How The Italian broke my heart (part 2)
The princess wandered around in a daze for weeks after the news that the prince was attached and they couldn’t be together. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t think. She took time off work. To say she was devastated by the news was an understatement. She was numb from pain. She couldn’t function. But she did need to understand why he hadn’t mentioned his unavailability beforehand. Why he had let things get so far before telling her he was taken. Why he had lied to her by omission.
So she emailed and texted the prince to try to get some answers. But she also wanted to see him. It was as if she was addicted to him and needed a fix. Finally, after a month, the prince agreed to meet her. (That month was one of the longest months the princess had ever known.)
And they met a couple of times after Their First Real Date. And while she still felt an incredible, almost primal, pull toward him, he was distant, removed and careful when they met. It was if he were protected by a moat filled with piranhas, and the drawbridge was firmly in place. She was not getting across. He was not letting her in.
But the prince did apologise for not being truthful with the princess. He thought that starting something with her would be the impetus he needed to make a break from his current relationship, but he was consumed with guilt. The princess was unsatisfied with this answer, but accepted it, because she had no choice. The prince’s mind was made up. Their relationship would not be going any further, even though he admitted that there was definitely something there. Something wonderful.
The princess was sad for months, and her contact with the prince lessened. No more emails. No more SMSs. After all, there was no point. His mind was made up. She thought about him often though, and what could have been. The princess knew that the depth of passion they had briefly shared was a once in a lifetime occurrence. There was unfinished business between them, and the princess, in dark recesses of her consciousness, was restless. And she tried to move on.
For nearly a year, she dated other knights and knaves, but her heart was not in it. She did not feel the same connectedness that she had felt with the prince: that same sense of familiarity and passion. For a year, she thought constantly about the prince. She never forgot about him. Although she couldn’t see him, she could feel him. He was out there, somewhere.
And then one day, nearly a year after Their First Real Date, the prince and the princess met again.