I was only four, but I do remember watching Diana stepping our of her carriage in that exquisite ile flottante of a dress. It was the summer of 1982 and we were staying with my grandparents in Bermuda. I too could wear a tiara, and marry a prince one day, is what I, and billions of little girls around the world thought. My mother had worn a beautifully beaded tiara when she married my father in 1974. I wore that fairytale tiara –– at home, at parties and on playdates ––  until every bead came unstrung. Diana married a prince, and so might I. When I was eight, I moved from my Surrey nursery to the Greek school in London. Prince Nicholas was a pupil there, and on days when I got to school early, he’d pass my classroom on his way to his and give my ballerina bun a squeeze. I took that as marriage proposal, of course. Years later, I did marry a prince, just not one with a title. I’m not sure that my girls even know that there’s a royal wedding on the weekend, and they certainly don’t care about marrying a prince. But we’ll tune in, for sure. Royal or not, Harry and Meghan are a couple in love, and that’s a thing worth celebrating.