Go to Bermuda, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

In his memoir, Spare, the Duke of Sussex recalls a suggestion made to his wife by the then Duchess of Cornwall: that Prince Harry could become “Governor-General of Bermuda”. Apparently, it would solve all their problems.

My immediate thought was we don't have a governor-general. We have a governor. While the distinction may not be important for a lot of people, I recognise my sensitivity is different from most. I have seen the real job up close. Having served successive governors as aide-de-camp, I can attest that there is rather more to it than the occasional parade or garden party.

There is also a delicate balance to maintain: immersing oneself in the island community and exerting influence without overstepping one’s remit, representing the British Government while maintaining the confidence of Bermuda’s elected government and its people. As you might imagine, those interests do not always align neatly.

There is too the reality that it is not an office without historical weight.

In 1973, the then Governor, Sir Richard Sharples, and his aide-de-camp, Captain Hugh Sayers, of the Welsh Guards, were assassinated on the grounds of Government House. What followed was the prosecution and conviction of two Bermudians, ending with their hanging in 1977. This was the last time anyone was sentenced to death and executed in Bermuda. The executions were followed by serious civil unrest and the deployment of the Royal Bermuda Regiment and elements from the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers from the British Army. This was the same office, supposedly, being proposed as a refuge from royal drama.

So, why does the mistake even matter?

Looking past the tumult of Royal Family reporting, it points to a wider reality in how London thinks about its oldest Overseas Territory. Bermuda is often regarded as the jewel in the crown, perhaps the largest jewel in the crown. But our success story has encouraged a particular kind of complacency in Whitehall: they’re fine, they can look after themselves. Or less generously, they've got it so good over there that they hardly need our attention.

One could argue that Bermuda’s beauty and prosperity have sometimes become an excuse not to bother understanding it. What is worth understanding, however, is that Bermuda has its own politics, its own history, its own constitutional arrangements and a unique position among the Overseas Territories. This uniqueness requires a tricky balancing act; not only with Britain, but with Europe, North America and the Caribbean.

There is a triangulation at play that goes far beyond missing aeroplanes and sunken ships. Bermuda’s position as a hub for international capital, corporate services, generational trust business, and the reinsurance infrastructure that helps to underwrite and pay claims arising from some of the world’s largest catastrophes is rightly a point of pride. Things that make us special can also attract the attention of ambitious neighbours, but that competition, be it real or imagined, should make us better. The point that I think is missed in the current Caricom debate is that Bermuda prospers by operating as strategic connective tissue in our body of water; we just need to get better at building muscle and losing fat.

A small confession: like a great many Bermudians, I watched the royal wedding from start to finish, and I was not alone in being captivated by what it represented. As a father of biracial children, I understand the significance of seeing an interracial family at the highest levels of public life. I suspect that Harry and Meghan would have found considerable warmth in Bermuda. Apart from the fairytale aspects of finding one’s Prince Charming, we have a natural inclination to welcome visitors or new residents, but we have a natural gag reflex to people who look down on or take us for fools.

The idea of Harry and Meghan living in Bermuda was intriguing and amusing. But the assumption behind the suggestion was more revealing: that Bermuda could be somewhere a member of the Royal Family might disappear to, a benign yet agreeable posting in the middle of the Atlantic.

The reality is, however, that news reporters know how to book a plane ticket. And not everyone arrives on our shores having packed their good manners and sense of decorum. In truth, Bermuda doesn't need to import drama. We're quite capable of creating our own. And perhaps that is the point.

Perhaps our slice of paradise could have addressed some of the Sussexes’ problems with privacy and security. It would not, however, have completely solved their friction with the institution. Stepping into the role of the King’s representative in one of its most important remaining territories would have arguably tied Harry closer to the Crown and the machinery of government, albeit from four time zones away.

For those thinking that sheer gratitude for being offered a posting in paradise is the only appropriate response: there is something to be said about the difference between choosing to live on an island and being seemingly banished to one.

We are a small, complex and diverse society with our own politics, nuance, history and a finely balanced constitutional relationship with Britain.

For the time being, my family and I live in northern Italy, where people need to hear the word triangle in the sentence to pinpoint where we are. When I have met most people for the first time, and explain that my father is Italian, but my mother was Bermudian and that I grew up there, the first thing they always ask is: what are you doing here? Why didn't you stay?

The reaction makes sense. When I show them any of my sunset shots, photographs of crystal-clear blue water and pink sandy beaches, it looks idyllic by any standard.

Bermuda may look like a place to escape from British problems. But anyone appointed to govern would quickly discover that Britain’s unfinished constitutional business travels quite easily across the Atlantic and is not always a smooth ride.

It should come as no surprise that our national drink is aptly named the Dark ’n Stormy.

• Paolo Odoli is a former aide-de-camp to two governors of Bermuda and a former government communications officer. He is living in northern Italy