A/N: No warnings for this one, just a disturbing amount of cuteness.
Despite Harry's countless attempts to make me give in to him, my resolve remained strong throughout the following days. When I told him that he's not getting any with his mother around, I meant it—even if I had to use up the last remaining reserves of my self-control. And with each stolen longing look, soft whisper or fleeting touch shared between us, it was becoming increasingly harder to keep my cool.
Clearly, the possibility of Anne catching us in the act is something that bothered me way more than him.
Either way, no meant no.
It's three days after Christmas Eve when Harry—completely out of the blue—brings up James Corden's party that's happening the same afternoon. Apparently, 'we' have been planning to attend it for weeks. Interesting. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I'm hearing about it.
I think Harry's understanding of 'we' differs significantly from mine.
"We'll be gone a couple of hours tops," he tells Anne, shoving a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. "I know you might get bored, with Gemma gone and all, but I promised to show up with starlet…"
I let out a huff at the nickname, fully intending to swat that infuriating grin off his face when Anne takes her seat between us, acting as a makeshift buffer. "Oh no, don't worry about me!" she exclaims. "I can find something to do around the house."
"Are you sure?" Harry frets with a frown. "I don't want you to think that we're ditching you for a night out…"
"Well, if you're so worried about that, I don't mind joining you two," she answers. "I'd love to catch up with James and Julia."
She looks down at her plate, completely missing the flash of panic that crosses Harry's face. What the heck is he up to? "Ah, but they'll have their hands full with the guests; you'll get bored–"
"I'll be fine, love. It's not the first time you're letting me tag along." Either her son's odd behaviour is lost on her, or she's decided to play dumb. "What time are we leaving?"
"Yes Harry, what time are we leaving?" I echo in a sickly sweet tone.
Resigned, he sets his fork down on the table. "Sometime around three."
"Splendid! I'll be ready then," Anne chirps, still blissfully unaware of the odd energy in the room. The three of us continue to eat in silence for a while longer before she grabs her coffee and excuses herself to the garden.
My fake smile drops as soon as she's out of the room. "What the hell, H…a party? Care to explain it to me?"
"I didn't think she'd want to go!" he blurts, burying his face in his open palms. A stray curl falls into his eye and he swipes at it, annoyed. "Bloody hell."
The odd display of anger only fuels my confusion. "Talk to me."
"I just wanted to steal you away for a few hours," he mumbles so lowly I barely catch it over the hum of Joni Mitchell playing in the room, "but I guess now we're going to the party."
"Steal me, you say?" the corner of my mouth curves into an amused smirk. "Steal me where exactly?"
There is an obvious hint of frustration on his face as he grabs the underside of my chair, dragging it closer to himself in one swift move. "Just away."
His fingers slowly start to trace patterns on my knee, the delicate sensation forcing me to look up at him. "H," I start, "Please don't tell me you just lied to your mum because you're horny."
The sheepish look on his face tells me I've just hit the jackpot.
"You won't even kiss me with her around," he huffs, and it takes all of my willpower not to burst out laughing because he looks just like a kid deprived of a cookie. And yes, I'm the metaphorical cookie in that equation. "I want you so badly. I've wanted it for so long."
"Exactly—you survived," I chuckle at his eagerness. "You can hold it for three more days."
With the New Year's fast approaching, as well as our plan to spend it with Harry's friends in Japan, we're sure to get plenty of alone time… and I can't help but feel a combination of nervousness and giddy anticipation. What if—despite the months worth of build-up—our sex turns out to be disappointing?
As far as I know, I've never failed to please my partners in bed. Still, I'm not vain enough to assume that I can satisfy just about anyone. Harry, similarly to me, has had plenty of experience in that field; I'm certain of it. That in turn means he's probably tried out a lot of things, and sex could feel flavourless for him, much like it has for me.
I can't even think of the last time I've truly enjoyed myself, with Emil or anyone else.
Still, it's hard to imagine our first time together to be disappointing when even a slight contact between us puts my entire being on fire.
"Or…" Harry leans forward to caress my cheek, "we could sneak out for a drive. Mum wouldn't notice, and there's plenty of space in the back of my Rover."
The small sigh that escapes me seems to please him as the corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. Tempting as it may be, I once again shake my head. At this point, it's more the matter of proving my point than anything else—I hate not having an upper hand. And with Harry, it feels like control has been slowly but surely slipping from me.
"What are you so afraid of?" His eyes flit across my face as if trying to decode my thoughts.
My answer is immediate. "Your mum getting the wrong idea. About us. About what this is."
"Mum won't try to put a label on us, if that's what you mean," Harry assures me. "She's not the kind to hire a wedding planner for every girl that catches my eye. She knows better by now."
I say nothing in response, instead averting my gaze so he can't recognize the struggle in my eyes.
"Is it really so awful, though?" he asks quietly after a moment, clearly searching for the right words to explain his point of view. "The idea of us together."
My eyes widen as I rapidly shake my head. "No, of course not! You're a great guy, I just–" How many times do I have to tell him that I'm not girlfriend material for it to finally stick?
"Please, don't," he laughs humorlessly. "Do not give me the 'you're a great guy, but...' talk."
That forces a chuckle from my mouth. "First of all, that's not what I was trying to say at all. Second, do not act like you actually get to experience rejection often."
"You'd be surprised to hear how many times I got dumped," he mutters bitterly. At my dubious look—mostly because I have a hard time imagining anyone willingly letting go of a man like Harry—he explains, "You should know better than anyone else that dating people like us isn't easy."
"I wouldn't know," I tell him honestly. "I've never been in a serious relationship."
"Never?" His face is the picture of confusion. "Not even when you were younger, experiencing first love and all?"
Now growing self-conscious for some reason, I answer, "I, uh– I've never been in love either."
The issue isn't that I don't believe in love. It exists. I've seen it. I lived it, through the caring relationship with my grandmother.
I just don't think it's in the cards for me—at least not until I figure out what to do with myself and my life. Until I'm certain I can be good enough for someone.
"Yeah… I figured as much," Harry admits, "but I still thought you'd at least dated in the past. I remember hearing rumours about you seeing some actors back in the day."
"Oh, that," I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I hooked up with some of them, but we weren't dating; it was just PR. I had to be linked to someone new every few months to fuel the interest."
"So, you didn't like them enough, or…?" he trails off on a question.
I decide to lay it all out in the open. If my continuous warnings aren't enough to scare him off, maybe blunt honesty will.
"They were fine, but I just wanted sex. Relationships complicate things. Don't get me wrong—I'm happy for anyone who finds a person they trust enough to share their life with, but… I've seen enough couples fall apart around me to know it's not for me." My parents being the prime example. "At least not at this stage in my life. I'm twenty-one. I can barely get a grip of my life, let alone handle the pressure of keeping someone happy. Besides, I'm just a big fat problem. Why would I dump my mess on anyone?"
When I look at Harry next, his mouth is now downturned in a sad frown. "I wish you'd stop thinking of yourself in those categories; see yourself the way I see you."
"Yeah, but that's just it—you only know what you see, H."
He's not aware of what goes in my head every night before I fall asleep. He doesn't recognize the anxiety that nearly suffocates me whenever I walk into the crowded room, nor the little whispers in my ear that tempt me with an easy solution to all my problems in the form of a single white pill.
He only knows me as his 'Cherry', but I used to be way more than that… I still am. It's just buried deep enough to stay out of plain sight.
"What was it that you said about getting dumped?" I redirect the conversation back to him. It's a means of distraction, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not even a tiny bit curious about his past relationships.
"You think it's funny?" His grin widens in amusement.
"No, I just find it hard to believe."
"How so?" he asks seriously.
"Aren't you, like…" I move my hand around in the air in a hopeless attempt to articulate my thoughts, "what every girl wants?"
His face lightens up in an instant, with that same giddy smile that I would kill to see every day. "You think so?"
"Yeah." My face heats up in embarrassment, but it's too late to backtrack now. "You're kind, loaded, and not bad to look at." I list out. "Plus, don't girls drink up that mix of romantic and sexy you've got going on?"
"I don't know," he tilts his head to the side with a smile. "You tell me."
"I mean… It's pretty self-explanatory," I mutter, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Is it, though? You're the perfect example that my usual tactics don't work on everyone," H retorts with a chuckle. "I've been trying to crack you for months, and at this point, I don't think I ever will. But maybe that's for the best; you keep me on my toes."
He's wrong—his tricks are definitely working on me. But I'm not about to feed his ego even more by admitting it out loud. "Why is it for the best?"
"You asked me before why my relationships fail," he murmurs, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand. "There are several reasons, but the biggest problem is me. Or rather, my expectations. They're way too high. When the initial fascination begins to fizzle out, I do whatever I can to keep the fire alive… but most of the time, it isn't enough. And when I get lonely, I grow needy. Trust me, no one likes a needy twat."
There's definitely some truth to it, I realise. He can be very needy.
"But isn't it a good thing that you want to keep the relationship exciting?" I try to understand the image he's painting.
"Right?" he shrugs his shoulders. "That's what I thought too until one of my exes told me that I'm just too 'intense'. That sometimes, she just wants 'normal'. Whatever the fuck that means."
I laugh at his obvious grumpiness. "If she'd wanted 'normal', she shouldn't have dated Harry Styles."
He snaps his fingers, pointing a finger at me triumphantly. "See? You get it." His grin fades into a gentler smile. "You always get me."
"What did she even mean by 'intense'?" I laugh.
He scowls. "In her own words, I was just 'too much'. Apparently, she was suffocating. I gave her too much attention."
Something about his words has me thinking that this isn't merely an exaggeration on his part. Harry can be a lot. When I think back to our early days—the way he stubbornly kept pushing and searching for me until we finally met in person—it's obvious that he is a very persistent man. And even now, the lengths he goes to just to get closer to me are insane. Anyone else would have given up ages ago… But not Harry.
I don't know whether this determination is fueled by loneliness or simply off-tour boredom, but I can see how someone could view him as overbearing. Either way, he's finally managed to find the one person who doesn't mind it. What I've lacked all my life (save for the adoration I receive from fans) is attention; just a simple reminder that someone out there cares for me.
Without even realising it, Harry has been giving me exactly what I needed.
Before I can overthink the meaning of my words, I blurt out, "I kind of like it when you're being a bit too much."
"Yeah?" he mumbles shyly. "Kind of?"
"Mhm." Glancing behind my shoulder, I confirm that the coast is clear before leaning forward to brace my hands on the chair between his parted knees. "It's kind of cute when you go all out with your cheesy letters and gifts."
His grin widens even further at my coy tone.
"One day, I'll show you just how intense I can be," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against mine. "And when your throat is sore from screaming my name for hours, you'll be begging me to go back to my cheesy gestures."
At that, I snort loudly. "Oh, God. That was so bad, H."
"Thanks," he says as we both fight to hold in our giddy chuckles. "I always try to one-up my worst lines. They make you smile."
"You're such an idiot," I shake my head.
Leaning back against my chair, I then realise that I'm still curious. Not as much about the identity of Harry's ex-partners, as the reasons why someone like him can't keep a girl.
"So was that why she broke up with you? Because you were too inten– Wait." Suddenly, something occurs to me. "Please don't tell me that the ex from your story is Kendall."
They seem so... cool with one another. It's hard to believe that they could have put aside the animosity Harry has just described and become such good friends.
At this, Harry laughs loudly, throwing his head back. "Gods, no! We parted on friendly terms, besides, it was a long time ago. She's probably the only one I've managed to stay real friends with… but that's also because we've never been that serious. It was all about having fun for us."
I hum knowingly before my smile turns teasing again. "When you said 'intense' earlier, my first thought was that you'd scared them off because you're too freaky in bed."
"True, I can be... intense," he smirks, "but it might not be in the way you think."
"Oh?" My traitorous heart skips a beat. "Pray do tell."
"That's something you'll have to experience on your own skin," he looks away with a cryptic smile.
My shoulders slump as I let out a calming breath, reminding myself to stay on track. "You said it wasn't Kendall…?"
His eyes crinkle mischievously; I can tell he finds my sudden interest in his love life amusing. "No, it was my most recent relationship. Several issues had been building up for a while until one day, it all exploded into one big mess."
"Mess?" I prompt.
"The distance became too much, for one. Suddenly, every conversation had to be scheduled… like a chore. And when we finally did talk, it usually turned into an argument over the fact that we can't make time for each other. We were going in circles."
"That… sucks," I mutter, "but I also feel like it's something one has to consider before entering a relationship with someone such as yourself. You're bound to travel often."
Despite my own words, I realise here and now that I've never thought of what would happen when Harry starts touring again… when he won't be tied to my hip anymore.
I quickly shake off the unsettling thought.
"I don't think she fully grasped what being with me means," Harry admits. "It all moved so fast, too. One day we were casually hooking up, and the next, I was introducing her as my girlfriend. To be fair, all my relationships started with sex. I mean, until–" he cuts off, looking at me intently.
My face burns under his pointed stare.
"And that's a bad thing?" I ask. "When it starts with sex?"
"Not necessarily, but I think I now recognise the advantages of truly knowing someone before jumping in headfirst." His expression sobers, morphing into one that can only be described as miserable. "I never explained to her what she'd have to face; all the backlash she'd receive. She is so… outgoing. Open. She wanted to share our happiness with the world, not knowing that with me, you can't really–"
"I understand," I say softly. Personally, I'm not the biggest fan of social media, which is why my accounts only come to life whenever I am forced to make a statement of sorts. Even my private Instagram remains empty for the most part, due to my lingering trust issues.
That being said, I can see where she was coming from.
"The backlash was the worst part," Harry continues. "She'd never said it outright, but I could tell she resented me for not defending her publicly. There was just so much pent up aggression, on both sides," he takes a deep breath before adding, "Still, for the longest time, I truly thought we could fix it somehow."
"I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two," I say softly, honestly. "It sounds like you really cared about her."
He hums, his mouth flattening into a line. His jaw set tight, he glances down quickly before focusing his stare on me again. "Life has a funny way of setting things back on track. There I was, sulking in my backyard like a wimp until the universe decided to put a feisty little redhead on the other side of my fence. It's gotta be fate."
"Oh, and there he is… back to his poetic self again," I sigh with a fond smile.
"You know me," he laughs. "I'm just too much."
__________
Harry is weirdly quiet during our short drive to Corden's house. With his eyes glued to the road, he spares me no more than a couple of fleeting glances in the rearview mirror. Although Anne seems oblivious, to me, it's clear that he's sulking. And I can't shake off the feeling that the reason behind his sullen mood is not only his failed plan to get me alone but also the conversation we had earlier.
"What time did you say the party started?" Anne asks as we roll into the—for the most part empty—driveway.
"Uh… Three?" he answers unsurely.
She sends him a dubious look, clearly seeing right through him, before climbing out of the car with a bottle of expensive wine in her hands—the last minute gift we had stolen from Harry's stash.
"H…" My eyes flit over the multiple bright balloons decorating the entrance. "You know this is a kids' party, right?"
Harry shrugs, not immediately answering me. "Uh… Yeah?"
"Don't bullshit me," I lean over the console to poke his thigh. "Did you even get the invitation?"
He sighs, pulling out his phone to scroll through the calendar, filled with blaring red signs ranging from 'H, go to this one or I swear to God…' (courtesy of Jeff) to 'Avoid at all costs' (this one's definitely Harry).
"It's right here, Max's–" a wince passes over his face, "late birthday party." He draws a shaky hand down his face. "Shit."
"Do you even have a gift for the kid?" I attempt to keep my composure.
Showing up to a kid's birthday empty-handed? I can't think of a bigger faux pas than that.
Harry's eyes fasten on mine; I can basically hear the wheels turning in his head before he finally answers, "Yup. I brought Princess Eroda. Best present ever."
"H!" I chuckle after him as he quickly exits the car, with me hot on his heels. "You can't just say I'm the gift–"
"I happen to think you're godsent," he throws over his shoulder with a cheeky smile, effectively shutting me up.
Whatever arguments I have on the tip of my tongue have to be set aside since James is already waving us over from the front entrance to his house.
"Harry? What the hell?!" is what he says first upon seeing him. "I can't believe you actually came!"
"What do you mean? Of course I came. Duh," H gasps, pretending to be all offended while I inwardly roll my eyes at his antics, especially how easy it is for him to lie to someone's face. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
"Riiiiiiight…" James chuckles. "You never show up, you hermit."
"Oh, shut it. Can't you just enjoy that I'm here? Even better… I came bearing gifts!" He points to the laughing Anne and myself, unsuccessfully trying to hide behind the older woman.
James' eyes widen as they find me before they focus on Harry again. "H, you've certainly outdone yourself this time. Kids will go absolutely mental!" Taking a step forward, he then envelops me in a warm hug. "It's lovely to see you again."
"You too," I smile weakly as we break apart. "Although I'd rather forget the last time we'd seen each other."
Our Late Late Show interview didn't go exactly as planned, but he can hardly be blamed for the disaster that was a hundred per cent my mother's doing.
"Yeah… Sorry about that," he mutters. "I had no idea that Marisa– well, I was sure you had been informed of her plans about the charity and all that."
"It's fine. Not your fault. Not at all." Aware of Anne and Harry watching us carefully, I cut the conversation short. "Let's just forget about it."
He nods, motioning for us to come inside. "You don't know how glad I am that you're all here. We're having a bit of a crisis; the catering company mixed up orders, so now Julia's trying to prep food last minute… Could use some help."
"I'll be happy to give you a hand, but… where are all the guests?" Anne asks, peering into the noticeably vacant living room.
"Oh, the party doesn't start until five," he responds, glancing at Harry with a sly smirk. "You mixed up the hours, didn't you?"
H doesn't falter even for a second before quipping back, "Nah, I just had a feeling you'll need me here earlier, and look… I was right!"
Their bickering continues as we enter the massive kitchen, and my nostrils are immediately filled with various aromas floating around in the air. A woman—whom I learn is Julia, James' wife—turns to us, greeting us one by one whilst simultaneously trying to calm two little boys sprinting around the dining table.
"Max, Carey, stop this right now! Greet your guests," she finally booms.
The taller boy, no older than seven or eight, stops right in front of us with an enormous grin. As soon as he sees me, the look on his face morphs into one of pure embarrassment and his cheeks burn under my stare.
Oh, another little fanboy of mine then.
"I know, mate, I know," Harry jokes as he gives him a high-five. "I feel the same. She's really pretty, huh?"
Max's blush only intensifies at his words. Before I even have a chance to properly greet him, he skitters off to hide behind his mother's skirt.
"Happy birthday!" Harry shouts merrily after him.
"That should calm you down for a bit, hm?" Julia sighs, clutching the boy against her belly. "God, I'm exhausted."
"How can we help?" Anne immediately chimes in.
"I'm almost done with the snacks," the other woman answers. "Now I just need to figure out something for the dessert. Can't have a kids' party without an unhealthy dose of chocolate."
"Muffins!" the younger boy cheers.
"You're in luck because this one here is a mean baker," Harry butts in, tilting his chin in my direction.
Already considering several cake options kids would eat up, I try to choose the ones that are also easy enough to bake in the limited time.
"I could whip something up real quick if you have the right ingredients–" My trail of thought is abandoned as I cringe at the new song that starts playing. "I'm sorry, but what is this music?"
"Dance hall," James cackles from his spot next to Harry. "Apparently, it's hip. Right, Max?"
"No one says 'hip' anymore, dad!" the boy whines, clearly embarrassed for being called out in front of his crush.
"See? This is what happens when Dad tries to be cool," James quips with an exaggerated sigh. "I reckon dance hall is not popular in the Doherty household then?"
His question causes a roar of laughter to erupt in the room. As if my family—notorious for popping out one Broadway star after another—could breed someone who's not a classical music junkie.
"Uh, not really? I like classical music. Well that, and oldies… Some soft tunes. Sorry, Max!"
The boy blushes furiously again, but his attention is soon captured by none other than Harry who begins to obnoxiously pump his hands in the air whilst thrusting his hips back and forth. Oh, Lord.
"Your dancing never fails to amaze me," Julia snickers. "All you're missing are a tracksuit and a pair of sunnies, and we'd be transported to a '90s rave."
"He looks silly dancing to any type of music," I comment off-handedly.
"You know what? That's it," Harry huffs in mock offence. "I'm signing up for a class. Soon you'll be on your knees, begging to dance with me."
The smirk on his face tells me this isn't the only activity he wants me to perform in that position.
"Sure, sure, I'll be eagerly anticipating the day you sweep me off my feet," I dismiss his antics with a bored wave of my hand. "In the meantime, how about you go pick up a couple of things for me? I'll give you a list."
"But–" he pouts.
"I'll make the red velvet cupcakes," I tempt him. "The ones you like the most?"
He traps his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating my offer. "...With the strawberries on top?"
"Mhm," I hum.
"And you'll make them extra sweet?" he checks.
"Just the way you like them," I promise, already typing down the list to text it to him.
"Okay, fine," he gives in with a sigh, "but you better make it worth the trouble."
His tall frame has barely made it past the door when the laughter starts.
"Who is this man and what has he done to our H?" Julia's the first to speak up. "I did not expect him to agree so fast!"
"I know," Anne comments with a smile. "I couldn't believe it too, but this one here has him trapped under a spell. He's so smitten."
Much to my horror, I feel a warmth spread across my cheeks. "Stop. This is ridiculous. He's just being kind like he is towards anyone."
The younger boy—Carey—chooses this moment to run past me, letting out a loud giggle in the process. I scowl.
"See?" James points out. "Even he finds it hilarious."
Julia grins at her husband, handing me a bowl of tomatoes which I start chopping with way more aggression than necessary.
"Harry hates shopping," she explains. "Every time he goes out, his face ends up plastered all over the internet… So, to see him give in so fast? We're just surprised."
But he's never complained about running errands for me before.
"You've got it all wrong–" I insist stubbornly.
"Listen to this!" Anne chimes in. "He bought her a Cartier necklace," she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "from 1929."
Burying my flushed face in my hands, I let out a loud, frustrated groan, but it soon gets drowned out by James' obnoxious cackling.
"The man means business!" he exclaims. "Can you blame him, though? You kind of have to go all out if you want to impress a girl who's got virtually everything."
A girl who has everything, I think bitterly to myself. If they only knew…
Tuning their voices out, I opt to keep myself out of the conversation. While I don't necessarily mind their gossiping, it's best if I don't add fuel to the fire—it's bad enough that they think Harry and I are dating.
Speaking of the devil, he returns less than an hour later, arms weighed down by heavy shopping bags. Aside from the baking ingredients, he's also carrying an enormous bouquet of sunflowers. He presents it to me with his usual shit-eating grin, spinning some story about there being 'a discount' that he simply could not ignore. It's a hilarious tale which I almost believe… That is until I find a receipt from a certain flower shop near my home, meaning he must have gone there specifically to get these for me.
That—of course—brings about another round of teasing, courtesy of James, but it's thankfully cut short by the arrival of the first guests. Now just the two of us left behind in the kitchen, Harry grabs my waist from behind and begins to sway to the music.
"I don't think this music is fit for slow dancing," I refer to the noisy song blasting from the speakers.
"Imagine a slow tune you like," he mutters as he rests his chin on top of my head. "It's there… Just close your eyes and feel it."
"What do you hear?" I play along, relaxing into his embrace.
"'Sweet'." His low raspy voice sends tingles down my spine. "You like that one, don't you?"
"How do you know?"
I'm pretty sure I've never mentioned it to him before.
"I may or may not have stalked your Spotify account." I can feel him smile against my skin. "It's on most of your playlists. I know you're a closeted romantic, darling… Can't hide from me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He pays no mind to my words, simply tightening his arms around me. We sway for a while, and with Harry lowly crooning the lyrics into my ear, it's easy to ignore our surroundings and imagine that we're really listening to one of my favourite songs.
"Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet…
Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair
It's so sweet…"
__________
About half an hour later, James enters the kitchen to warn us that the news of us attending the party has already broken out, and it's only a matter of time before every kid in the house will request an audience with me.
"I can't vouch for every parent in the room," he admits. "I don't know half of them. They may post pictures, so be careful."
"It's alright," it's not like I don't deal with this every single day.
"You're free to hide out upstairs if you prefer to stay off the radar," he offers.
Harry and I exchange a fleeting glance, but he makes no move to speak. Clearly, he's leaving the decision up to me.
"I wouldn't want to disappoint the kids." My words are honest, but at the same time, I've also stopped caring whether Harry and I are spotted together. The public has already branded us a couple anyway, so what does it matter?
It quickly turns out that James wasn't joking when he said that my appearance would make everyone's day. For the next two hours, I am the main star of the show—the role I am quite used to. The children flock around me, asking for hugs, autographs, or even live performances of my best-known Disney roles.
Harry dutifully lingers close to me the entire night, and by the time the sun begins to set, our faces have already been posted on several gossip sites. Despite the possible implications of our irresponsible behaviour, I can't find it in me to care. Not even with the prospect of Jeff's wrath looming over our heads.
At some point during the evening, one of the little girls suggests a karaoke, which quickly turns into an hour-long Disney concert. Even though the song from my old movie is the most anticipated one, it's Harry's rendition of 'Kiss the girl' that steals the show. He delivers his performance with such confidence and emotion that even the least enthusiastic guests gather around to applaud him.
When the excitement finally begins to die down and most of the kids gather around Max to open presents, we use the opportunity to slip away to the kitchen. The quiet in the room immediately soothes me. After two hours of entertaining the enthusiastic, loud children, the change of pace is very welcome.
Kids make for wonderful companions… until you need a break, that is. And since there isn't a better calming technique than some baking, it's exactly what we choose to do.
"Can you hand me the eggs?"
The kitchen is probably the only place Harry follows my every command, no questions asked. He stands a bit to my right, his expression thoughtful as he absent-mindedly mixes the dry ingredients with a spoon.
"Are you okay?" I ask when the odd energy between us becomes unbearable. It's a loaded silence. He clearly has something to say, but is holding back, for whatever reason. "You've been off ever since our talk this morning. Are you still upset about what happened with your e–"
I never get the chance to voice my question because he abruptly sets the spoon aside, bracing his elbows on the counter as he faces me. His next words are just as cryptic as his behaviour. "I've been writing…"
"I know." My eyes flit up to his before I once again focus on the task of cracking the egg and adding it to the mixture. "You told me you're recording, remember?"
He shakes his head, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he looks at me with some sort of expectancy. "It's new."
"Okay…?"
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm aware that he's behaving oddly again. Something shifts in him every once in a while. One moment he's playful and flirty, the next it's as if he's internally warring with himself.
Who the hell knows what's going on in that brain of his.
"Just say what's on your mind, H," I request.
"Do you remember that one night you came over upset?" At my slow nod, he continues, "You were crying… I held your hand through the fence and read to you until you fell asleep."
I do remember. Baker had leaked my photos that day, prompting my anxiety attack. If it hadn't been for Harry comforting me, who knows what other solutions I would have turned to… Whether my darker desires wouldn't have taken over me.
"You mentioned something back then," Harry continues. "You said that you hate the word 'golden.'"
For a moment I'm quiet, surprised that he can even recall our conversation, let alone the small detail I'd shared with him.
"Yeah, it's 'cause I've always been called my father's 'golden girl'. Like I'm not my own person… Like my whole existence is based on being his damn child." I pause to look at Harry, only to realise he has now inched closer, his arm hovering next to mine on the counter. "Why are you bringing this up?"
"I've been thinking… hoping," his deep voice draws even closer to me, "that I could fix this word for you."
"How?" I chuckle, assuming it's another one of his jokes. But then I see his eyes bore into mine, dead serious, and my hand stills midway through my mixing.
He uses my momentary confusion to swiftly move behind my back, reaching over to pluck the spatula from my limp hand and set it aside. Then, with another step forward, he's got me lightly pressed up against the counter.
"What if I wrote you a song?" His hot breath hits the side of my face.
Though my skin is on fire and focusing seems to be an impossible task right now, I somehow manage a weak, "You already did."
I doubt 'She' will ever see the light of the day, at least not with the silly verses we wrote during our trip to the canyons.
"No, not that one. I've been working on something different recently—it's just words, ideas for now. Things that make me think of us…" His voice is basically dripping with seduction at this point. "Would you like to hear some of it?"
Against my better judgement, I force out a weak, "Yes," from my lips.
His mouth quirks up into a smile against my skin as he moves to press it just shy of my ear. "Golden, golden, golden, as I open my eyes," he begins to recite in a tantalising, lazy drawl. "I hold it, focus, hoping it will take me back to the light. You're all I see, though I know, you're way too bright for me–"
"Bad rhymes." My voice is purposefully airy and playful in an attempt to hide just how strongly his words are affecting me.
His 'song' may be a mess of random one-liners for now, but it aims straight at my heart.
"Shhh," he mutters with a finger against my mouth. "I don't want to let you know… how badly I don't want to be alone."
"Harry–" I attempt to stop him one last time.
"Loving you will be my antidote." His voice falters, betraying his nervousness, and I use that split moment to twist in his arms.
"Harry, you can't love me– c'mon, don't be a fool," I admonish him gently. "I am not loveable." Under my breath, I mutter, "I'm the kind of girl that will only ever be fuckable."
A flash of anger blares in his eyes at my words. In all the months I've known him, this is the first time he's being so openly furious around me—and that's counting the time he fought Emil in my backyard.
"I swear to God," he mutters hotly. "If you talk shit about yourself again, I'll–"
"You'll what?" I press myself on my toes to scowl at him, a look which he meets with an equally level-headed stare.
"I'll have to put you in your goddamn place."
His words, coupled with the low, threatening sound of his voice, turn me on in a way I've never felt before. I can already feel the blush working its way up to my face, and he hasn't even laid his hands on me… Yet. Now I'm hoping to quickly remedy that situation.
In my last show of defiance, I laugh—right in his face. "You actually believe you hold any power over me. How cute."
There are many ways I imagined Harry to react to my taunting, but to have him shove me against the fridge so hard I nearly lose my breath is not one of them.
"I'm starting to realise that I may have been too nice to you." It sounds more like he's talking to himself, but the sultry tone is clearly aimed at me. "Don't really want me to be a gentleman, do you?"
His right hand inches up my side, eventually stopping at the base of my throat. One of his eyebrows raises in a silent question. It's obvious that he's testing my limits, giving me an option to back out.
Eagerly, I tug his face closer to mine.
I've never let anyone manhandle me, but now that it's happening, all I can think of is how much I'm loving this version of Harry. The side of him that I've only ever witnessed once, during our passionate fling in his gallery.
"This okay?" he mutters as his fingers gently close around my neck.
Instead of giving him an answer, my hips inadvertently thrust against him. God, I want him.
Encouraged by my reaction, his hand squeezes tight this time. It's massive and doing serious damage—the rings will surely leave red marks on my skin. I can't seem to find it in me to care, not with how fuzzy my mind is, drunk with an overwhelming desire to be with this man. To finally let him have every inch of me.
The images from my late-night fantasies flood my brain, prompting a soft moan to spill from my mouth.
"What is it, darling? Cat got your tongue?" He enunciates each word slowly.
Annoyed, I grab the hand holding me. Not to push him away, but to regain some semblance of control. However, his arm doesn't even budge. "Damn it, H, just–"
"I'm sorry, is there something you want from me now?" The words are surprisingly controlled considering the obvious want in his eyes. Clearly, the need to pay me back for all the times I'd refused him in the past wins over. Cocky bastard.
Breathily, I murmur, "Kiss me."
"Kiss you?" His voice adopts that thick and husky tone again. "Like this?" He catches my lower lip between his teeth, nipping gently before pulling back to leave me empty again.
Now thoroughly pissed off, I tug at his hair to get what I want. I hate being denied; aggressive and demanding is in my nature. I just didn't realise it's in Harry's too.
"Don't be a dick. You got your revenge," I huff. "Kiss me. Now."
Perhaps I should have worded it differently.
His eyes crinkle mischievously, a fraction of the playful Harry I'm used to peeking through. "Tell me you'll be a good girl from now on."
The request makes me scoff—bad move.
"You think this is funny?" H tilts his head to the side, so close that I can feel each taut muscle of his chest pressing up against me.
"Kind of," I sass back.
All of a sudden, he lets me go. Now free of his arms holding me up, I stumble forward, nearly losing my balance if not for his hand reaching out to steady me. Apparently, he might be mean enough to leave me hanging, but he's not enough of an asshole to watch me crack my skull open.
"Fine," he shrugs after. "No kissing then."
The only response he gets is a blank stare.
His expression remains cool and distant as he leans back against the counter. If it wasn't for the obvious bulge in his pants, no one would be able to tell what we were up to just a moment ago.
"Harry?" I whisper, taking a tentative step towards him.
He lazily lifts his head to look at me. He may appear disinterested, but I know very well what's hiding beneath this mask of indifference. It's a man who's still hoping I'll give in to him.
"Are you mad at me?" My voice is coy as I glance at him from beneath my eyelashes. Reaching out to smooth a hand down his shirt, I'm content to find that similarly to mine, his heart is also beating erratically in his chest.
For a moment, it appears as though he's finally reached the end of his patience until his raspy voice breaks through the silence, "The innocent act isn't working for you. We both know you'll be the death of me."
I purse my lips into a pout, toying with the collar of his shirt as I send him a teasing smile, "I'm sorry. What if I said I'll be good..." My mouth stop by his ear. "Just for you?"
His mouth instantly stretches out into a wide grin. "Yeah?"
"Mhm," I smile back. He's so easy.
"It really turns me on when you say that," he says hotly.
"You like to think you've tamed me, don't you?" I can't help but find the idea amusing.
"I think you just proved to me that I did."
Before I have the chance to argue, his hands cup under my thighs to hoist me up. With my legs hitched around his waist, he slowly walks us backwards and towards the counter. My ass hits the cold surface, but I can hardly feel it, not when his mouth crashes into mine in a fierce kiss; the tension between us so strong that neither of us can even dream of denying it anymore.
My fingers tangle roughly in his hair as our mouths battle for dominance. There's an urgency in this kiss that only grows with each aggressive swipe of our tongues. For a moment, we both forget where we are. Nothing else exists except for our bodies connected in an intimate embrace. That, and the overwhelming passion between us.
When he finally pulls back, I have to bite my tongue to suppress a moan. "Don't you dare stop now." Tension is boiling over in my stomach—it feels like I might explode if he doesn't put his mouth on me again.
"Now that's a good girl," he teases smugly.
Taking hold of my jaw, he forces my head back just to press his lips against mine again, this time slow and explorative. Never in my life has someone kissed me like this, as if they wanted to memorise every inch of my skin. I would be perfectly content just like this, wrapped up in his embrace for hours, without this leading into anything more.
And it probably would have lasted so much longer if not for a soft giggle disrupting our business.
"Harry," I whimper, my voice weak and shaky as he abruptly sets my feet down on the floor. Feeling dizzy and disoriented, my fingers dig into his forearms for balance before I finally spot a little girl standing directly behind us.
She grins innocently, the gap between her teeth showing. "What are you doing?"
"Uh," I look at Harry for help, but he's only staring at me dazedly with a crooked smile. Thanks for nothing. "Harry had something on his face, I was just…" I grab a nearby napkin and aggressively press it against his cheek, "wiping it off."
The girl lets out a small 'oh', rocking on her tiny feet. "Hawwy, but you're still dirty!"
We both follow her chubby finger pointing at the lipstick stain near his mouth. Hurriedly, I proceed to clean it up the best I can, which isn't an easy task with all the squirming and chuckling involved.
"This isn't funny," I hiss at H before turning to feed some lie to the kid, only to realise that she's already skittered off towards the living room. "Shit, shit, shit."
"Relax," Harry laughs whilst pulling me back into his chest. "What can she do?"
"I don't know, like, tell someone she caught us making out?" I roll my eyes before tugging him towards the door. "Come on, we need to do damage control."
"Noooo," he mumbles into my neck with a needy whine. "What we need to do is sneak out and fuck in my car… Please, baby. Do I have to beg? Is that what you want? 'Cause I'm not above dropping to my knees if that's what it takes. I can think of several pleasurable things I could do while down there."
"No, I told you–" I whimper weakly as he leans in, running his nose against the length of my jaw before biting down harshly. "Jesus, H, stop," I hiss quietly, mindful of the fact that anyone could walk in—again.
"Please… give me something," he murmurs fervently against my neck. "At least let me taste you."
I suck in a sharp breath, knowing he's not referring to my lips this time. "Fuck– okay, fine," I give in. "Let's go. But you better eat me out real good to make it worth the risk."
"Mhm, s'gonna be so good," he mutters distractedly, quite literally yanking me away from the counter. Someone's eager.
And that's exactly when we hear the sound of multiple pairs of little feet running down the stairs.
"Bloody hell!" Harry curses, his face a picture of annoyance. It would have been one hilarious image, if I wasn't sharing his current predicament.
A blond boy runs in first, followed by the twins that played with me earlier, as well as a very amused James with his youngest cradled against his chest.
"Hawwy!" His tone is clearly mocking. "Remember what I told you about getting up close and personal with women?" he pauses, looking down at the kid who had caught us red-handed. "Not in my kitchen!" they finish together, the little girl giggling before running over to grab my hand.
"Sing, sing, sing!" she chants. That little rat.
"Okay, calm down," I laugh when the blond boy yanks me by my other hand. "Let's do karaoke again. I'll do Eroda, you two sing the prince's parts."
They both cheer at my suggestion.
"Sorry, H," James snickers. "It's karaoke time. You'll have to wait a bit longer for your fun time."
The last thing I see is Harry, cussing away under his breath as I send him an apologetic glance and follow the kids out of the room.
__________
Oh my God 100k?! That's insane! Considering this story is still fairly young... Massive thanks to anyone who contributed to the numbers!
What are your thoughts on the chapter? Leave them here!
Also, the song Harry sings into her ear is called Sweet by Cigarettes After Sex. There's a whole Fence playlist too if anyone's interested, full of songs that remind me of this book. The link is in my bio!
In the next chapter, Harry and Cherry will be spending the New Year's Eve in Japan and yeah... Sexy time incoming!
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