Kiwis | Harry Styles

Forty-Five

"H, sweetie..." she presses her forehead against my back and once again I immediately want to drown in her, "what does it matter why Danny is here? Maybe he and Pam had a fight? Maybe he was going crazy being home all day? Maybe he just wanted to see the kids? I don't know -"

"Bullshit! You don't know," I scoff as I whirl to face her and the hurt look on her face feels like somebody plunged a dagger straight into my heart. And when she lets go of my wrist as if it burned her it feels like they twist the blade for good measure. Shit!

"Harry! We need to go -" Ramone, my stage technician, whose job it is to transport me to the b stage in the soft goods trunk pauses with his mouth open when he spots my wife and I clearly in the middle of something. I think it will be a toss up to see who bursts into tears first, me or Jess.

"Be right there," I struggle to force a smile.

"You riding with us, Jessi?" My stagehand turns to my wife. She'd taken to hitching a ride on top of the trunk, it kinda gave the game away a bit, but it wasn't exactly a secret that that's how I get to b stage to start my set. Plus, I kinda like knowing she's close.

"Nah, I think -"

"Please..." I whine and this time it's my hand gripping her wrist.

"Fine. Suppose it saves me walking there." Her voice is clipped and I know she's pissed at me, but she doesn't pull away when my hand slides down to envelope hers.

"Thank you," I whisper as we follow Ramone to the trunk.

"Mmhmm," she says in response rather than her usual 'you're welcome', yet another sign of her annoyance and now my heart is thundering at a million miles an hour again. I don't want to start the show with her mad at me but there's not a lot I can do - a quick sorry will not be enough to fix this one.

We walk in silence and I wonder how much she wants to not have to take my picture for the next two hours and what would I do if she didn't? Will people be able to tell I've upset her from her pictures? Will she make me look terrible?

I know the answer to most of those questions is no. She won't make me look awful and nobody will have any idea that I upset her. She's a professional.

"Baby, I'm sorry."

"I know." She bends over and presses a kiss to my forehead once I'm inside the box but her glassy eyes and her fingers slipping out of mine, before the side panel gets closed makes me wish they'd seal the box shut permanently. I don't know how I'm gonna pretend to be happy for the next few hours.

-----

I stare into the viewfinder of my camera, waiting patiently on the spot where my husband is about to make his routine dramatic entrance, courtesy of the spring loaded platform I know he's now squatting on. Hidden from view. I'm amazed he hasn't fallen over yet, maybe tonight will be the night? I giggle before shaking the malicious thought from my head. I don't want him to hurt himself, maybe shake him until he tells me what the hell is bothering him?

I snap several pictures as the surrounding arena erupts into screams. Damn! He looks good tonight. His navy flared trousers perfectly hug his arse - screw it - I zoom in and take a few pics, just for me. His white sleeveless t-shirt is tucked neatly into the waistband but definitely not for long. I know the screams will be deafening when it works loose and they get a glimpse of his tattoos and those abs.

"Jessi!!" I hear several voices yell from behind me so I turn to give them a wave. They yell something else but I can't hear what. Johnny, one of my bodyguards, takes a gift bag from them, and I thank them before following Harry as he makes his way to the other side of the stage.