Chapter 21 Chapter twenty-one
AANYA
The Prince Regent was exactly the kind of place I had never been. Dark wood paneling absorbed the light from old-fashioned fixtures, and the smell of beer and something fried hung in the air. Men in work clothes clustered around the bar, their voices loud and comfortable. A football match played on a television in the corner, and someone was arguing about a penalty that should have been called.
Dev held the door for me, and we stepped inside together.
The conversation didn't stop exactly, but it shifted. People noticed. Of course they noticed. The disgraced princess, walking into their local pub with him. I could feel their eyes tracking us as Dev led me toward a table in the back corner.
"We can leave if this is too uncomfortable," he said quietly.
"No." I forced myself to meet a few curious gazes, to nod politely. "I need to learn how to exist in normal places without running away every time people stare."
We sat down. A server approached, a woman in her fifties with skeptical eyes and an expression that suggested she had seen everything and was not particularly impressed by any of it.
"What can I get you?" she asked.
"Pint of Guinness," Dev said. Then he looked at me expectantly.
I picked up the small menu on the table, scanning the list of unfamiliar names. Bitter, lager, pale ale, stout. I recognized the words individually but had no idea what they actually meant in terms of taste, strength, or what one was supposed to order in a place like this.
"I'll have the same," I said finally, hoping that was a reasonable choice.
The server's skepticism deepened into something that looked almost like pity. "You sure about that, love? Guinness is an acquired taste. Might want to start with something lighter."
"I'm sure," I said, though I was not sure at all.
She shrugged and walked away. Dev was watching me with an expression I could not quite read.
"You have no idea what you just ordered, do you?" he asked.
"Not really, no. Is it terrible?"
"Depends on your definition of terrible. It's thick, dark, and bitter. Some people love it. Some people hate it. There's not much middle ground."
"Which are you?"
"I love it. But I grew up drinking it with my father, so I suppose I have sentimental reasons." He paused. "You grew up drinking champagne at state dinners, I imagine."
There was something in his tone that had not been there this morning. Not quite hostile, but not entirely friendly either. A sharpness around the edges.
"Sometimes champagne," I admitted. "Though I didn't actually choose it. Staff would bring whatever was considered appropriate for the occasion. I never had to think about what things cost or what I preferred. Someone else made those decisions."
"That must have been convenient."
"It was empty. Everything was decided for me, including what I drank and what I wore and what I said. I'm not claiming it was difficult. I know how privileged that sounds. But it was not real."
"And this is real? Coming to a pub and ordering drinks you don't understand? Learning to navigate a world where you have to think about money and choices and consequences?"
"I am trying to learn. I know I do not understand your world yet. But I want to."
"Trying is not the same as understanding. Wanting is not the same as living it."
The server returned with our drinks. She set them down with more force than strictly necessary, the dark liquid sloshing slightly. The Guinness looked nothing like champagne. It looked thick and opaque, almost like motor oil.
I took a sip. It was exactly as Dev had described it. Thick, bitter, with an almost chewy texture that coated my mouth. Nothing like anything I had ever tasted. I forced myself to swallow, to keep my expression neutral.
"Well?" Dev asked.
"It's different."
"You hate it."
"I did not say that."
"You did not have to. Your face says it clearly enough." He took a long drink of his own, watching me. "This is what I am talking about. You are trying to fit into my world, but you do not actually understand it. You order Guinness because I ordered it, not because you know what you like. You are performing being normal instead of actually being normal."
"That is not fair. I am learning. How am I supposed to know what I like if I do not try new things?"
"There is a difference between trying new things and pretending to be something you are not."
I set my glass down, stung by the accusation. "What do you want me to do? I cannot change the fact that I was born into privilege. I cannot erase twenty-seven years of having staff make decisions for me. All I can do is try to learn a different way of living. And you are criticizing me for not learning fast enough."
"I am not criticizing you for not learning fast enough. I am questioning whether you actually want to learn or whether this is just a temporary adventure before you go back to safety."
"An adventure? You think losing my title and my family and everything I have ever known is an adventure?"
"I think you have not yet experienced what it actually means to struggle. You have been not-a-princess for less than a week. You are staying on a friend's sofa, which is generous of her, but it is not the same as actually being homeless. You got a job offer immediately, which is fortunate, but you have not yet experienced what it means to work for money you desperately need rather than money that funds a charitable interest. You fumbled with coffee money this morning, and that was awkward, but it was not the same as standing in a shop trying to decide which groceries you can afford when you do not have enough for everything you need."
"So my struggles do not count because they are not as severe as yours? Is that what you are saying?"
"I am saying your struggles and mine are not the same. And pretending they are is insulting to everyone who has actually fought to survive."
"I never claimed they were the same. I know I was privileged. I know I still have advantages you never had. But I gave up everything to tell the truth, and you are dismissing that as if it means nothing."
"You gave up things you never had to work for. Title, position, money you did not earn. I am not saying it does not hurt. I am saying you have no idea what it is like to lose things you actually built yourself. Things you sacrificed for. Things you worked three jobs to afford."
I stared at him, trying to understand where this anger was coming from. This morning we had talked easily. We had walked through the park and laughed and connected. Now he was attacking me as if I had done something to offend him personally.