pyrite (harry styles) [completed]

two.

Winter 2013

"And this is where you'll likely be spending most of your time," the assistant to the tour manager (I think, there's been so many names I'm not sure), shows me the tour bus I'm slotted on. "S'all girls. It'll be you, Caroline, Lou, the little ones, occasionally Lottie, tons of estrogen in here. This is, like, the estrogen bus. You can stay here and unload your stuff, if you like. I'm sure Caroline'll come around soon."

I'm so happy with this all-girl arrangement that I smile brightly as he leaves my new home. "Perfect, thanks!"

My fiancé Luke is already unhappy enough that I'm leaving for almost two months to join a megafamous, good-looking boy band on their US tour for work.

But he couldn't argue that it was a major experience that I couldn't turn down. Working with Caroline Watson fresh out of college would be amazing on my resume. And it would only be for one tour, I'd promised. Then I'd head back to New York and score another dream job and we'd settle down, get married and find a place together in the city and live happily ever after.

And then a thin, lanky, boy with pretty pale green eyes tucked his shaggy head in.

"Oh, um, hello. Is Lou around?"

"Lou? Um, no, think I'm the only one here at the moment. Sorry."

He hoists himself up and into the bus, standing a few feet away and looking a lot taller than I expected. "I'm Harry."

He unassumingly extends his right arm like I don't know exactly who he is, so I hesitantly take it and try to suppress the butterflies in my stomach in front of a guy who I know has butterflies tattooed on his stomach because he happened to be on the walls of my roommate's dorm room in college.

"Lex. I'm Caroline's new assistant."

"Right, right," he nods, and smiles, and then to my surprise sits himself down on the bench. "Mind if I wait here for Lou? Need a break, y'know, from my bus."

"Sure, yeah," I nod, and try to play it cool. Because this means I need to make small talk with Harry Styles, and because he's surprisingly not 12 like I'd imagined he'd be.

After a few minutes I learn this kid's amazingly unpretentious for being the level of famous he is, and he's not really a kid; he's only three years younger than me. Besides being strangely genuine and friendly, he's well versed in one of my passions in life: fashion.

The next thing I know we're talking about fashion week and Yves Saint Laurent's latest collection and how sad we are that Christopher Kane stopped designing for Versace's Versus line.

"So, how does your fiancé feel about this?"

"How did you-" My mouth drops open, because how did he know, but then he kind of points to my left hand and I smash it over my face. "Sometimes I forget that's there."

"Sure he appreciates that," Harry chuckles, as I peek out from between my fingers.

"It's just... new," I explain, dropping my hand and letting my eyes linger on the oval diamond on my ring finger. "And that word still feels funny."

Poor Luke. His blue eyes are so many miles away in a tall office in Manhattan and I'm closed away in my new home on wheels with an actual teen magazine centerfold.

"He paid a lot of money to be able to call you that word."

"He did," I nod. "And he's, um... he's..."

I pause, because Luke's main reservation about me being here is the boy asking the question, but then I managed to finish, looking up and away from his eyeline. "He's cool with it. Knows it's good for my career."