Harry and Maya One-Shots

Belle - Part Seven

omg this one shot is getting so long O_O i promise the part after this one will be the last :\ by the way, I don't speak French so I just used an online translator so I know a lot of it may not be right, so please bear with me... love you guys <3 ENJOY <3

            The next weekend, Harry and I were sitting in his black Ferrari convertible as he drove us out of Paris to his mother’s house. He drove so dangerously fast that a couple times I had to put my hand on his thigh to make him slow down. “How far is your house?” I asked.

            “My mother’s house is about an hour and a half away.”

            “I thought you said it was on the outskirts of Paris…” My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

            “Paris is a big city, Maya,” Harry chuckled as he slowed down to what he considered a safe speed of eighty miles per hour. I looked out at the passing scenery that was all a blur to me.

            “Slow down, I want to appreciate the nature,” I told him and he rolled his eyes and slowed down even further.

            “It’s just fields,” Harry said as I ran a hand through my hair. His hand found my thigh, scaring me even more since now only one hand was on the wheel.

            “How do you say I love the sky?” I asked, turning to look at him.

            “J’adore le ciel,” he said smoothly and I repeated him. “No, le ciel,” he said as if it were one word. He slowed the car down even more.

            “Le ciel,” I said. He looked back at the road ahead of him and sped up some more. “Le ciel,” I said again, trying to sound even more American.

            “French is a beautiful language, Maya, and you’re ruining it.”

            I laughed out loud. “I’m sorry…” He took my hand and kissed the back of it. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the wind in my hair and having Harry next to me, driving as if it were our last day.

            Harry slowed down once he drove down the narrow dirt road that led to his mother’s house. “She doesn’t know that we’re coming. I haven’t seen her in the longest time…”

            I turned to look at him. “You don’t talk to your mother?” I asked softly.

            “I call when I can,” Harry replied, straightening his back as he maneuvered his car in between concrete walls when the road turned to cobblestone. People who were sitting on the street, washing laundry all turned to look at the shiny and expensive car driving past and kids who were playing ran to the side of the road and stared in awe. I tried not to make eye contact and suddenly Harry stopped.

            “Bonjour,” he smiled widely at an older lady who was sitting in front of a doorway. “C’est moi, Harry Styles.” (It’s me, Harry Styles)

            Her face completely lit up and she stood up and Harry got out of the driver’s seat, leaving the car in park. “Comment allez-vous?” (How are you?) she kept saying over and over again. The two embraced and I sat awkwardly in the car as they spoke to each other in French. Some of the kids walked past the passenger’s seat where I was sitting and looked at me, but I just turned to where Harry was now talking with another lady, younger than the one he had just previously embraced.

            Ten minutes passed and Harry got back in the car and bid them all goodbye and said something or other, probably promising to see them again soon. We continued the drive and once we got out of the narrow buildings, Harry took my hand in his again.