid herself of the train of thought.

“And how long have you had the instrument shop?”

“Almost as long as I’ve been in Avila,” he answers, “It was a shit little property I had to fix up but I got it only like, three months after moving here.”

He feels like he’s being interviewed, but he really doesn’t mind. The idea that she’s curious about him, interested in what his life’s been like, makes his heart stutter against his ribs. 

Yet, bitterness and resentment nag the back of his mind. 

If you’re so curious, why didn’t you call?

He never changed his number. She did. 

He blinks. Takes a breath. He doesn’t want to be angry. He forgave her a long time ago. But forgiving her in his head when she’s not in his life hasn’t helped him control his emotions now that she’s showed up again. 

Maya gave up any right to be proud of Shawn a long time ago. But she feels it still, that swell of delight in her chest when he mentions fixing up his shop to make it his own. She knows in some universe somewhere there’s a version of her that was with him the whole time, that helped him choose paint colors, that massaged his shoulders when he came home from spending long hours hunched over a fussy guitar. 

This version of her remains quiet and tucks her hair behind her ears, fighting a shiver from the cool sea breeze. 

They reach his shop’s block, and he guides her down the stairs and to the sidewalk. He moves past her as they approach the small house that holds his creations.

He glances back at her with a soft smile before pulling his key from his pocket and slipping it into the lock. The door swings open and he reaches inside to flick on the light. He turns back to Maya, steps aside. 

“Well, um. Welcome,” he says with a grin. 

He guides her into his domain. It smells like wood and lacquer and power tools. She cracks a smile and giggles.

“Wow. Look at this. This is like your fuckin’ Candy Land,” she jokes, shaking her head.

“Show me your favorite one.”

She sounds genuinely impressed, and he can’t help but preen. He’s proud of himself, of this little world he’s built. Even on the worst days, where it feels like nothing goes right, he still loves it. Part of him aches with the need for her to love it, too.

“Oh, uh—“ he’s taken aback, stuck for a moment because his favorite one is the one he used to write songs for her on. Not that he has to tell her that, but still. He’ll know. 

“She— it’s in the back,” he says, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “Hold on, just— I’ll be right back.”

Maya chuckles at his stumbling over calling the guitar “she.”

“What an odd male tradition,” she blabs, knowing she gets philosophical and feminist sometimes when she’s drunk, “To name manmade objects after women. Like ships and cars and, I guess, guitars. It’s so bizarre to me. I don’t know whether to be offended on behalf of women or be charmed by the boyishness of it.”

She snaps her lips shut and makes a face at herself for her meaningless chatter. She’s running curious fingers along a vibrantly purple electric bass when she hears him reenter the main studio area.

She goes off on a tangent he’s heard from her before, just not about guitars specifically. It makes his heart twist. She makes it so easy to remember all the reasons he fell in love with her. 

(Not that he ever forgot.)

He slips past her into his office. Lulu is tucked away in her stand in his closet and he decides maybe he should stop calling a guitar he named after his ex a ‘she.’  

He holds the guitar up, spins it around to examine the shiny black lacquer-coated body before heading back into the main room, where Maya is admiring some of the electric basses that line the wall. 

“This is the first perfect guitar I ever made. I don’t think I’ll ever sell it.” 

She turns and stares at the work of art in his hands. She doesn’t really know much about guitars, anything she does know was picked up from snippets of conversations with him many years ago, but it certainly looks perfect to her.

“Wow,” she says again dumbly, “She’s beautiful. I’m-- wow. Can I hold her?”

She looks at the guitar like it’s as beautiful as he thinks it is, and that settles something deep in the pit of his stomach. All he’s ever wanted is for her to see him. He swears there’s no better feeling in the world than when she does. 

Like now, when she asks to hold his guitar like it’s his fucking kid or something. He laughs, bright and loud, head falling back for a moment. 

“Yeah,” he takes a breath, laughter subsiding as he looks down at her, “Yeah, you can hold her. She’s tough.” 

He holds Lulu by the body and offers her neck first to Maya. He wonders if she remembers any of the chords he taught her. 

Shawn’s laughing at her in a way that makes her feel more alive than she has in so long. It’s not judgmental or teasing, it’s… delighted. She delights him.

Or she used to. Maybe he’s just drunk.

Either way, he willingly hands off his pride and joy like he’s not worried at all that she’ll harm it. Maya takes the guitar and slings the strap over her shoulder, cradling it under her arm.

It feels good.

She hums, running her fingertips along its dips and curves, admiring his work. It really is stunning. She’s so stupid proud. And she can’t say it out loud.

Her fingers shift into place to pluck out a couple chords he taught her. She doesn’t remember the names of them. She looks up at him to see if maybe he looks just a little proud of her too.

She touches his guitar like it’s something precious and his breath catches in his throat. He watches her take such care with such an important piece of his life and he feels like he’s falling, stumbling into his love for her. 

He’s never managed to let go of it, but he got pretty good at pretending it wasn’t there. He was an expert at convincing himself it didn’t fill his heart too much for anyone else to fit, that it was a scar, a slowly fading reminder of what it means to be cared for, a tip for the future. 

It’s not so easy pretending now, watching Maya’s fingers glide across the sleek body of a guitar he’s known longer than he ever actually knew her. 

Finally, her fingers find the strings, and she answers his silent curiosity. Her fingers flick A, A, D, E minor, A. 

Those were always the easiest chords for her to remember. Her fingers know them well. It’s so, incredibly sexy. 

Shawn sucks in a breath, then realizes she’s looking at him, like maybe she’s expecting him to say something. He wets his lip, takes a step towards her.

“You remember,” he says, voice a deep rasp. He’s not sure he’s talking about the chords. It’s everything. She remembers everything. She has to, because he does. It burns so fucking brightly in his memory he can’t stand to be in the same room with himself sometimes. 

He looks down at the guitar between them, thumbs digging into his palms to stop himself from pulling it off of her. It’s the only barrier between him and an incredibly stupid decision. 

The way he inhales sharply makes her feel like there’s finite oxygen between them. His intake of breath is sucking the air from her lungs. She doesn’t mind. She’s glad to be rid of it if it becomes his instead.

Her head is all fuzzy. His voice is low and scratchy and it reminds her of when she would wake up in his arms in the middle of the night and without her even moving, even speaking, he would notice and whisper to her until she fell asleep again. 

As he steps closer, her awareness heightens. She clings to the guitar like a shield. As badly as she wants him, a piece of her knows better than to let herself have him again, even when he’s looking at her like this. Even when every word out of his mouth feels like his feelings haven’t changed, not even after so long. Not even after she left him for a life she has recently decided she doesn’t even want. 

His hands stay still, but he looks back at her. “Do you remember that song you wrote?” 

He does. It was three chords. Three chords and lasted about an eight count before he pulled the guitar from her lap and made her come on his tongue and needy fingers. 

She swallows and closes her eyes because looking at him is too fucking much right now. She exhales shakily and nods. “I… I remember.”

She definitely remembers. She doesn’t even make a conscious decision to start playing it, it just happens, sort of like everything else between them right now. It’s instinctive with them.

Her fingers pinch and curl and pluck while her lips quiver. She remembers. She remembers the way she cried out his name while her back arched off the bed, but he didn’t let up. She remembers panting, chanting ‘I love you’ over and over until he crawled up her body and planted his lips against hers with a smile to shut her up.

“I remember,” she whispers again.

Her eyes flutter shut. He’s closer to her than he’s been in years and he can see every freckle, every line, every curve of her face. He studies every one, sketched a new portrait of her for his memory, just in case he’s not lucky enough to get this close again. 

He knows she’s thinking about it now, about the way he used to love her so thoroughly. He’s not sure what possessed him to remind her, other than his addiction to her. Or more like his need not to be the only addict. 

He lifts one hand carefully to hers, stilling her fingers against the neck of his guitar. His heart stops; the delicate press of his skin against hers is overwhelming, yet so slight. Somehow, curling his fingers around hers is far more intimate than the press of his palm to her back. 

Maya gasps in a breath at the touch of his fingers to hers. It almost puts tears in her eyes but she holds on. His touch is so full of every memory, good and bad. It’s like jumping right back into her past with him when he holds her hand like this. 

She doesn’t know what he wants now. She doesn’t even really know what she herself wants. But she lowers her shield, carefully and slowly swings the guitar around her back to hang behind them. Her fingers remain entwined with his.

“Maya,” he breathes, hoping she’ll open her eyes and look at him. He needs to see her eyes. He needs to know if he can read them as well as he used to. 

The hush of his voice has her by the throat. She opens her eyes to see him there, the closest he’s been since they were kids. And now, seeing him here with her, when he’s looking at her like this, she knows what he wants.

She wets her lips like she knows what’s coming. Her voice nearly fails her when she speaks again.

“Remember with me.”

“Lulu,” he chokes, nodding as he holds her gaze, “I do. You know I do.” 

He lifts their tangled fingers to her face, cups her cheek, and kisses her. A gentle press of his lips against hers. 

He steps into her, takes the guitar’s place against her and she shrinks beneath him. Their height difference is always the most overwhelming when they’re chest to chest like this. 

His other hand finds the nape of her neck, his fingertips scratching her scalp gently as he cradles her and sips slowly at her lips. 

He kisses her the way he never gets to in his dream. The way he always wants to, the way she wouldn’t let him the night before she left. 

It burns him from the inside out, and he wonders if she feels it in her bones the way he does. 

Maya falls. 

She falls just the same way she did. She falls the same way she did even just a few days ago when she heard his voice again. 

He’s gentle with her, the way he almost always was. She’s high on it. His lips slip against hers perfectly like they’ve never fallen out of step with each other. She sobs a gasp into his mouth, overwhelmed. 

She steps between his feet and presses into him so close that she can’t help but feel him everywhere. She wraps her arms around his expansive back and shoulders, curling against him with a low mewling noise. 

He tastes like whiskey sour and he smells like sea salt and soap. She feels the tears prick the corners of her eyes. She doesn’t force them back this time. 

He kisses her through the gentle sounds he was hoping she’d make. He kisses her deeper, wants more of her sounds, wants to feel her even closer. 

Her tears on his cheek burn him. He sucks in a startled breath and pulls back, lips and hands together. He blinks down at her, trying to focus his blurry vision. 

“I’m sorry, shit,” he murmurs, hands curling in to firsts. He sees the tears on her cheeks and he wants to cry, too, but he’s not sure why. 

He’s not sure of anything anymore. 

“Maya,” he breathes, urging her to look at him. “I’m—“ still in love with you— “I think I’m a little drunk.” 

Just as soon as she can feel him start to drag her under fully, just as she’s committing to drowning for him, with him, he starts away.

She pants desperately and swipes at her cheeks, flushing hot. 

“It’s… uhm, it’s ok. I am too. It’s just… this. Us. Here in Avila. Y’know, it’s like last time. Only… I guess… not.”

She used to be an incredibly articulate woman. Her words are clunky and meaningless. She can only hope he can guess what she means.

She stumbles over her words and he feels like shit. He’s such an idiot. Brings her to his shop, shows her her namesake guitar, kisses like she’s his to kiss. And she cries. He makes her cry. 

He hates himself for that, and for being so scared. Scared of all the things he wants to tell her. Of how easy it feels to be around her, still, like no time has passed at all. 

She presses her hands to her cheeks and shakes her head.

“Ok then. I think I should go.”

She wants to leave.

“No!” He doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t let her go, not like this. “I mean— you don’t, Lu, you don’t have to. We can go back to the bar and get something to eat, or y’know, there’s that ice cream stand, with the soft serve and the sugar cones.”

He reaches for her carefully, curls his fingers around her wrists and pulls her hands from her slick, flushed cheeks. 

“Let me get you a cone. Swirl, rainbow sprinkles, right?” 

He wants to buy her ice cream.

He remembers what kind she likes. Of course he does.

Maya feels, all of a sudden, incredibly stupid. With one kiss, he made her completely sober, more sober than she’s been in her life. And lying there between them is their past that they have no answers for. Maya should’ve known better than to let him kiss her like this. She likes answers. She needs answers.

But not tonight.

Her breath catches in her throat. “No,” she rasps, “No, I can’t. I need to… I need to go home.”

With a lurch, she untangles herself from his beautiful guitar and shove it back into his hands. She heads for the door and lets it slam shut behind her, echoing with her clapping footsteps as she hurries down the boardwalk.

--------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr

[queen-susans-revenge]

Jason Knauf has now also decided to give evidence to the Daily Mail as they defend against the case Meghan already won once. Exposing Meghan's private communications breaks all sorts of NDAs and if any of the Palaces wanted to shut him down they obviously could, so it's very clear that Knauf is acting with William's (and therefore Kensington Palace's) tacit approval.

And Clarence House (Charles) and Buckingham Palace (the Queen) either agree, or can't coordinate to stop it.

Crazy thing is, the cherry-picked extracts Knauf submitted may have actually done Meghan a favor. She didn't even HAVE access to those texts before he submitted them! They'd been erased from her phone by Palace software. But once he'd entered those selective extracts into the court records, her lawyers were able to demand the whole texts. And in context those are actually pretty supportive of her case.

So it really says a lot that she couldn't access the material archived by the Palace for her court case; no, it was only taken from her to be subsequently used against her. Whatever software they put on her phone to auto-wipe stuff (but back it up on Palace servers)--that software was presumably pitched to her as a way to keep her safe. In fact it was a way to procure blackmail material.

It's still extremely strange how nobody's really reporting on this. Or, well, maybe not THAT strange given that William's lawyers are obviously prepped to pounce. But c'mon, at this point all the pieces are laid out in public. The people who are following the story...know the story. And it's a bombshell!

The evidence indicates William had it out for Meghan all along and has been waging a sustained campaign against her in the press, via his staffer Jason Knauf and with the tacit backing of the full Firm. Knauf is cooperating with the Daily Mail now and may have cooperated with them earlier, when he was the staffer charged with communications between Thomas Markle and his daughter. Thomas Markle says he was paid to be the front man in 'a plan to mess up the wedding.'

Yet, somehow, with all the gallons of ink and miles of screen space given to Sussex coverage...no mainstream publication has really come out and connected these dots.

And it's already been announced that Knauf will be leaving Kensington Palace next month, so I suppose the plan at this point is to dispose of the weapon and stay quiet about the crime.

Fortunately neither Knauf nor William are very good at this kind of thing--they wouldn't have left their fingerprints smeared out in public this way if they were--and so there's a number of loose ends that could still end up spilling everything if tugged. One is the "bullying" allegations against Meghan which are now a matter of public, institutional record, meaning her lawyers have the right to view evidence and prepare rebuttals.

It's going to be very hard for the Palace to simply quietly disappear those allegations now, although they are trying: the final report from the announced "probe" into these allegations has already been delayed indefinitely.

And, from what we do know, the allegations were completely ginned up in the first place. By Jason Knauf, of course, who attempted to file HR complaints against Meghan "on behalf of" other staffers. Only problem was: those staffers did not wish to pursue the complaints. And at least one of those staffers--Knauf's good friend Melissa Toubati--was in fact fired, for what Sussex-friendly reporter Omid Scobie suggested was "gross negligence."

But anyway, without anybody willing to pursue a first-hand complaint, the palace has nothing on Meghan. So the outcome of this probe is not going to be what they want, and they're going to try and drag it out until nobody remembers anything but the vague sense of a cloud of allegations around Meghan.

I'm sorry but this is all W I L D and I'mma need a full forensic investigation kthx. How long can the people in the know keep pretending they don't know?

It's super amazing to watch this being memory-holed in real time! The interviews Thomas Markle gave have been wiped from YouTube etc. Articles about that interview are being wiped right now as soon as they go up. I read one this morning--gone now. Tried to search it, half the links already dead. Had to screenshot this because I doubt it will last.

What "It's Time To Take Care of Daddy" Markle said live on-air was that his appearance in the tabloids was a “set up” by Dylan Howard and Jeff Raynor and “the whole thing was a plan to actually mess up the wedding… I was just part of it…”

He also said that his only Palace contact was Jason Knauf, Prince William's press aide--also the individual behind the "bullying" allegations against Meghan.

Was William trying to sabotage his brother's wedding by embarrassing Meghan in the press? It'd be hard to believe if Knauf hadn't subsequently done the "bullying" smear campaign too, but since he definitely organized one attack on Meghan via the press, it's hard to dismiss the idea that he might have organized an earlier one too. And it's VERY hard to believe that Knauf was acting as a loose cannon on this, when in every other way he represents William.

WAS there a honest-to-god conspiracy against Meghan, from the beginning, organized from within Kensington Palace? Thomas Markle is not a reliable source on anything: but the reaction to what he said is coming from someone with crack legal teams and sway in the press. This is getting disappeared FAST.

[thatthingcalledfate-phff]

Chapter 11

Destruction and Comfort

It’s always amazing how time flies. How seconds can turn into minutes, minutes can turn into hours, hours into days, days into weeks- we can go on and on and on. But one thing is for sure, pain lingers longer than happiness.

Isabella Clarke stared at her diploma hanging in her office; her pen tapping on her table. It had been weeks since she last talked to Harry and she misses him. Although she’s thankful that Harry is giving her space, she’s still torn. She’s hurt, she’s angry, and she feels betrayed. She wanted to forgive Harry, she really do but her whole being rejects the thought of being near him.

 The doctor sighed and placed her pen on top of her table.

 “Doctor Clarke?”

 “Yes, Kath?” Bella asked closing her files and quickly placing it to the side before grabbing a new one not bothering to look up. “Do we have an emergency?”

 “Uhh. No.” Kath answered and Bella finally looked up at her. “Abigail Simons is here.” The assistant said and Bella nodded.

 Not even a minute passed and Abigail barged into Bella’s office looking like a woman on a mission. “Have you read the papers?” she asked and Bella shook her head making Abi roll her eyes before placing The Sun on top of Bella’s table.

 Bella only glanced at the front page picture and asked, “Yeah. And?”

 “Harry and Meghan? Meghan being here in London?” Abi asked incredulously and Bella shrugged. “Seriously, Clarke. What’s up?”

 “Nothing.” Bella lied still not telling anyone else that she and Harry had broken up. “It was bound to happen. They’re both humanitarians.” She mumbled feeling ill at the mere thought of Harry and Meghan together.

 “And you’re not one for bullshits.” Abi retorted making Bella glare up at her. “Isabella, my dear Isabella. Did you two break up?”

 Bella sighed, “If you call it that.”

 Abi stared at her friend for a few seconds before sighing as well, “Are you ok?” she asked and Bella shrugged. “Seriously, Isabella.”

 “I am serious.”

 “We both know shrugging is not an answer.”

 “Yes, it is.”

 “No.”

 “Yes.”

 “Fuck off.” Abi snapped irritated making Bella smile. “I am glad you see the amusement in this. You’re such a difficult human being.” She continued receiving no answer from Bella. “You’re lucky I’m older than you.”

 “How is that even luck?” Bella asked inquiringly yet reluctantly as she can already sense the incoming unwarranted suggestion Abi has. “I can’t do anything reckless right now, Abi. Harry and I are trying to keep the whole break a secret.”

 Abi rolled her eyes. Typical, Isabella. She thought before smiling at the doctor before her. “It’s a private party. Hosted by Ginny.”

 “Genevieve Williamson?”

 “Do you know any other Ginny?” Abi asked arching an eyebrow and Bella shook her head. “She has this party tonight and you’re going.”

 Scoffing, Bella thought of how her mother never really liked Genevieve Williamson. “Mom doesn’t like Ginny.” She said and Abi nodded, knowing it fully.

 Ginny brings out the worst in Isabella Clarke; she’s loud, she’s reckless, she’s careless, and she doesn’t have a care in the world. For Ginny, the world is her oyster and Isabella Clarke is one of her projects. Ginny thinks that Isabella Clarke is one of those goody goody friends Abigail Simons, her cousin, has and she believes that she’s doing everyone a favor by getting Isabella off her hinges- in ways Georgia Clarke is not fond of.

 But still, that night, Bella stood in front of her mirror dressed in the mini black dressed she had used one too many times. Her mother, who’s still unaware of her plans for the night, watching her curiously from behind. “You use that dress too much.” Georgia Clarke commented making Bella nod in agreement. “Where are you and Abi going?”

 Even though she’s at the right age, Isabella doesn’t mind being asked her whereabouts like a teenager as long as her parents do not prevent her on doing things she wants to do. “A party.” She replied unsure if it’s a right thing to tell her mother that Ginny is involved.

 Before Georgia Clarke can respond, the doorbell rang. “Well, I have the files I asked for.” Georgia said raising the folder in her hand and Bella nodded. “I’ll get the door for you.”

 “Nah. I’m ready anyway.” Bella said following her mother out her bedroom and down the stairs to her front door.

 “Ah. Greetings, Georgia!” Ginny Williamson, the fiery redhead, greeted Bella’s shocked mother as she passed by Georgia while Abi greeted Georgia in a more respectful way. “What are you wearing?” the redhead asked giving Bella’s outfit a disgusted look. “You’re not wearing that. Good thing I am your fairy Godmother, little bitch.”

 Bella can see her mother give her an exasperated look as Ginny took an outfit off her bag before throwing it towards Isabella. “What’s this?” Bella asked looking at the bra Ginny threw at her. “Should I wear this under a shirt?”

 Abi laughed while Ginny gave Bella a scowl. “Seriously, little bitch?”

 In the corner of her eye, Bella saw her mother walk towards her kitchen obviously not leaving anytime soon and so Bella went up towards her bedroom to change clothes closely followed by the two cousins. “Is this even clothes?” Bella asked as she looked at herself in the mirror and tried adjusting her top that’s showing too much cleavage. “My boobs are going to show if I even-“

 “They won’t.” Ginny remarked picking up a picture of Bella and Harry that’s laying on top of Bella’s nightstand. “Is Harry’s dick huge?”

 And Bella choked on her own spit.

 Bella made sure that she’s properly covered with her coat before she went down to leave and she made sure to sit at the back of Ginny’s car instead of the front. She is strapping herself when her mother appeared and knocked softly on the window. “Be careful, alright?” she said looking pointedly at Bella who gave her a comforting look in return.

 “Oh don’t worry, Georgia.” Ginny cut off as Bella opened her mouth to say something. “I’ll make sure she’s smiling in her mugshot.”

 When they arrived at the party, Abi quickly disappeared towards a crowd Bella does not know while Ginny took liberty into dragging the doctor to the bar. “Yo, Jose.” Ginny called the bartender who went over and smiled hugely at Ginny. “I want her drunk by the end of the night, got it?”

 And without asking, Jose lay out four shots of tequila in front of Ginny and Bella.

 “Don’t worry. All phones are confiscated at the entrance.” Ginny said with a funny face as she swallowed one shot expertly. “I had to make sure our little bitch having fun is not released to the press.”

 Shocked at the sensitiveness of the redhead, Bella looked at Ginny with wide eyes. “They didn’t take my phone.”

 And Ginny laughed at the doctor like she’s some idiot. “Of course, you fucking idiot. You’re obviously not going to leak anything. I suppose you’re safe with- well- you.” She said before sliding a shot towards Bella. “Come on. It’s not going to drink itself.”

 Henry Cavill had just gotten home in his flat in South Kensington when his phone started ringing. Placing his backpack on his couch, he checked his phone to see the name Doctor Isabella Clarke flashing on his screen. He furrowed his eyebrows. It’s two in the morning. He thought before answering. “Hello?”

 “Hello?!”

 He can hear the loud music on Bella’s background, the people cheering, the people laughing, talking and the very unfamiliar voice using Bella’s phone. “Who’s this?” he asked confused.

 “Isn’t this Henry? “ The woman asked and Henry thoroughly considered hanging up afraid that someone had taken Bella’s phone and is scooping up gossip. “Isabella’s princey boyfriend?”

 “Uhhh- n-“

 “You bloody need to pick up your girlfriend.” The voice cut him off and Henry furrowed his eyebrows while the woman laughed and said, “Bloody hell, Clarke.”

 “Where is she?” Henry asked deciding to play along and the woman gave him an address not far from his.

 When he arrived at the address, the guard at the front gave him a confused look but let him in. He looked around trying to find the familiar face of Isabella Clarke among the drunken ones surrounding him and as he swam through the crowd, he bumped into the very familiar Abigail Simons who has a boy in her arms. “Henry!” she giggled drunkenly and Henry quickly gripped her arm to steady her. “You were invited?”

 “Where’s Bella?” he asked not answering Abi’s question.

 Abi, being drunk, forgot her question and pointed towards the bar where Isabella Clarke is dancing with a blonde woman on top of a table. He quickly walked towards the bar and stood beside it- the man he pushed away yelling but not fighting back. “Isabella!” he yelled over the noise and commotion but Bella didn’t hear him. “Bella!” he tried again.

 It is obvious that Isabella Clarke is drunk out of her wits and so he sighed and caught one of her hand before pulling her down and straight into his arms- a hoard of men protesting at the sudden interruption. “What are you thinking?” he hissed as Bella giggled on his arms.

 “Hey! Hey you!” someone yelled and Henry looked back to see a redhead walk towards them with a coat in her hands. “You’re not princey.” She said furrowing her eyebrows and stopping in front of Henry. “Fuck.”

 “I’ll get her to him.” Henry said and the redhead nodded, obviously not recognizing who Henry is.

 “Give her to your boss.” She said and Henry realized that she thinks that he’s one of Prince Harry’s guards. “And tell him that I like his taste in guards.”

 Henry, anxious and terribly scared of being seen with a very drunk Isabella Clarke, thanked the heavens as he closed his passenger door unseen. “Oh you’re so much trouble.” He grumbled getting in at the drivers seat and pulling on Bella’s seatbelt and locking it. “I don’t even know where you live.” He said but he stopped, his breath slowing when he realized how close his face is to the doctor’s. He gulped as he licked his bottom lip, his heart thudding inside his chest.

 “Don’t be silly. She’s a package you deliver to the rightful owner.” He mumbled to himself but he remained a few seconds longer staring at her face.

 Henry Cavill then searched for Isabella’s phone on her coat in hopes of giving Prince Harry a call but soon realized that Bella’s phone is nowhere to be found. He groaned and decided to just go the hell with it and drove towards Kensington Palace. He stopped by the guard who obviously recognize him by the look of his astonished face.

 “Good evening, sir. Do you have any schedule?” the guard asked not noticing Bella on the passenger seat.

 “Uhh. I had been asked to bring her to him.” Henry simply said and the guard looked further into the car.

 The guard, realizing who’s on the passenger seat, stepped back before walking back to his post and ringing Troy Hammond, Prince Harry’s assistant. “Someone’s here for His Royal Highness.”

 Troy Hammond is sitting just outside Prince Harry’s dining room where the prince and a few of his friends are having dinner- or drinks. He sighed as his work phone rang and Peter Bleu’s name flashed on the screen. “Yes, Peter?”

 “Someone’s here for His Royal Highness.” Peter Bleu, the guard on duty, said and Troy furrowed his eyebrows. “Henry Cavill with Miss Isabella Clarke.”

 “Oh.” Troy said in realization before his eyes travelled towards the door of the dining hall. Surely, Prince Harry knows about this. He thought before saying, “Sure. Let them in.”

 Henry Cavill drummed his hands on the steering wheel, glancing a few times towards Isabella Clarke’s direction, before the guard finally went back to him. “You’re free to go in. Turn left on the first corner and straight ahead.” The guard said and Henry nodded mumbling a thanks.

 As Henry arrived at what seems to be Harry’s apartments, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “That’s odd.” He mumbled as he realized that there’s actually an on-going party at Prince Harry’s apartments due to the numerous cars parked. He stopped the car by the front of Harry’s door before lightly shaking Bella awake. “Bella.”

 Isabella Clarke groaned as she felt herself get slightly sober- the alcohol she had consumed just an hour ago already taking its effect in her head. “Hey. Wake up.” She heard a familiar man’s voice said and she peeked her eyes and saw Henry looking back at her with furrowed eyebrows. “You ok?”

 Feeling thoroughly confused, Bella tried to sit up properly with her hand to her head as she looked around their environment outside through the window. “Where are we?” she slurred, her voice rough, not realizing where she is before looking at Henry Cavill once again. “This is not my house.”

 “I’m aware.” He responded nodding. “This is your boyfriend’s house.”

 Realizing where she is, Bella’s eyes widened and her head whipped towards her window once again- the sudden movement making her feel much sicker than she was a few moments ago. “I feel sick.” She groaned clutching her head. “We can’t be here.”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback, “Why not?”

 “Just.. We should go.”

 But just as Henry shifted his gear to drive, he saw the front door open and Prince Harry practically stumble out the door, clearly inebriated as well but the woman that appeared behind him and wrap her arms around him made Henry’s and Bella’s breath hitch.

 There, coming out of his front door, is Prince Harry with Meghan Markle.

 “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” Henry mumbled after he regained his composure and closed his gaping mouth.

 “Just drive. Please.”

 As Henry started driving, Bella’s eyes connected with Harry’s. She looked away, not wanting him to see her tears anymore.

 Henry quickly drove out of Kensington Palace; the air inside his car is thick and he doesn’t know what to say. Here is Isabella Clarke, drunk out of her wits, while her supposed boyfriend partied it up with his ex- the one he ran a wedding from. His mouth is in a thin line. One wrong word and Isabella might probably break and so he continued to drive around quietly.

 “Can you please stop a moment?” Bella asked gulping. “Please. I’m going to be sick.”

 And he did. As soon as he had parallel parked on a street just behind Westminster, Bella jumped out of his car and threw up on the bin just by the lawn. After she’s finished, Henry watched as she sat on the grass and started sobbing. She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t put into words how she felt nor could she even form a coherent thought.

 Henry watched as she broke down. Even though he doesn’t know the truth between Bella and the prince, he felt like Bella is in a much deeper pain. He went over to the doctor and helped her back into the car before anyone else can see her before driving off. “Where do you want to go? Do you want to go home?” he asked the doctor who only shook her head back at him.

 “I can’t be at home. I can’t take it. Everywhere just..” she trailed off. Every place reminds her of Harry and it breaks her more. “Just take me to yours.”

 He glanced at her briefly before nodding. No. He’s not going to take advantage of her situation. He couldn’t do it- he respects her too much. Truthfully, Henry could not understand how he felt towards the doctor. It was a mere crush or attraction as he would classify it usually but ever since the Centennial Ball, the doctor had been on his mind more often and it didn’t bother him. He liked her. Her poise and elegance through every shit thrown at her is something that made her more appealing to the actor.

 And he respects her more than anyone he knew outside his family.

 “You can sleep here.. I’ll be in the living room.” He said after Bella had gone out of his shower dressed in his shirt and pajamas. She lay on his bed just staring at the ceiling. “If you need anything-“

 “-can you stay here?” she asked cutting him off. “I don’t want to be alone.”

 And he obliged. He couldn’t say no to her. He lay down beside her, a foot apart from each other in his king sized bed. Suddenly, he felt her shift closer to him, her arms snaking around his waist and so he let her rest her head on his shoulders. It was seconds before he felt her shaking- her small frame shook violently before her sobs came out.

 “It’s ok..” he whispered pulling her closer and she reacted by gripping his shirt. “I am right here.”

[harryandmeghan0-blog]

A Royal Rebel: A Look At Sarah Ferguson, Duchess Of York's Life

New Post has been published on https://harryandmeghan.xyz/a-royal-rebel-a-look-at-sarah-ferguson-duchess-of-yorks-life/

A Royal Rebel: A Look At Sarah Ferguson, Duchess Of York's Life

Sarah Ferguson, Duchess Of York has always stood out in the royal family. A fiery redhead determined to walk to the beat of her own drum, Ferguson has never crumbled under the glare of the public spotlight. Though she grew up in a very privileged household, Ferguson has always had an adventurous spirit which is why she captured the heart of Queen Elizabeth II’s third child, Prince Andrew.

Though they had a falling out before Princess’ Diana’s death, the Duchess of York and the People’s Princess were often thick as thieves, and they made it their mission to rebel against the strict orders of the crown. Even though she and Prince Andrew divorced in 1996 amidst some scandals photos and infidelities, the duchess has remained extremely close to her ex-husband, and the pair has raised their two daughters, Princess Beatrice, and Princess Eugenie together. Despite the numerous scandals, including a more recent one involving a journalist trying to pay her for access to the royal family, Duchess Sarah Ferguson has kept her head held high. Take a look at this audacious rebel’s very colorful life.

1. Privileged beginnings

Sarah Ferguson as a child | Instagram via royallyfergie

Sarah Margaret Ferguson was born on Oct 15, 1959, in London England. She was the second daughter born to Major Ronald Ferguson and Susan Mary Wright. Her parents were quite well off, so she enjoyed a very plush upbringing including a private school education, extensive horseback riding lessons, and even a friend group that included members of the royal family.

One of Ferguson’s childhood friends was Lady Diana Spencer. Their mothers went to school together, and the women often played together as kids.

Next: A broken home

2. A major life change

Young Sarah Ferguson | Instagram via RoyallyFergie

In 1975 when the duchess was 16 years old, her parents divorced and her mother remarried an Argentinian man named Hector Barrantes. Furguson’s mom jumped up and moved to South America leaving her daughters behind in England at her father’s estate, Dummer Down Farm. In 1976, Major Ferguson married Susan Deptford, and the couple went on to have three more children, Andrew, Alice, and Elizabeth.

Perhaps the duchess is such a fearsome mother to her daughters because she never wants them to feel as if they don’t matter or that she values something more than them.

Next: A sparkling personality

3. A popular girl

Sarah Ferguson in the ’80s | Instagram via royallyfergie

Though she dealt with some significant changes at home, Fergie as she’s often called, adored school. She attended Daneshill School in Stratfield Turgis where she was known as a “courageous, bubbly and outgoing little girl.” After Daneshill the duchess continued her education at Hurst Lodge School in Ascot.

Though she did not do well academically, Fergie was a mega-talented swimmer and tennis player. Her love of sports and adventure would take her quite far when she became a member of the royal family.

Next: A working woman 

4. A career of her own

Sarah Ferguson working | Instagram via royallyfergie

Though the Duchess of York wasn’t exactly a prized pupil, she knew that she wanted to make a career for herself. At age 18, she graduated from the Queen’s Secretarial College. After school, she dove headfirst into the workforce finding positions at an art gallery, two public relations firms in London, and then a publishing company.

Next: An old friend 

5. Reconnecting with Diana

Princess Diana and Duchess Sarah Ferguson | Royally Fergie via Instagram

In 1980, when she was 21, Fergie reconnected with her old friend, Diana, just as the young woman was being thrust into the spotlight as a potential bride for Prince Charles of Wales. The princess was only 19 at the time, so she saw Fergie as a sister figure whom she could go to for advice. The pair were very close in age and shared several interests. They made time to have lunch together each week as the princess prepared for her nuptials.

In her 1996 autobiography My Story: Sarah the Duchess of York, Fergie wrote, “She was two years younger than I, and I strove to support and protect her as I would a younger sister—as I still do today, as a best friend.”

Next: Living life on her terms 

6. A lady and her lovers

Sarah Ferguson in red dress | Instagram via royallyfergie

While Princess Diana was kept in a cage as a pretty little wife for the prince and the public to admire, the duchess was living her best life in her late teens and early 20s. Before connecting with Prince Andrew, the Duchess of York had two serious boyfriends. She dated Kim Smith-Bingham, a stockbroker, and Paddy McNally, a motor racing manager who just happened to be 22 years her senior.

The duchess lived with both men.

Next: Fireworks with a prince

7. Catching the prince’s eye

Prince Andrew and Duchess Fergie | Instagram via royallyfergie

Everything changed for Ferguson in 1985. Though she and Princess Diana has remained close, the duchess wasn’t often around the royal family as a whole. However, Princess Diana was able to convince Queen Elizabeth II to invite Fergie to one of her “dine and sleep” events at Windsor Castle during Ascot week. At dinner, the Duchess of York found herself seated next to Prince Andrew, Prince Charles’ cute younger brother.

Though the prince and Fergie had crossed paths in the past, this was the first time a romantic connection began to spark.  The duo started to date, and their romance quickly blossomed.

Next: A massive step into royal life

8. A whirlwind engagement

Young Sarah Ferguson and Prince Andrew | Instagram via royallyfergie

It didn’t take long for Prince Andrew and Fergie to decide that they wanted to be together forever. The pair announced their intent to marry on March 19, 1986. Prince Andrew designed the duchess’ engagement ring himself. It consisted of ten diamonds surrounding a Burmese ruby. He chose the Burmese ruby to compliment Fergie’s red hair.

Prince Diana who had already had two children at the time and was in her fifth year of marriage was on hand to help Fergie adjust to royal life. At her first royal engagement, the duchess even wore one of Princess Diana’s dress. In My Story, she remembered, “I looked over at my friend in befuddlement. “Just keep smiling” Diana whispered. And I did, as I would for long years to come. I always felt safe in mimicking Diana.”

Next: Keeping the crown on its toes

9. A wild hen night

Sarah Ferguson | Instagram via royallyfergie

Fergie was just 27 when she accepted Prince Andrew’s marriage proposal, and she wasn’t about to let her single days fade into the background without one last soiree. The duchess was the first female member of the royal family to have a bachelorette party.

Her friends, including Princess Diana, caused a major scene outside of Buckingham Palace by dressing as policewomen. They ended their celebratory evening out at Annabel’s social club. From the beginning, the Duchess of York wasn’t about to let the boys have all the fun.

Next: A massive wedding 

10. A wedding frenzy

Sarah Ferguson on her wedding day in 1986 | Sarah Ferguson Duchess of York via Instagram

If you think the drama surrounding Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton’s nuptials or Prince Harry and Duchess Meghan Markle’s marriage was huge, then you weren’t alive in ’86. Sarah Furgeson and Prince Andrew wed on n July 23, 1986, at London’s Westminster Abbey.

The wedding was a massive televised event and was watched around the globe by over a billion people.

Next: Bonding with her in-laws. 

11. Adored by the royals

Royal Family | Instagram windsor.royal.family

Though she was bold and outspoken, the royal family initially adored the Duchess of York. She was fearless and did everything from getting her pilot’s license to taking up carriage racing.

Princess Diana told biographer Andrew Morton, that the Duchess of York “wooed everybody in this family and did it so well. She left me looking like dirt.” She even said that her ex-husband Prince Charles told her “I wish you would be like Fergie—all jolly.”

Next: Always alone

12. A marriage filled with distance

Prince Andrew and Duchess Sarah Ferguson | Instagram via windsor.royal.family

While marrying into the royal family may have looked appealing from the outside looking in, Fergie soon discovered that it wasn’t as glamorous as she thought it would be. Prince Andrew was an active officer in the navy, which required him to stay away from home for long periods, the duchess often found herself alone.

Despite her friendship with Princess Diana and her happy relationship with the royal family, she became incredibly lonely.

Next: Pitfalls of being in the public eye

13. A terrifying attack in New York

Fergie in Green Hat | Instagram via royallyfergie

Being a public figure also had its drawbacks. In 1988, the duchess went to New York City to attend a fundraising event when she was attacked by a man waiting in the entrance of her hotel. Luckily, Fergie was unharmed but, her attacker was charged with attempted assault on the duchess and assault on a federal agent.

Next: The first whispers of scandal

14. Getting wild in Cali

Prince Andrew and the Duchess of York | Instagram via royallyfergie

New York was just the beginning of the Duchess of York’s troubles. By March of 1988, she was already beginning to fall out of favor with the public. Along with Prince Andrew, she took a trip to California. Though the details of what the young couple did on the tour are sparse, British newspapers said the trip was, “brash, vulgar, excessive, weak-humored exhibition by two royals.”

Though the city of Los Angeles tried to defend the young couple, saying that they were warm, friendly and just doing their duties, the damage was done.

Next: Doing royal her way

15. Dragging the royal family into the modern age

Sarah Ferguson enjoys a quiet moment during the U.S Open | Shaun Botterill/Allsport/GettyImages

If the Duchess of York and the Princess of Wales did nothing else during their brief time as royal family members, they helped soften some of the rigid and antique rules of the crown. Though they were scolded for their carefree and fun attitudes at the time, they also allowed the royals to be seen as human beings.

Their joyous spirits are what has made things a tad easier for younger members of the royal family.

16. The birth of two princesses

The Duke and Duchess of York appear together with their children | Thierry Saliou AFP/Getty Images)

Two years into their marriage, the Duke and Duchess of York started their family. Their first daughter, Princess Beatrice was born Aug. 8, 1988. Their second child, Princess Eugenie was born on March 23, 1990. In the end, it would be their close bond with their girls that would allow Fergie and Prince Andrew to weather the storms that would blow their way in the coming years.

Next: A vicious and cruel nickname

17. The Duchess of Pork

Sarah Ferguson weight watchers | Chuck D’s All-New Classic TV Clubhouse via Youtube

As some women do, the duchess put on quite a bit of weight during her pregnancy with Princess Eugenie, and the press was not kind about it at all. They disgustingly labeled Fergie, the Duchess of Pork. Though we’re sure the body shaming was extremely hurtful, the duchess was not to be deterred. In fact, she took in all in stride.

Using her charismatic personality, the duchess joined forces with Weight Watchers and became their second spokesperson ever.

Next: A natural storyteller

18. Finding her voice

Sarah Ferguson | Frazer Harrison/Getty Images

Not content with simply being a royal wife and mother, Duchess Sarah Furgeson found major success writing children’s books. She wrote and published a series of children’s books about Budgie The Helicopter. The books were so extraordinarily successful that they inspired an animated series that featured Budgie and his friend.

Next: Cracks in her marriage  

19. Increasingly unhappy

The Duchess of York and Princess Diana | Instagram via royallyfergie

By 1991, both Fergie an Princess Diana had become increasingly unhappy in their respective marriages. Naturally, they leaned on one another for support, primarily because “divorce” was still extremely taboo for the royal family. In My Story, Fergie said that 1991 was vital for them both. She explained, “It was the year we first put words to the unspeakable idea that had been nudging us in the ribs for some time: that one or both of us might leave the royal family. We burned the phone wires into the night, trading secrets and jokes that no-one else would understand.”

The duchess was increasingly bored and began spending exorbitant amounts of money on lavish trips and expensive toys.

Next: Some very naughty photos 

20. The explosion of ’92

Sarah Ferguson and John Bryan | YouTube

In 1992, the Duke and Duchess of York’s marriage imploded in front of the entire world. Though there were rumors of infidelity on both sides, Fergie was photographed topless with oil tycoon, John Bryan. Bryan was also sucking Fergie’s toes in the pictures. No one had the foresight to warn the royal family that the photos were going to be published, so the Windsors found out about them over breakfast while reading the morning newspapers.

Prince Andrew and the Duchess of York separated soon after that.

Next: Getting iced out

21. A royal shunning

Sarah Ferguson glam shot | Instagram via royallyfergie

To say that the photographs and separation did not go over well would be the biggest understatement of the century. Shortly after announcing her separation from Prince Andrew, Kensington Palace palace announced that the duchess would no longer carry out public engagements on behalf of Queen Elizabeth II.

Meanwhile, the queen announced in a statement that she wouldn’t take responsibility for Furgeson’s debts and those debts were quite large. The rest of the royal family followed suit in turning their backs on the duchess including Prince Philip who once described Fergie as, “having no point.”

During this time, the duchess started her own charity, Children in Crisis. The charity’s mission is to help children in some of the world’s poorest countries gain access to education. To do this day, Ferguson credits the charity with saving her life.

Next: Living on the edge 

22. Finalizing the paperwork

Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson pose for a photo | Instagram via royallyfergie

Duchess Sarah Ferguson and Prince Andrew officially divorced in 1996, and the duchess was stripped of her title of, Her Royal Highness. (Princess Diana was able to keep her title in her divorce from Prince Charles.) In their divorce, Fergie as awarded a lump sum of £3 million and given a meager sum of just £15,000 a year as a divorce settlement.

However, since her daughters were so young when she and the prince pulled the plug on their marriage, the duchess remained at their home at Royal Lodge, living in separate quarters.

Next: Finding a new tribe

23. Going Hollywood

Sarah Ferguson, the Dutchess of York, gestures while appearing with David Letterman | Alan Singer/ AFP/Getty Images

On the outs with the royal family, the duchess used her notoriety to make other friends, mainly those who ran in elite Hollywood circles. Not only did she rise to fame with Weight Watchers, but she also became chums with Larry King, even covering for his show when he went on holiday. She has also appeared on The View, The Today Show, Celebrity Apprentice, and Fergie even had a mini-series on Oprah Winfrey’s OWN Network called, Finding Sarah.

The same year her divorce was finalized, she set the world into a frenzy when she published her autobiography, My Story: Sarah the Duchess of York. Unfortunately, in the book, she also threw some shade at Princess Diana which resulted in the women falling out. The duo never reconciled before the princess’ death in Aug. 1997.

Next: A lifelong regret 

24. Losing Diana

Princess Diana and Duchess Sarah Ferguson in hats | Royally Fergie via Instagram

Princess Diana died tragically in Aug. 1997 in a car accident in Paris, the morning she was supposed to return to London. It has haunted the Duchess of York forever. She told Harper’s Bazaar, “Because we were like siblings… we rowed. And the saddest thing, at the end, we hadn’t spoken for a year.”

The women had been so close for so many years, to end on such a sour note was truly a tragedy.

Next: Carving out a new path

25. A bonafide author

Sarah Ferguson | Malcolm Clarke/AFP/Getty Images

Her children’s book and her autobiography were just the first of many books Fergie would write. She wrote a self-help book called Reinventing Yourself With The Duchess Of York. She also wrote Little Red, a children’s book about a spunky redheaded doll that became a series of books.

She also has a slew of history, lifestyle, and dieting books under her belt. No one can say the woman doesn’t know how to work hard.

Next: Yet another embarrassment 

26. Another appalling scandal

Sarah Ferguson bribe video | TyneRoseMedia via Youtube

Though she has worked diligently since 1996, Fergie has not been able to keep up with her excessive spending. In 2010, she found herself once again in an immense amount of debt to the tune of £4 million.

She was caught by an undercover journalist who offered her $500,000 for access to the royal family. The duchess was caught was caught on tape pocketing $40,000 in cash as a down payment. She issued a statement saying she was “sincerely sorry” for her actions and admitted that her finances had been under strain. However, the incident diminished her relationship with the royal family which has slowly been on the mend. In 2011, Prince William did not invite her to his wedding.

Next: Thicker than thieves 

27. Closer than ever

Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson attend the Virgin London Marathon on April 25, 2010 in London, England. on April 25, 2010 in London, England. | Gareth Cattermole/Getty Images

Though Prince Andrew and Fergie have been divorced for over 20 years, they still live together at the Royal Lodge and are very much a couple. However, when there were talks of the couple officially walking down the aisle again in 2000, the queen and the Duke of Edinburgh explicitly forbade it.

That hasn’t stopped the pair from living their best lives from parenting their daughters to being absolute best friends.

Next: Her entire world

28. Her greatest gifts

Princess Eugenie, Duchess Sarah Ferguson, Prince Andrew, and Princess Beatrice on day 4 of Royal Ascot at Ascot Racecourse on June 19, 2015 in Ascot, England. | Chris Jackson/Getty Images

The duchess is exceptionally close to her daughters whom she calls he best friends in the world. On her 18th birthday, Princess Beatrice said about her mother “She leads by example and her behaviour is one that I’d really like to follow.” In 2016, Princess Eugenie told Harper’s Bazaar that she can’t make tough decisions without her mother’s guidance.

The duchess is also fearlessly protective of her daughters. In an interview with People, she said, “Let’s focus more on this than tittle-tattle gossip, and incorrect gossip that is taken out of all proportion. I have no qualms about it. Stop bullying. And stop bullying the York family.”

Next: Back in the spotlight 

29. Some embarrassing outbursts

Sarah Ferguson | Jonathan Leibson/Getty Images

The Yorks are once again in the news because of Princess Eugenie’s impending wedding to her long-time love, Jack Brooksbank. Though everyone is excited for the big day, the Fergie has gone a bit overboard.  As soon as the princess announced her engagement, her mom went on a social media bender, tweeting out a string of cringe-worthy tweets that included photos of her daughter and future son-in-law.

One tweet said, “They float with laughter and love .. although a boat helps! #engagement #eugieandjack @TheDukeOfYork @yorkiebea”

A planned BBC interview with the couple was quickly canned when the royals got wind that the Duchess of York was going off the rails and Prince Andrew, had to step in to effectively muzzle his ex-wife.

Next: Keeping her head held high 

30. A resilient lady

The Duchess of York Sarah Ferguson | Mario Tama/Getty Images

Despite the numerous hiccups, and embarrassing scandals Duchess Sarah Ferguson has been able to roll with the punches, and we think that’s nothing short of remarkable.

In 2017, Princess Beatrice told Hello! that her mother is her best friend and “probably one of the most misunderstood women in the world.” She explained,

We’ve been through some incredibly stressful times together as a family, and every single minute she created joy. I am so lucky that I get to learn from her every single day. I’m inspired by her ability to give, even when she’s going through something hard. Her grandmother always said, “When you feel bad about yourself, go out there and do something for somebody else.” That’s an incredible motto that my family has always lived by. My mother is just remarkable.

Source: https://www.cheatsheet.com/entertainment/a-royal-rebel-a-look-at-sarah-ferguson-duchess-of-yorks-life.html/