Marrying a Boxer | H.S.

Chapter 2

The drive to the restaurant is awfully quiet. Dead silent. He doesn't even have the radio on. The only sounds are those of our steady breathing, and the cars driving past us. I glance at him sideways and study his features. Perfectly straight nose, tan skin, beautiful green eyes, strong jawline, and plump, pink lips. I take a deep breath and gaze out the window, deep in thought.

"We're here," Harry says, stepping out of the car, with grace. He walks around his vehicle, and helps me out, wrapping an arm around my waist, making me feel awkward. We walk close together and enter the fancy Italian restaurant.

"Reservation for Harry Styles," he tells the hostess, who can't tear her eyes from him.

"Please follow me," she says in a quiet tone, clearly affected by Harry's looks. She leads us to a table in the middle of the restaurant, sets two menus on the table, and leaves, but not before shooting me a dirty look.

Harry pulls out the chair for me. "Thank you," I say, monotone. He sits across from me and takes a look at his menu. A waiter brings us a bottle of champagne and pours an equal amount on each flute. He leaves the champagne bottle and walks away.

"What do you want to eat?" Harry asks me.

I browse the menu, not knowing what to order. Nothing seems appetizing at the moment, but I decide on the Fettucine Alfredo. Harry keeps on reading the menu for a few more minutes until the waiter comes back to take our orders.

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter asks. Harry looks at him, with his cold gaze.

"Yes. It will be a Mushroom Ravioli for me, and a Fettucine Alfredo for the lady." Harry says. The waiter nods, and smiles at me, kindly. I return the smile, and he walks away.

I take a deep breath and a sip of champagne. I'm gonna need more of this in order to survive this dinner. Harry leans back on the chair, crossing his arms, and regards me with his intense green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Raising an eyebrow, I ask him.

He does not say anything, just continues looking at me, making me uncomfortable. "Harry, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me."

"Why?" A smirk starts making its way to his lips. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Yes," I sigh, getting annoyed.

"Really?" His smirk is on full display now, making me even more irritated.

"Don't flatter yourself. It's creepy to stare at someone like that, I didn't mean it as a compliment," I say.

His eyebrows raise in amusement to my comment, and he chuckles. "I had never been told I was creepy," he says, resting his right elbow on the table, and running his index finger along his lower lip.

Our food arrives, and we start eating. He tries to make small talk, but I do not cooperate. "Listen, Scarlet," Harry drops his fork onto his plate, making a loud clattering sound. "I am not very happy about this either. I didn't have any plans to get married anytime soon. Or ever, at that. I'm at the top of my career, so the last thing I wanted was for something like this to happen. And to make it all worse, my mother had to choose a little brat like you, as my wife."

"You're a fucking asshole," I say quietly.

"That I am. I suggest you start smiling and acting as if you were enjoying this stupid dinner because I'm supposed to give you the damn ring tonight and make everyone think we are the happiest couple." He says, sternly, and quietly. "Okay, baby?" He fakes a smile and takes my hand in his. "You better go along with this, because there's paparazzi here."

"How do you know?"

"I've caught about three taking pictures," he replies.

"Oh," I mumble. I take a deep breath and give him my best fake smile. "Aren't we the cutest couple?"

"We sure are," he smiles. This is the most annoying thing ever. Pretending that we are so in love. I'd never fall for someone like him. A cocky, arrogant, self-centered bastard. Why me?

Our dinner continues, and we make small talk, laughing every now and then, touching hands, and smiling at each other, for the sake of this stupid arranged marriage. I just want this night to end.