Royals

Chapter 8 - First Day Jitters

Juliette’s POV

The blare of horns and chatter of folks swarms me in a blur as I walk the streets of London. I pay no attention to my surroundings, my mind completely dissolves in my thoughts. With a bit of a hop in my step, I replay his words in my head until I find the station.

My smile deems contagious as I get a few nods and grins from passer byers and railroad attendants. As I’m sat in the tube, I am once again lost in his words. As I ride back to my apartment, my mind travels elsewhere and does so for the rest of the evening. I’m quite smitten with Zayn; I feel like a young girl with a crush on the boy next door.

By the time I reach home, I am overwhelmed with bliss and anticipation of the next time I’ll see Zayn. My giddy mood makes the tedious tasks of doing laundry and making dinner seem a bit more enjoyable. Music blares through my speakers as I sing along and dance to the melody.

I spoon rice and stir fry into my plate, admiring the colors on the ceramic. It amazes me that just this morning I was in the shops and here I am now, flushed after spending the afternoon with Zayn. So crazy.

After eating, I settle onto my bed and immerse myself in a book until sleep overcomes me. I dream of coffee shops and warm arms.

Harry’s POV

My head pounds as I fumble with the keys to the house. It takes my hung over self a few tries of solid concentration to successfully unlock the door. Thrashing into the foyer, I lazily step out of my shoes and stagger up to my room. A voice stops me dead in my tracks; my head jerks in response making me feel slightly dizzy.

“Harold, son.”

I whip around to find my father holding a newspaper in one hand and a glass of water in another.

“Father…I, you’re back early from Cambridge?” I stutter.

“Ah yes, I was expecting to arrive home tonight. Although, the conference finished early so I made it back last night. I was just about to be sat for breakfast, join me? I’ll have Griselda set you a plate,” my dad says. Without waiting for a reply, my father calls out to our maid; she immediately dashes to the dining room to prepare.  

I tug at my hair as I trudge over to the cushioned seat at the table.

Griselda leans over and sneaks two advils into my hand as she pours hot water into my tea cup. I smile at her gratefully as she shakes her head in response—she knows me well.

“Griselda says you were out golfing with Ella and her parent’s yesterday? Mighty good time I’m assuming since you didn’t make it home last night,” my dad comments, in between bites of his toast.

“Actually my knee felt a bit stiff, didn’t want to risk it,” I crack a smile.

“Niall’s the one with the dodgy knee; I’ve been gone a week Harold…not years,” he retorts, dryly.

“Speaking of, I ran into him at the course. We chilled at his place—beers and derby, the usual.”

“Good head on his shoulders, that one. Just beers? You look smashed…never took you for a light weight, my boy,” my dad looks up from his paper, giving me a sideway glance.

“We had a couple drinks at the bar, too. And before you ask, we were covert. There was not a photog in sight…I made sure of it,” I confirm his suspicions. My dad purses his lips, looking back down at his paper.

“Just as long as you keep it to a minimum and keep it private, that’s all I’m asking. It’s for your future son, remember that.”

And yours too, dad.