part 1 of the double update ...
2 chapters, over 21k words. enjoy.
No Perspective
The second Elaina's head came down to rest on Harry's shoulder—two things happened.
Elaina, who was too drunk to even realize what she was doing, felt the spins as she finally shut her eyes. She felt the intoxication swallow her up, and she felt like she was floating but also being pulled into the ground all at once.
She hasn't been this drunk in a while.
Normally, she'd be worried about the state of her well-being come tomorrow morning...but right now she didn't care. She didn't care about anything. She felt emotionless in the best way possible as her head lay on the shoulder of the boy who confused her.
Harry was barely crossing the sober line tonight, only having one shot and smoking half a small joint while the other guys except for Louis did coke earlier. He was in his full conscious, clear state of mind—and a part of him hated that.
And when his shoulder felt the temple of the red headed girl rest upon it...Harry froze.
For half a second he stopped breathing, his mind racing to process what was happening. His eyes moved to look out the corners, seeing the top of her head. He didn't move, he didn't know if he should. He didn't know if he should say anything.
His lips pressed into a line as he grew a little frustrated. Not with Elaina, but mostly with himself because he had suddenly lost his cool and forgot how to function as a real human being all because of a head on his shoulder.
For fucks sake, it was an action that probably meant nothing to her—he thought. Why was this making his palms sweat? To any other person this would not appear to be a big deal.
But no one besides Elaina has ever used Harry's shoulder to rest on before.
It was odd to him. It was new to him. He was uncomfortable with new things.
He looked across the pool, still unmoving. He spotted Bianca asleep on one of the chairs on the other side of the water. He prayed she stayed asleep—imagine if someone saw this.
The two of them were trapped in this moment in time by a poolside. Elaina was trying to balance whether she was able to keep her mind conscious or just completely blackout—while Harry was balancing whether he hated this, or whether it...wasn't so bad.
Was she even awake? Harry was questioning. If he moved, would he wake her up and turn this into a whole awkward ordeal—which he fucking hated.
So, with strong hesitance and a exhale through his nose, he speaks.
"Picasso?" he says in a whisper, in hopes that he wouldn't wake Bianca up.
No answer. He silently curses.
He nudges his shoulder a bit, gently. "Elaina..." he says her name slightly louder.
Elaina feels the nudge and it causes her to come out of whatever state she was in, opening her eyes and inhaling sharply through her nostrils. She wondered how long she had her eyes closed because time had no value to her right now and she couldn't tell minutes from hours.
Then, she realizes what she's resting her head on as her eyes open. She blinks a few times and lifts her head. Her movements are slow as she feels like she'll topple over.
"Fuck, sorry." she laughs. "I think I passed out."
As she laughs, Harry shushes her quietly.
"Shh." he then points to Bianca.
Elaina's mouth forms an 'o' shape and she nods. "Okay." her voice dials down to a whisper. "Sorry...about the shoulder thing."
Harry shakes his head. He doesn't want to acknowledge it, it'll just make things awkward. "I barely even noticed." he murmurs.
Elaina takes a subtle deep breath to try and keep herself composed. She feels like she could collapse face first into the pool in front of her but even her drunkest self recognizes how fucking embarrassing that would be.
"I'm gonna try to stand up now." She speaks out loud, making Harry look at her as she plants her palms on the concrete to try and push her body weight upward.
"Where are you going?" he asks, still sitting.
She pouts her lip with a shrug. "Don't know." she answers. "Maybe I'll get another drink."
Right as she says this, she trips over her own feet and almost falls in to the pool.
What saved her from hitting the water, was Harry's sober reflexes that would still be quick and cat like even if he was drunk.
He catches her in two places, one hand on her exposed stomach and one on her arm. He then stands up with her.
She's laughing, too far gone.
"You're fucked." Harry says, a chuckle under his breath at the suddenness of it all.
Elaina tosses her head back with a giggle, and for Harry, it was like slow motion.
He knew Elaina was hot—anyone with eyes would see it. But this short moment was different. He didn't know what it was, but her laugh sounded so infectious and her hair fell along her shoulders with the toss of her head. Those locks of dark orange curls suited her blue eyes. And she had a perfect set of teeth that illuminated with the LED lights in the pool. She also has a subtle dimple on the left side of her mouth that Harry had never noticed before, maybe because he's never seen her smile this way before.
Harry felt conflicted, it was almost like he was fighting some type of urge off.
"Zayn's gonna kill me for getting so drunk." she cackles.
She knows deep down that she should really be worried about the consequences—physically and mentally—of her drinking, but of course, when you're drunk you don't think. You just do what your heart tells you in that very moment and you don't take the time to decipher if it's bad or not.
Harry slides his hands off of her body, hovering them over the spots they were in just in case she tumbled again. He didn't know why he was out here helping her like this.
But he just couldn't let her fall, no matter what he told himself.
"I'm taking you inside before you kill yourself out here." Harry tells her.
Elaina groans. "I don't want the night to be over yet." she whines.
"Picasso, you can barely walk." Harry grumbles. "Just come inside."
Harry could not believe that he had suddenly become Elaina's babysitter in the span of a few minutes. He thought that he should maybe go find Angela and tell her to take care of her friend, but then again Angela is probably drunk off her ass too. This was up to Harry. Who would be right there if something happened to her while she was under the influence? He was the only one.
"God, why are you always so grumpy." she scrunches her nose as her drunk voice takes over.
"I'm not." he murmurs in return.
"Hmm, but you are." she raises her brow.
He lets a sigh leave his lips as he shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's not making this easy for him...of course she's not. She makes nothing easy for him.
"Loosen up, Dreamboat, c'mon." she laughs it off, secretly sensing how much she was annoying the poor guy. Then, in a movement that she didn't let herself think twice about, she grabs his hand.
Harry, for the second time tonight, freezes.
Maybe it was the use of that nickname she's given him, or maybe it was the feeling of her palm coming into contact with his and their fingers lacing together. He didn't know. He didn't fucking know anything and it was pissing him off.
It was pissing him off because he could somehow keep his cool when being held at gunpoint by two giant men, but this girl's hand holding his was the thing that was throwing him off.
Bullshit, he thought. Absolute bullshit.
"Come have a drink or something." Elaina says, her voice had gotten quieter.
Sober Elaina would be internally losing her shit holding Harry's hand like this, and she knew that. She'd be a sweaty mess but she always got this false confidence when she was drunk.
"I...uhm—" Harry clears his throat. "I'm not drinking tonight."
"Then come have a cigarette." Elaina urges. "Take the edge off." she adds with a persuasive shrug.
A cigarette. Harry could use a cigarette. He could find comfort in a cigarette.
He folds, a sigh leaving his pretty lips causing Elaina to smile with drunk satisfaction. Within the next second, she's pulling the boy by his hand, all the way to the sliding screen doors that would lead them inside the penthouse.
Stepping inside, Harry prayed that this drunk version of Elaina would stay quiet and not disrupt anyone. They all seemed to be away in different rooms of the penthouse, so the open sitting and kitchen area were available to Harry and Elaina for now.
Elaina pulls Harry into the kitchen, dropping his hand only to open up the fridge.
"What are you doing?" Harry questions.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Elaina glances over her shoulder briefly. "I'm hungry."
Harry leans against the counter, crosses his arms and sighs. "Okay, well hurry up and—"
Harry's words are cut off when Elaina turns around from the fridge with a vodka cooler in her hand.
"Hey!" Harry whisper shouts as he is quick to rip the alcohol from her hand. Her jaw drops and her eye brows furrow.
"Harry!" she exclaims, her volume louder than it should be.
He places the drink on the counter behind him. "I'm cutting you off." he tells her.
Elaina gives him an offended glare and a scoff. "I don't have to listen to you." she says, then goes to reach for the drink behind Harry.
Harry, utterly ticked off by her now, doesn't know how to stop her any other way except taking her by surprise. He had to scare her into listening to him, because he was clearly not getting through to her.
He grabs her chin. Not hard enough to hurt her but just enough to take her by surprise as her jaw is firmly gripped in his palm. He holds her pretty face in front of his, his height making him look down at her with her jaw in the grasp of his hand.
"I'm serious. Stop." he says, voice stern.
With her lips forcefully puckered by the grip of his fingers on her jaw, she furrows her brows at the action. Even as drunk as she was, she was so caught off guard, stuck on his green eyes like she was being hypnotized.
She was unsure of what to do. He made her nervous, even as she was deeply intoxicated. She didn't know how to respond—or if she even should.
"You're done drinking for the night." Harry speaks again, his tone still serious. "Got it?"
Like putty in the palm of his hand, she nods.
"Okay." she mumbles.
He feels his shoulders drop in slight relief over her compliance. Looking into her big blue eyes, it takes him a moment before he realizes he's stuck in her gaze. Quickly, he drops his hand from her face, clears his throat, then turns to open one of the drawers in the kitchen counter in search for a lighter.
He finds a red one, taking it out and closing the drawer. Then, he fishes into the pocket of his track pants for his pack of cigarettes.
He hasn't touched a cigarette since they got here. He was almost proud of himself...and now this smoke was his reward.
Elaina stumbles over to one of the white couches by the windows, plopping herself down on the cushion.
Harry follows, sitting on the top of the couch so his feet met the cushions that were made to sit on. There was an ashtray on the windowsill, probably there from one of the other guys. He cracks open the window only slightly, enough to let the smoke leak out.
He doesn't know what to say to her—or how to even start a conversation? Does she even want that?
Instead of talking, he just lights up his cigarette while Elaina sits on the couch with her head tossed back and her eyes gently shut.
Harry feels the sting of the cigarette smoke travel down his throat as he inhales. He holds it there for a moment to feel the sting before blowing the remainder out.
There's been many nights where Harry would just sit by a window and smoke, alone with his thoughts and forced to deal with them. But lately this girl has been accompanying these sessions...mostly by accident.
And sometimes, if she's not there physically, she's in his head.
And he's annoyed by that.
"How are we supposed to act like a married couple tomorrow night?" Elaina mumbles drunkenly, breaking the silence.
Harry takes a drag from his smoke, blowing it out the corner of his mouth as his eyes draw to her on the couch below him. She looks over her shoulder at him, their eyes meeting for a moment before Harry pulls away and looks out the window.
Truth is, he doesn't know how tomorrow's gonna go. Not because he thinks they'll fail the mission all together, but because he has to pretend to be Elaina's husband.
They'll have to act like they're in love and pull it off for a whole night.
"Just wing it, I guess." Harry answers her, acting nonchalantly.
Elaina keeps her heavy eyes on him, watching as he gazes out the window with the cigarette between his pink lips. She'd kill to know what goes on in his head—even right now. She's dying to know what he's thinking.
She exhales through her nose, then looks down at her lap.
"I feel like I'm gonna mess it up." she murmurs, an admittance she wouldn't have made if she were sober.
Harry glances at her again, this time his eyes staying on her for a bit longer as he notices she's turned her head away.
"Why?" he questions.
Elaina gives her head a slight shake before she answers. "I don't know...I-" she stops as she struggles to piece her thoughts together. "I'm not like you. I'm not made to do this shit."
For some reason, hearing that sort of struck something in Harry that lived deep in his soul. She meant nothing of it, but hearing that Harry was different from her made his stomach knot but only long enough for him to feel it briefly.
Harry examines her body language from what he could see. It seemed like since they sat down on this expensive couch, that drunk carelessness had faded away and now she was feeling something different.
He blinks and takes another puff of smoke. "You think anyone is made to do this shit?" he circles her words back to her. He wanted to know what she thought.
She looks back at Harry, seeing his eyes on her still. He kept the eye contact, and she didn't know if he did it to intimidate her or because he wanted a real answer.
Drunk, she knew she couldn't lie.
"No." she mumbles. "But some people are just colder than others."
Harry blows the smoke out, chuckling a bit under his breath at her comment.
"You've got that right, Picasso." he tells her, looking out at the darkness through the slightly open window.
Elaina was an artist. This meant she saw things in a deeper way than others, and to her, that was both a blessing and a curse. With this mind of hers, she could tell that Harry's mind was reeling with thoughts. Of course, she wasn't a mind reader, so she had no way of confirming what these thoughts were...but the way he looked away and distracted himself with another puff from his cigarette made her wonder if her words were actually getting through to him.
"Are you a cold person, Harry?"
Her voice comes out before her mind processes her words. The question came to her and she just said it.
Harry's green irises flick to her blue. What a complicated and loaded question. He didn't quite know how to answer.
"What do you think?"
"Why do you care what I think?"
"I don't."
"Then my answer won't matter." Elaina says.
Harry just shakes his head with a scoff that told Elaina that he was over this conversation. But, drunk Elaina unfortunately wasn't quite done for the night.
She sighs and then lifts herself up, bringing her sluggish self onto the top of the couch where Harry was. She doesn't know how she hasn't wiped out yet.
"You wanna know what I think?" Elaina speaks again, sitting beside Harry now.
Again, he looks at her. He can't seem to stop himself. He doesn't say anything, his silence urging her to continue.
Does he want to know? He's not so sure.
"I think your coldness is a front." she says. "Maybe even a defence mechanism."
Harry blinks, immediately taken back by her bluntness. It made his stomach churn with sickness that this girl might actually see right through him.
Of course, he doesn't let her see that. He brushes it off, smoking still. "Oh you think so?"
Elaina brings her knees up to her chest, resting her cheek upon her kneecaps as she looks at him. "Maybe I'm completely wrong, but I think you have some warmth inside of you that you try so hard to push away."
Harry just looks at her, stunned. Maybe it could be seen on his face now. He wasn't expecting to hear that from her.
At his silence, Elaina keeps going. If she were sober, she would have shut up long ago.
She reaches out for his cigarette. Fuck sakes, she hates smoking and she hates how it feels but she has this weird urge to do it right now. Even just a puff.
Harry glances at her fingers held out for his smoke. Her hands look so soft. Harry has never really examined anyones hands before...then again, is that even a normal thing to do? Probably not. But regardless, Elaina had nice hands. Her nails were well taken care of, clean and trimmed nicely. Her knuckles were smooth, he could tell just by looking. He brings the toxic stick to her, eyes lifting back to her face as she takes the smoke between her two fingers.
"I'm not saying that you're pretending to be something you're not." she continues her point, then brings the cigarette to her lips. "I just think there's more to you than your cool exterior." she inhales. It burns but she doesn't cough.
He doesn't know what to say to her. He wanted to dig in to what she was trying to accomplish by saying this to him. Maybe she was trying to her under his skin.
Or maybe it was the opposite.
Harry watches as she smokes his cigarette. Something in the way her lips wrap around the filter is magnetic. Is she doing it on purpose? She has to be. She has to know how attractive she is...
She blows the smoke out, the cloud leaving her mouth and trailing around the two of them before it inevitably travels out the window.
She holds the cigarette back out to him and he retrieves it. "You're getting better at that." he remarks, referring to her smoking.
She exhales a chuckle through her nose. "That's not a good thing."
"I'm a bad influence."
She nods. "True."
She rests her head back on her knees, the alcohol finally hitting her in the worst way possible now. That drunkness she felt has made its way into sickness.
She shuts her eyes as her head rests on her knees. She keeps her eyelids wired shut, trying to focus on her breathing.
She's going to be pissed if she pukes in front of Harry.
"You gonna live?" Harry questions, observing Elaina's state.
She shakes her head on her knees, her eyes still shut. "No."
"You should probably lie down." he says.
Again, her head shakes as her stomach turns.
Oh god, she thought. She's gonna fucking puke.
Harry exhales a sigh before blowing one more cloud of smoke out and then pressing the lit end of the cigarette into the ashtray. He realizes that the only way to get this girl to cooperate is to switch into caretaker mode—which was a mode that he had no idea how to operate.
He is usually the one blacking out from a night of drinking. He's never been one to care for someone doing the same thing.
And that's where his internal conflict pissed him off. Because he could just leave her here and let her deal with this herself or let someone else find her. For fucks sake, he could be in bed right now.
He's robbed banks. He's killed people. He's done countless horrible things but yet the idea of leaving this drunk girl here suddenly makes him take the moral fucking high ground.
He brings himself up off of the couch, planting his feet on the floor in front of it so he was facing Elaina. "Can you get up?" he questions as she sits there with her eyes shut.
She groans like getting up would be the most impossible task for her right now, barely lifting her head and looking at Harry through heavy eyelids.
"I'm dying."
Harry shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with a hand on his hip. "Oh Jesus Christ." he mutters under his breath.
He looks at her again to see her barely conscious. She's probably gonna black out and then he'll have to deal with her unconsciousness.
He should go find Angela.
"Picasso, c'mon, you—"
He stops speaking when someone suddenly enters through the sliding doors that led to the pool deck. He looks to see who had come in, eventually meeting eyes with Bianca who stops in her tracks and looks at him and Elaina.
"What are you weirdos doing?" she questions, voice groggy like she had just woken up.
"Where's Angela?" Harry ignores her question.
Bianca furrows her brows. "In our room. She told me not to come in so that's why I was outside." she tells Harry, then points to Elaina. "She good?"
Harry sighs under his breath and shakes his head. "Forget it."
Bianca stands there for a few more seconds before Harry senses her presence leave. When they're alone again, he huffs as the realization that he's going to have to get Elaina off this couch one way or another.
Her head is droopy and her body is unmoving. She really drank herself in to an atrophied state, which is something that Harry never really expected from her.
There had to be a reason for it.
Happy people don't drink like this.
He knows that at this point, she won't remember a thing from tonight. A part of him thought she was stupid for getting black out drunk with a group of literal criminals who could do anything to her. But, Harry knows deep down that he wouldn't do anything to her. For fucks sake, he murdered the man who drugged her.
"Elaina?" he speaks her name again, this time receiving no answer at all.
He stares at her and runs a hand through his hair.
Is she fucking dead? What if she's dead?
No, her chest is moving.
"Fuck." he grumbles under his breath before taking action. He can't just leave her there on the top of the couch.
He plants his one knee on the couch cushion to keep himself balanced before reaching out for Elaina. He scoops his arms under her legs and back, lifting her up off of the couch. She groans and whines a little at the movement, not aware of what's going on.
In this moment, she's so vulnerable and she has no idea.
Her hair falls down her back and her head lolls around before finding a place on Harry's chest. Harry breathes and looks around for a moment, unsure of what to do with this nearly unconscious girl in his arms.
With a sigh of hesitation, he makes a decision.
Elaina Basset
It was the turning feeling in my stomach that woke me up.
It's the feeling you get when you know you're gonna be sick—the feeling that you can't fight off or fix and just have to accept.
I don't know what's going on, but I do know that I was drinking last night and that's more than likely what caused this inevitable sickness.
My eyes aren't open yet, but I can sense that I'm laying down. On very soft, dense material...like a mattress with gentle sheets and bedding.
My mouth is dry, and the taste on my tongue is one I'd rather not go into detail about. Just stale alcohol and regret.
I bring my hand up to my face to rub my eyes. Slowly, and with enough willpower, I open each one.
I regret that instantly, realizing only once my eyes are open how bad my headache was. It was pounding, like someone was knocking a hammer against my fucking cranium.
I groan at the feeling, the heel of my palms pressing against my eyes for some relief.
I want to die. I hate hangovers.
I suck in a deep breath through my dried out lips and open my eyes again, blinking slowly as I try to take in my surroundings.
I'm on a bed, but as I look around, I realize that this isn't the room I'm sharing with Angela and Bianca.
This room is someone else's. It has blue curtains with blue accents on the walls. The bedding has subtle floral embedment and the pillows match the curtains. The bed that I'm in is empty, no one is in here with me and by the state of the other side of the bed, it seems that no one else slept in here last night.
Maybe this was another spare room?
But then, my eyes land on a duffel bag over by the balcony doors. At the sight, I sit up. As I do that, something falls off of my shoulders.
I look down to see that a blanket had fallen down to my waist, which meant it was originally wrapped around my shoulders and I just didn't realize until now. I'm still in my bikini and shorts.
I focus my attention back to the bag.
It's a black duffel bag. I don't know who it belongs to, but nonetheless my stomach churns with anxiety on top of the hangover knowing that I might be in one of the guys rooms right now.
Still feeling barely alive, I slowly get myself off of the bed. I bring my legs over the edge, then step down onto the hardwood floor to tiptoe over to the bag.
God, you really shouldn't be doing this, Elaina.
I ignore my better judgement and slowly begin to zip open the middle zipper of the full duffel bag. I had no intention of searching through the whole thing, I just wanted to know who this belonged to.
Upon opening it up, I see clothing folded up and stacked neatly in the bag. It's mostly dark colored clothing. Jeans and shirts.
But then...
I see a wallet—a leather wallet that was tucked between the stacks of clothing.
I feel like such a bad person for doing this...but I carefully grab it from the bag.
Opening it up, I hold my breath.
And when I see an ID, my eyes grow wide and all of a sudden, that sickness hits me.
I see Harry's picture and name, making me quickly close up the wallet and tuck it back into the bag where it was before, my hand over my mouth to hold my vomit inside.
Sounds gross...because it is gross.
In desperation, I open up the door and jog out of the bedroom down the hall to the nearest bathroom. It wasn't until I was down on my knees in front of the toilet that I finally allowed myself to release the sickness.
I puked aggressively into the toilet bowl, my eyes watering and my head pounding.
I hate throwing up.
I kneel until my stomach is painfully empty, then take heavy breaths as I fall against the edge of the porcelain tub, my head spinning.
I was in Harry's bed last night...
What happened? How did I even end up there? Why wasn't he in there as well? So many thoughts consumed my mind but I knew that I wouldn't be able to actually think straight until I freshened up.
I take a deep breath and then force myself to get up, my whole body overtaken by soreness. I groan as I rub my eyes and flush the toilet.
I need a toothbrush.
I shut the light off as I leave the bathroom, my eyelids heavy and my feet shuffling against the floor as I go for the stairs. All my stuff is still in the room that I'm sharing with Angela and Bianca.
I don't know who's awake and who's not—I actually don't even know what time it is. Quietly, I make my way down the stairs, where I hear the sound of bacon crackling in a skillet.
I curse to myself, realizing that at least one more person in the penthouse was awake and I'm a hot mess.
As sneakily as I can be, I walk down the stairs and fast walk down the hall towards our bedroom. I knock quietly, receiving no answer so I end up just opening the door.
Upon entry, I see Angela asleep in the bed. She's in a t-shirt that I don't recognize, a big grey one. Bianca is asleep on the velvet couch. Both of them are out cold.
I very silently go over to my bag, opening up the compartment where I stuffed all of my toiletries into. I grab my toothbrush, toothpaste, face wash, and a clip for my hair.
I also grab underwear, a new pair of jean shorts, and a black tank top.
I sneak out of the room, feeling quite creepy as I do so. I make my way down the hallway quickly, heading for the bathroom. The door is open, so thankfully no one is in there.
Now that I've gotten sick, I'm in desperate need of a shower. I cant describe the way my body feels. I feel heavy and sluggish and overall nasty.
I brush my teeth, being as thorough as I can to rid of the taste on my tongue. After that, I strip naked and get in the shower.
I take my time, washing my face and hair and letting the hot water coat my skin. It felt like a temporary paradise compared to the hangover.
When I finally get out, I dry myself off and get dressed into my shorts and tank top and twist my hair up and clip it back while looking in the mirror. My skin is red and blotchy in some parts, like my chest and arms because of the hot water. I think it's hideous but my mother used to call those red blotches 'paint splatters' and she told me that they were something that I should never be insecure about.
I try to remember that.
Leaving the bathroom, the smell of bacon and eggs is what hits me. It's coming from the kitchen.
When I walk in, the smell intensifies. I expect to see the kitchen full of people, but instead, I only see Niall.
He's standing by the counter, shirtless with black track pants and a silver chain hanging round his neck. His hair is a mess as he scoops fried eggs from a pan onto different plates.
We meet eyes as I enter. He looks at me and then looks back down at the food.
"How did you sleep, Red?" he asks, focused.
"I don't remember." I rub my eyes. I need an Advil.
He chuckles as he plates more food. "So it was worth it then."
I groan, "This is a weird question, but where is Harry?" I ask.
I don't know what happened last night, or why I woke up in Harrys bed. I need to talk to him to clear it up.
Niall looks at me under his brows. "He went upstairs like five minutes ago." he tells me, then speaks again before I get a chance. "You really wore him out last night, huh?"
My brows furrow and my stomach tenses as I don't know what Niall meant.
"What?" I question immediately, the worry evident in my voice.
Niall smirks, looking at me fully now. "I found him passed out over there on the couch this morning." he says.
I look over my shoulder at the couch. A sudden flashback of Harry smoking a cigarette on it hits my memory.
That's really all I can remember, that and sitting by the poolside slightly but it's foggy. I worry, not knowing if I said or did anything stupid.
I look back at Niall. "Does he seem angry?"
His brow arches. "When doesn't he seem angry?" he makes the sarcastic remark but I just bite the inside of my cheek in even more anxiety. My silence urges Niall to talk again. "But no, he didn't really say anything. Just got up and went upstairs."
So nothing happened? I don't know what to think.
"You ready for tonight?" Niall adds, switching the subject.
Oh, right.
I pull out a stool at the counter as I let a sigh escape from my lips. I place my hands on my pained temples, shutting my eyes with my elbows on the cold marble.
"Not at all." I mumble.
"Here." I hear a ceramic plate scrape against the marble and smell food beneath my nose. I open my eyes to see a plate full of breakfast and a fork in front of me. "You'll feel better with a full stomach." Niall says.
I look from the plate to him. "Thank you." I say, even though the thought of eating did make me feel incredibly nauseous.
It did smell really fucking good though.
I use the side of the fork to carve into the white part of the egg, beginning to eat my breakfast while Niall starts to eat from his own plate.
"There's nothing to be nervous about, Red." he mumbles through a bite of food. "All you two are doing tonight is simply observing to gather information."
I swallow. "Yeah but, I have to act like I'm married to Harry." I murmur, making him laugh.
"And that will be hard for you?" he says.
I furrow my brows, and he talks again.
"You two already have the old married couple bickering down." he shrugs, putting a forkful of egg into his mouth.
I shake my head, grabbing a piece of bacon. "Married couples don't hate each other."
"I beg to differ." he remarks. "But also, you two don't hate each other."
His words immediately make me stop chewing. I look at him through my pained and tired eyes, creasing my brows together as I let out a small instinctive scoff.
"Are you joking?" I say. "He hates my entire existence. He thinks I'm such a nuisance."
"And has he told you that?" his brow arches.
I roll my eyes and sigh. "He doesn't have to."
Harry has made it clear that I annoy him, and I'm sure he hates me because I'm like a roadblock to him...and obstacle that just gets in his way.
Niall opens his mouth like he was going to speak again, but instead he's interrupted by someone new walking in to the kitchen.
I look to my left to see Zayn. He sees me and gives me a smile, coming over to the stool next to me and having a seat.
I relax a bit, feeling more comfortable with him here.
"How was everybody's night? I feel like I didn't even see you." he nudges my shoulder.
"Yeah, I kinda tapped out." I chuckle.
"Well what did you do?"
Before I can answer, another body enters the kitchen area. And this time, it's Harry.
I find myself sitting up straighter as I look at him. He meets eyes with me for only a brief moment. After that, he grabs a plate and fork of his own and stands across the counter next to Niall.
He's showered, his hair wet and messy. He's wearing blue denim jeans and a white t shirt. He looks good—a little tired but that's all. He doesn't seem like he's hungover at all.
He quietly begins to eat his breakfast and I can't help but watch discreetly. He carves around the yolk of his egg, separating it from the egg whites. He grabs a piece of toast and then pokes at the yolk with the corner of the crispy crusts, causing it to burst and spread yellow liquid around. He then dips the toast in the runny yolk. I wonder if that's always how he eats his eggs. That little nuance made me think about how he always gets extra salted large fries and a chocolate milk as his fast food order.
"We ready for tonight?" Zayn breaks the silence.
"Everything's in order." Niall chews through a piece of bacon. "Just gotta get our two lovers debriefed." he refers to Harry and I.
The comment makes Harry roll his eyes as he chews his toast.
"What do we need to know?" I question with slight anxiety. I really know nothing about tonight and thinking about it makes me nauseous.
"You won't have to do much." Zayn pats my shoulder to show me comfort. "Harry's gonna take the lead, you just have to follow."
"What if someone approaches me?" I ask.
"Fake it. Act filthy rich and pretentious, like you belong there." Niall adds.
I bite my cheek. "That seems hard."
"You'll be fine, kid. Don't sweat it." Niall says, then puts his plate into the sink. "I'm going to shower."
"Yeah, I gotta get freshened up too." Zayn says, then looks at me. "Don't stress yourself out, okay?"
Much easier said than done.
That leaves just Harry and I in the kitchen, alone. I glance at him as he continues to eat.
I don't know what to say, or if I should even say anything at all. I look down at my plate, clearing my throat and picking apart my bacon as I decide to stay silent.
"How do you feel?"
I hear the deeper voice from across the counter, immediately making my chewing stop. I blink and take a second to process that Harry was in fact speaking to me as I swallow. I look up to meet his eyes.
"Uhm.." I murmur, hovering my hand over my mouth to swallow and not speak with my mouth full of food. "How do I feel about what, sorry?"
"I mean in general. You were really drunk." he elaborates.
Oh fuck.
"Oh, yeah." I mumble. "I feel like shit." I scuffle a laugh under my breath.
He does the same, "I bet you do."
I need to ask him what happened.
Again, I clear my throat and watch him as he fiddles around with his food. Im not sure how to bring this up.
"I don't really remember anything." I start, hoping it'll break the ice a bit.
He glances up at me and chews. "You blacked out."
My eyes widen. "W-were you there? Did you drink?"
He looks at me for a moment before chuckling under his breath and just shaking his head. "Wow, you really don't remember anything, huh?"
I shake my head.
"I was there. I wasn't drunk, I was actually completely sober." he tells me, making my chest tighten.
If he was sober, then that means he remembers everything. So if I did or said something dumb, then he remembers it.
"S-so what happened?" I hesitantly ask the question.
His brows furrow as he looks at me. "What do you mean?"
I swallow my anxiety and pick at my nails as I debate quickly whether I should keep pushing.
"I woke up in your bed..." I trail off.
His eyes look back and forth between mine as his chewing slows for a moment, then he looks back down at his plate. "Yeah...I brought you up there because I figured you wouldn't want to wake up hungover on a couch." he admits.
The strangest thing happens, my heart flutters. I don't know if it was just overall anxiety or if it was the fact that he committed a gesture that was actually very thoughtful.
"And you slept down here?" I question further.
He chews as he nods.
My brows crease as I gaze at him. There was plenty of room in that bed...more than enough for the both of us to sleep comfortably without touching each other, but instead of taking the bed he decided to sleep on the couch and give me the bed.
I don't know, something about that just seems...endearing.
I know that making a huge deal about it will make him uncomfortable—hell, it would make me uncomfortable as well.
But I don't want to just let a gesture like that slide. It did mean a lot. The fact that he was a guy who was stronger than me and more manipulative and condescending meant that he could have done anything to me while I was blackout drunk. Instead, he made sure I was safe. It's something I would have never expected from him but I can surely say that I was very grateful.
As he eats his breakfast and avoids eye contact, I look at him with an ache in my chest.
Say something.
"Harry." I blurt, making him flick his eyes back up to me with slightly raised brows. I swallow, knowing I need to say something now.
Just be honest.
"I—uh..." I stammer. Great start. "I'm just really appreciative of you helping me last night."
I don't know what response I was expecting. Perhaps a snarky remark or an eye roll or simply nothing at all—but instead, the corner of his lips pull upwards into the slightest smirk and he grabs his plate, using his fork to scrape the excess food scraps into the garbage before setting it back on the table.
"So you're thanking me?" he keeps the smirk on his face.
Oh god.
I nod. "Yes. Thank you." I try to remain civil.
He smiles. Not a smirk. A smile. It was a small one but it was different than his usual smirk.
He opens the fridge to grab a water bottle, closes the fridge and then looks at me one more time.
"You're welcome, Picasso." he says, before leaving me alone in the kitchen.
Later on...
It's nearing 9:00 at night. My stomach is tied up in trillions upon trillions of knots.
Currently, I'm in the back of a limousine with Harry, trying to keep my cool. Liam is driving, posing as a limo driver who will be waiting in the parking lot for Harry and I to make our getaway for the end of the night. The other guys and Angela and Bianca are all spread out around the casino in different disguises. They're all there just in case anything goes wrong—the job itself is up to Harry and I.
The hours between breakfast and now were riddled with anxious thoughts and motions.
We all spent some time outside, and then came back to see a wardrobe set up with our outfits for the night.
I was given a pink strapless gown and silver heels. The gown is a beautiful silk with ruffling around my chest. My boobs look incredible, but I feel so unnatural in it. It's not me, but I suppose that's the point.
Everything was in my exact sizing, which freaked me out slightly because that means the people from the organization who left these here know who I am.
Angela helped me straighten my hair and pin it up. There are two curled loose pieces framing my face as the rest is up. My lips are coated in red and my makeup is heavier than usual. Eyeliner, lashes, contour—the mix.
Harry was put into black dress pants, black Chelsea boots, a black blazer with a black dress shirt beneath it that was only buttoned up to right under his chest. He's also wearing what I think is an unraveled bandana, hanging around the sides of his neck and falling to his torso. And to top it all off, a black fedora and sunglasses. He looks the part of a pretentious asshole son of a CEO.
We have characters to play. Harry is acting as Will Dawson—the filthy rich, total douchebag, drug addicted son of Marcus Dawson...a CEO (who doesn't exist) of a company in Boston (that also does not exist).
I'm playing Valerie Dawson. His wife.
Angela told me to act dumb. Be his arm candy, let him do the talking. She hated saying it, but I know it's what I have to do. Act like his ditzy little wife for the night so we can complete this successfully.
Simple, right?
I've been run down on this Alec guy. He was meant to be a simple job for the guys...apparently he was buying drugs but not paying his half. He owes thousands of dollars. The guys were supposed to just beat the money out of him.
But now, we've found out that he's been lacing drugs with fentanyl. He was going to force Harry to take those drugs, which could have been deadly.
Alec will be there tonight under the name Anchelo Rossi.
Our goal tonight isn't to find him and beat him. Tonight, we just need more information...like what he intends to do with these laced drugs.
Sitting in the back of the limo, I take deep breaths to remain composed. I need to keep my cool. No anxiousness can visibly slip through the cracks.
My leg is bouncing, my heel hitting the floor of the limo repeatedly as my hand rubs my arm up and down.
"You're nervous." Harry acknowledges from beside me.
I bite my cheek and nod.
"Why?"
I turn to him and shoot him a confused look. My brows furrow and my mouth drops open. "Why?" I ask, sounding a little offended.
He nods. "Yes, why. Talk through it, maybe it'll help."
I blink and look forward, blowing out a sigh.
"Last time I helped with a mission, I was attacked." I admit quietly, recalling what happened. "I'm scared something's gonna go wrong."
Harry stays quiet for a moment as I keep my eyes down at my lap, but I can feel his eyes on me.
Then he speaks.
"Just stay by my side, I won't let anything happen."
His proclamation makes me glance up at him, meeting his eyes. It was the strange, because him saying that actually made me feel safer.
I never thought that he would ever make me feel safe.
The limo comes to a stop and I glance out the tinted windows. In front of us stands a beautiful building with glass doors, windows, and a sleek modern build that was different compared to buildings in Milan. This looked like a casino out of a James Bond movie.
And I'm immediately intimidated.
There's a speaker here in the back of the limo that allows Liam to speak to us from the drivers seat and vice versa. The speaker buzzes and not even a second later, we're hearing Liam's voice.
"The guys are in, Angela and Bianca are out back keeping watch in case Alec leaves. I'll be out here." he says through the speaker.
Harry then holds down the button that allows him to talk. "We know for sure that Alec is there?"
Liam speaks again. "Zayn saw the name Anchelo Rossi on the guest book, so yes."
I take a deep breath.
"Showtime." Harry mumbles right before Liam comes around the limo to open up the door.
Liam stands in a tuxedo with a black cap, holding the door open like he didn't know us. Harry steps out first, patting down his blazer before reaching for my hand.
This is all becoming very real.
I put my hand in his, trying to emulate a marriage that isn't real. We both have gold wedding rings on our fingers. It just seems so odd.
He pulls me up out of the car, not even glancing at Liam. I look up at the building, hearing the music and the partying. Even out here, there are people dressed in suits and gowns. Everyone looks like they belong here, which might be why I feel like I stick out like the sorest thumb.
Harry lets go of my hand and then holds his bent arm out. I take the hint, putting my hand on his arm as we begin to walk up the steps.
My breath is stuck in my lungs. I cant do this. I cant do this. I cant do this.
"Follow my lead, okay?" Harry whispers from beside me.
I subtly nod, breathing.
We walk up the stairs to the entrance, the feeling of his blazer beneath my fingertips. When we get up to the front, I see two lines.
Two lines separating the men and women.
I immediately look at Harry, who had his brows furrowed as he stared ahead as well.
"Is this how we get in?" I ask.
"Must be, but I don't know why they'd separate the lines by sex." he murmurs, before gently pulling his arm out of mine. "You go line up. Wait for me if you're in before I am." he tells me.
I swallow my nerves and nod. "W-what if they ask for my ID." I say.
He smiles. "Well, it's in your purse, of course." he says, then nudges me towards the line before leaving to the men's line.
Confused and riddled with worry, I step at the back of the line with my purse hanging on my shoulder. It's a pink clutch with a chain, I thought I was given it simply because it matches my dress. I pop open the button to peek inside. There's some money, and a credit card which I'm assuming is fake. Then, I see the ID. I pull it out.
There's a picture of me—the one from my drivers license, except now my name is Valerie Rachel Dawson of Boston, Massachusetts.
I stick the fake ID back in my purse, watching the line move. It's moving slower than the men's line. I scan their line with my eyes to see if I can find Harry.
I spot him chatting it up with some other men, and then my breath hitches as he points over at me and the other men look over.
He waves with a toothy smirk as the small group of men look at me. He must be telling them that he's here with me and that we're married. I smile through my closed red lips and wave back, playing my part.
"Is that your boyfriend?" I hear a voice from next to me. I look to see a woman who is now behind me in line. She has an American accent.
"Husband." I smile, lying.
Her eyes go wide. "Holy shit." she laughs. "What a catch." she looks over at him.
I chuckle to remain polite. "What can I say?"
"Are you two from here? You sound American." she tells me.
"No, we're from Boston." I say. "We come to Sicily for annual vacations."
She nods. "Ah, we're here on vacation too." she points over to a man in the other line.
"Where are you from?" I make friendly small talk as the line moves.
"San Francisco." she smiles. "My boyfriend over there is from Canada."
"Canada." my brows raise. "Wow."
"Next."
I look forward again to see that I'm next in line. I didn't realize how fast it was moving. I quickly glance to the other line to see that Harry was gone now, making it inside before me.
I give a gentle smile as I step up to a man with black sunglasses over his eyes and a black suit. He's got a clipboard in one hand and a phone in the other.
"Name." he says.
"Valerie Dawson." I say. He looks down to the end of the list on his clipboard.
"Identification, Mrs. Dawson." he says.
I reach in to my purse and pull out the fake ID, handing it to him. He takes it and scans his eyes over it, then looks at me, then back at the card before handing it back, writing something down next to my name.
Before I can see what he's written, he grabs the phone.
"We will need your picture, Mrs. Dawson." he tells me. "It's just protocol."
I nod, not questioning anything because I just don't want to complicate things. He takes the phone and holds it up in front of my face, pointing the camera at me.
He snaps the picture and puts the phone down on the clipboard. "You're all set." he says.
I give him another kind smile as he steps aside, lifting a red velvet rope to allow me access.
Now, I was officially in front of the glass doors that would get me inside. I push it open, being met with louder classical music playing and the sounds of laughs and drinks flowing and overall richness.
I need to find Harry.
I bite down on my cheek as I scan around for one person. I'm getting nervous, I can't seem to spot him.
Then, I feel a hand on my bicep. It makes me flinch at first, until I turn to be met with Harry standing next to me.
"I couldn't find you." I say.
"We'll I've found you. Did it go well?" he asks, I'm guessing about the line.
"I think so." I say. "I thought the fact that they took my picture was weird, though."
His brows immediately lower behind his sunglasses. I can read the sudden confusion on his face, making me tilt my head.
"What?" I question.
"They took your picture?"
Now I'm confused. My face twists up in puzzlement as I look back at Harry. "Yes." I say. "They didn't take yours?"
He just shakes his head with his brows furrowed, then he steps aside to look through the glass doors.
I follow, trying to subtly peek through as well.
I see that they aren't taking the men's pictures as they let them through the doors...but they are taking the women's pictures. Every single one.
That's weird...right?
"Why are they doing that?" I ask Harry as he backs away from the doors.
He just shakes his head like he didn't know. "It would make more sense if they were taking the men's pictures too, but they aren't. That's why that line is moving much faster."
My gut feels off. "Should I be worried?" I question.
"I'm sure it's nothing." he says, but even he sounds unsure. "Let's go blend in."
I nod, shaking off the whole picture thing. He's right, it's probably nothing and I'm just overthinking because I'm paranoid.
We walk side by side, my heels making me slightly taller than usual but still not taller than Harry.
I don't know where we're going, I'm simply following Harry's lead.
As we walk, we saunter past a group of men. I see all three of them land their eyes on me. They look me up and down, staring at me like I'm a meal—it immediately made me uncomfortable.
But the feeling is quick to pass, because it's overtaken by butterflies when I feel Harry wrap his arm around my waist, pulling me in to his body as we walk. His hand rests on my hip, making my breath hitch for a moment. As soon as the men see I'm 'taken', they avert their eyes right away.
Harry knows what he's doing.
He brings us over to the bar where there are other people mingling and drinking from fancy glasses. Harry whistles to signal to the bartender, who hurries over in a white dress shirt rolled up to the sleeves and a towel flung over his shoulder.
"What can I get for you, sir?"
"Whiskey neat for me. A martini for my wife." Harry snaps, and what shocked me most was that he was using an American accent. That's when I realized that he was in character.
The bartender nods and hurries to get our drinks.
I look at Harry, trying to meet his eyes through his sunglasses.
"Are you gonna take those off?" I question.
"Why? Do I look like an asshole?"
I nod. "Very much so."
He grins. "Then it's working."
I chuckle under my breath and shake my head. He turns his head to scan the casino from where we're standing. It's loud here, and there are hundreds of people.
I know that this party was thrown by the casino owner's daughter, and Alec is here to drop off a package.
My worry is that Alec will recognize Harry. They've met before so it wouldn't be far fetched to wonder if Alec is one step ahead and making his escape because he's already spotted Harry or one of the guys.
Let's hope not.
"Whiskey neat and a martini." the bartender says from behind the counter, pushing two glasses towards us.
I've never had a martini.
I examine the glass and the contents in it. It's a clear liquid with a lemon peel hanging over the edge. After looking at it, I grab it by the bowl and hold it. I don't really plan on drinking much of this.
As I hold it, I can feel Harry looking at me, making me look at him as well and arch my brow.
"What?" I question.
"Have you never had one of those?" he asks.
I flick my eyes down to the glass and then back to him. "Uhm...no. How did you know?"
He does something I didn't expect. He grabs the wrist of my hand that was holding the glass, then takes the glass itself from my grasp. I furrow my brows as he repositions my fingers, so that my palm was closed off a bit more and my fingers were out.
Then, he places the stem of the glass in the hold of my fingers.
"That's how you hold a martini glass." he tells me.
I give him a weird look. "Does it even matter?"
"Course it does." his voice gets quieter. "These people are vultures. They're looking for little fuck ups like that to pick apart. You have to look like you know what you're doing at all times."
Well, that surely didn't help my nerves.
I huff. "This is crazy." I rub my temples with my free hand, shaking my head a bit.
"There's people coming, get ready." he states quickly, then adjusts his blazer.
I suck in a breath and try to transform in to character. I look over my shoulder to see two people heading in our direction.
One of them is a man. He's dapper and clean cut, short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looks to be in his late 20's maybe...he's also tall, but not as tall as Harry, falling just a bit shorter. But, he's nothing compared to the woman he's with.
She's nearly his height, in a long silver party gown and glamorous smokey makeup. Long, thick black hair that flows into curls. Her lips are coated in a deep purple color. She's gorgeous.
They're both coming straight for us, a smirk on his face and a smile on hers.
They both come right up to us. I'm nervous but I smile back, not knowing what's going on.
"What a glamorous night, wouldn't you agree?"—is the first thing the woman says. She's got an Italian accent, only adding to her beauty. She then looks to the bartender and points at my drink. "I want what she's having, a martini."
The bartender wastes no time, leaving to make her drink.
She looks back to Harry and I, smiling. "I'm making an effort to greet every guest tonight." she says, and then it sinks in for me that this girl is the casino owner's daughter.
"Quite the party." Harry says in his American accent. "Very impressive."
She looks him up and down with a grin, then gestures to the man beside her. "My fiancé and I have thrown this party for four years now. It's quite the event here."
Her fiancé smiles at me, then looks to Harry. "My apologies, but you don't sound like you're from here."
Harry chuckles and gives him a nod. "Yeah, we're from Boston." he says, then places his hand on my lower back whilst he flicks his eyes to mine with a small smile. "We're on our yearly trip to Sicily." he explains to the couple while looking at me.
I smile back at him to create the allusion that we're in love. I decide to step it up a little, stepping into his side and placing my free hand on his chest. His arm wraps around my back completely now. I look at the couple. "Your party is beautiful."
She smiles at me with a small head tilt. I then notice how her eyes begin to examine my upper body. She's looking at my shoulders, my neck, even my breasts. Then, I catch her fiancé's eye—and he's doing the same thing, but adding my lower body to the mix.
"I didn't catch your names." she speaks.
"Will and Valerie Dawson." Harry answers. "And you?"
"Caterina Michelle," she looks at her fiancé and leans in to him. "Soon to be Caterina Fontana." she alludes to their marriage before focusing back to us. "This is Valentino. And you two, you're married?"
I look at Harry and he does the same, my eyes meeting his behind the sunglasses. I give him a small smile to fake the image.
"Two and a half years now." Harry lies and then looks at the couple again. "We met in college." he says. I notice his hand rubbing up and down my back very subtly, playing with the ruffles of my dress.
Caterina clicks her tongue and tilts her head, pouting her lip a little. "How sweet."
The bartender returns with her martini, and she takes it without saying anything to him, holding the glass effortlessly by the stem.
Her fiancé is next to speak. "What do you do in Boston, Will?" he asks Harry.
"I'm one of the leads at my father's corporate office. He's the CEO." Harry feeds them completely false information.
"Oh, so you really know you're way around business then?"
Harry shrugs. "What can I say? Hoping to follow my father's footsteps one day."
This whole time he's talking, his hand is still around my waist.
And...Caterina is still looking at me.
"Sounds like you won't have an issue." Valentino says to Harry. "I run a business myself, actually."
"Oh?" Harry tilts his head. "What do you do?"
"It's a photography business. Have my own studio and everything. We do photoshoots for magazines and catalogue covers." he says, with a tone that implies he's bragging.
Harry pretends to look impressed, raising his brows while nodding. "Really? Well listen..." he leans in a little, looking around to make sure no one could hear. "From one esteemed businessman to another, do you think my wife and I could find some blow around here?"
The question causes both Valentino and Caterina to look at each other, like the question threw them off guard but they still knew something deeper.
Harry knows there's drugs here. How would there not be? The only question is if Alec is the one supplying them.
Valentino takes a quick look around before coming closer to Harry, putting his hand on his shoulder and then leaning in to bring his mouth by his ear. Due to me being tucked in close to Harry's side, I can hear it too.
"Meet me by the bathrooms in fifteen minutes." he says into Harry's ear, right before leaving with Caterina.
The moment they're gone, I clear my throat and gently pull myself away from Harry to break the contact we had. His hand slips off of my waist and I turn to look at him.
He licks his lips as he looks at me, like he was waiting for me to say something because he didn't know how to start.
"What now?" I question.
He grabs his glass of whiskey. "I need to find out where he's getting the drugs from."
"Do you think it's Alec?" I ask.
He nods. "I think Valentino was the one who sent Alec that message we saw in his phone. The package is the drugs." he whispers.
My eyes widen as this starts to slip into place. The puzzle pieces connect.
"Do you think Valentino knows that the drugs are laced?" I say quieter so that no one will hear me.
Harry takes an inhale through his nose. "I'm not sure. If he doesn't, then he's probably just looking for drugs to do...but if he does, then there's something else going on."
I feel my chest tighten a bit, then I nod as I take in all the info. "Okay..." I murmur. "So, how do we find out if it's Alec?"
He takes another swig of whiskey before placing the glass back down on the table, then taking my martini from my hand and putting it on the counter as well.
Before he answers, he's wrapping his arm around my waist again and pulling me to walk. We walk away from the bar, his hand on my hip as he leans in to my side to say,
"We follow Valentino."
//
uh oh spaghettiohs