Early summer 2023
"Flirty Francesca - Actress gets up close and personal with rumored beau Harry Styles!
Riding high off the tails of a successful opening weekend in the box office, our on-screen military hunk Harry Styles was spotted shopping on Rodeo with rumored girlfriend Francesca Westbrook.
The pair first met at the Basket Case premiere in early May, a movie in which Styles held a lead part. Francesca, an actress herself, attended the premiere, and the pair were spotted sitting close at SkyBar in downtown LA, chatting up a storm until almost dawn! Since then, we've seen them grabbing coffee, taking trips to the beach, and enjoying brunch at their favorite spot - The Copper Top.
What do you think, fans? Have private Francesca and Harry finally started to move into a serious relationship? Leave your comments below!"
-Linda Goffrey, The Daily Mail Online
I had taken myself to the darkest party I could find. One that reeked of weed and was filled with rolled dollar bills and white powder. I was too old for this bullshit, but I needed to get rid of this energy that felt like shriveled up, molted skin hanging from my body. I had been passed a joint, packed heavily and rolled neat. I never knew what was laced in shit like this when I went to Hollywood parties, but at this point I didn't fucking care.
There were three things that always reminded me of Rowan: scotch, cigarette smoke, and The Kooks. The smell of weed wiped out any cigarette aroma that may have been present, I picked the sweetest, fruitiest drink I could find to wash away the taste of him, and house music was all that had been blasting, so I doubted I'd have to worry about hearing any indie bands.
My phone buzzed once, but I ignored it. I was quite content sitting just as I was, on a couch all by myself, away from the crowded kitchen and entertainment room, the bass of the electronically-generated music reaching me from a few walls away.
When the second automatic alert came through after I didn't read the message, I slowly reached for my back pocket. I was pleasantly surprised to see Francesca's name.
Are you at Patrick Ozun's party??
I looked around the room dumbly, as if the owner of this house would have their name painted on the wall or something stupid like that.
Not sure
I hadn't seen her since our most recent "date" at The Ivy, a popular restaurant in Los Angeles that frequently had paps outside hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity walking in or out. We'd had a nice meal with good conversation. I stared at her eyes and her lips and her collarbones from across the table, and left with a kiss to her cheek.
None of the coldness that she exhibited right before exiting the car at the end of the night of my movie premiere seemed to make a reappearance. But that also could've been because I carefully avoided the subject of Jacob Lynch or any of her other possible friends by association.
Each outing had become more flirtatious than the last. I wasn't sure how many organized get togethers we'd gone on, but each one left me wanting to be near her more.
She was fun, sexy, and charming. A welcome distraction from the other aspect of my life that had changed since the premiere of Basket Case... the other person who had since walked into my life. Or maybe, walked back into my life.
My phone buzzed again, dragging me out of my thoughts.
My friend texted me saying that she saw you.
I'm here too ;)
I focused intently at my phone, forcing my thumbs to cooperate as I texted.
Come find me then
After hitting send, I sunk further into the couch, spreading my legs to get more comfortable and leaning back so my face was toward the ceiling. I brought the joint back to my lips, inhaling and watching the smoke billow above me as I exhaled. After a few quiet minutes, I heard heels approaching the entrance of the room I had hidden away in.
Wearing a tiny white dress and delicate nude heels, Francesca literally looked like a dream. Eyeing her up and down, I smirked at her, confident that it would make her smile. She wasn't the type of girl to shy away from admiration.
When her dark lips parted and showcased two neat rows of white teeth, I knew that she appreciated my gaze.
"Found you," she spoke quietly.
I didn't reply, just kept my eyes locked onto hers as I put the joint between my lips and inhaled deeply. Closed my eyes as the smoke curled into my lungs, I felt her gaze burning into me. I heard her walk toward the couch and sit on the middle cushion, right next to me. As I stared at the ceiling, her eyes stayed on the side of my face. When she shifted on the couch next to me, I eyed her as she lounged, slouched with her head resting on the back, eyes level with mine.
I passed her the joint as an offering. She took it, inhaling and handing it back with a red stain around the rim. As it continued to get smaller in my hand, I found myself wishing I had one more. I knew the means to find more, but there was no way in hell I wanted to leave this couch.
Her eyes looked to my chest, following the pattern of my shirt. "I like this," she said, fingering the satin material.
I smirked, recalling a phrase she had used before. "Sleek and silky."
She smiled, meeting my eyes once more. "Sleek and silky," she confirmed.
Her fingers adjusted the collar, tips brushing my neck lightly, before she slid her hand along the material until she reached my left breast pocket.
"I want another hit," she told me, eyes finding mine. I turned to look at the rolled paper between my fingers. Her eyes were sparkling, alight with mischief. I didn't quite comprehend what she was planning.
I moved my hand, passing her the joint, but she shook her head.
"No," she declined. "I want this hit to come from you."
Slowly, my brain processed what she meant. She smirked at me, lips curling up on the sides. I tucked my arm behind her on the couch, mindful of the lit joint still in my hand before moving closer.
Something about her inhaling my breath made my legs feel weak even though I was sitting down. She looked at me with hazy eyes. She wanted it too.
I briefly glanced down to her pouted mouth, painted the same color red as the print left on the joint when she handed it back to me after her first inhale. I took her chin in my hand, leaning in, watching her jaw relax, lips parting. Slowly I closed the small distance between us, brushing my open lips against hers the slightest amount.
I exhaled carefully, watched her lips pucker to inhale the smoke flowing between my lips. Her eyelashes fluttered between my eyes and my mouth before they shut completely. She moved her jaw so that her bottom lip would brush against mine, teasing.
After I had expelled the smoke from my lungs, I took a slow breath in. Without much more thought, I closed my lips around hers fully. I felt the warm smoke blow against my cheeks and she breathed out through her nose, her plush lips reciprocating just as delicately as mine gave. She tilted her head to the side more, putting her hand on my leg as I reached around her and put the joint into my opposite hand, freeing the one closest to her. I slid my fingers through her long hair until they were nearly tangled.
A delicate tongue stroked my lip. I opened my mouth, touching mine to hers. Tasting the smoke and something much sweeter.
I didn't think about how I had been sitting in self-pity and heartbreak not twenty minutes before. All I could think about was how kissing her didn't hurt, and how I didn't know if I'd ever want to stop.
Her cheek felt smooth in my hand, not rough with five o'clock shadow, and she tasted like vodka, not whiskey. She felt small in my arms. I was trying and failing not to compare, but I was having a hard time determining who had the upper hand.
Her hands trailed a path up my chest, and I wondered if she could feel my heart pound - an especially odd sensation given the haze and fog of my brain. Her hair was in my hands, long and thick, and she smelled so fucking good.
She pulled back for a moment, and I went to follow her, desperate to continue, before I felt her adjust until her warm weight settle over my lap. I used this brief intermission as an opportunity set the blunt in an ashtray on the table beside the couch. Settling back into the cushions, I tilted my head back to let myself look at her. Tanned thighs on either side of mine, hair billowing over her shoulder, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Another vision of a dream. I let my hands wander up her thighs, to her hips, until they settled on her lower back.
And that's when I saw a camera flash.
Francesca tensed, turning to look over her shoulder toward the doorway. My eyes darted over, catching the edge of someone's shoulder flee into the next room, out of sight.
"What the fuck?" she hissed quietly. She was pissed. I couldn't focus on anything but trying to move my arms and pull her back down to kiss me again.
"Doesn't matter," I tried to reason.
She pushed off of my lap, pulling down her skirt once she was on her feet. "It does fucking matter," she told me.
"We need them to see us kissing."
I couldn't figure out why she was looking at me like that. Surely a real kiss would be more convincing than a staged one.
"Did you know that person?" she asked, looking back toward the doorway.
"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. I hadn't gotten the chance to see their face.
She stared at me coldly before spitting, "You know, you're a real dick when you're under the influence."
"'m not usually," I tried to explain. "I think there might have been more than weed in the weed."
She stared at the ceiling for a long time, hands on her hips. "Fuck." She looked back down at me. "Did you drive here?"
"No. Uber."
"C'mon," she prompted, grabbing my hand. "Let's get out of here."
xxx
"Why the fuck is Malibu so far away from everything?"
I ignored Francesca's comment at first, sensing her impatience as I poured two glasses of water. The drive from West Hollywood to my Malibu home had helped sober me up quite a bit, although my brain was still foggier than it usually was. Francesca seemed fine, she had only taken two hits and must not have had much to drink.
"I don't like being close," I responded. "Why did you come all the way up here when you live in Beverly Hills?"
I watched her walk through my living room from my spot in the kitchen, looking at the shelves of records and pictures.
"I have a houseguest and I'm in no mood to play hostess so I wanted to put off going home as long as possible."
I snorted, pushing the glass across the island to her as she walked back over. "Well it'll take you another hour to get back, so I'd say you've succeeded."
She didn't reply, just sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and studied me.
"Why were you at that party tonight, Harry?"
I shrugged, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. "Had a lot on my mind. Wanted nothing on my mind."
"And then you found me," she smirked.
"Actually, I believe it was you who found me."
"And some idiot with an iPhone ruined it and brought a lot back to your mind."
"Probably for the best, anyway," I told her. "If someone had gotten pictures of me fucking you on that couch, we'd be in heaps of trouble."
Maybe I wasn't as sober as I thought. When she didn't reply immediately, I realized the weight of what I had just said, and regret pooled like a pit in my stomach.
"You would've fucked me on that couch?" she finally asked.
I shrugged, unsure of the right answer. "We'll never know now."
She broke our eye contact, gulping down her water and then got up to put the glass in the dishwasher.
"I don't think you would've done it," she told me, moving closer. I turned so I was leaning back against the counter, my arms crossed. She moved until she was directly in front of me.
"No?" I asked.
She shook her head. "You have unfinished business with an ex." I didn't react other than arching a brow, unimpressed. I didn't want to go there. "You might even still have feelings for him."
"And how would you know?"
"Harry," she said patronizingly, as if what was about to come out of her mouth should be obvious. "You have a literal heart tattooed on your arm. You lead with your feelings. You wouldn't have had sex with me while you had unfinished business with him."
"Fuck feelings," I told her.
"Fuck feelings," she agreed.
xxx
Later that night, I invited Francesca to stay instead of going all the way home. By the time we had finished talking, it was after three in the morning. She was much obliged, especially considering it would mean she didn't have to see whichever house guest she was going to such great lengths to avoid.
I put extra linens in the bathroom of the guest suite before hopping into my own shower. I needed to prepare myself for whatever onslaught would occur by the morning once the picture of me and Francesca had leaked and was spread like wildfire.
Waking up to a shitstorm was something I had, unfortunately, grown used to. So I was not surprised when I had an address sent to me via text from my manager with the caption Noon. See you then.
Glancing at the time, I got up and went to the guest suite to tell Francesca I'd have to be heading off soon. I knocked lightly on the door before entering, surprised to find the bed already made, the towels hanging up in the bathroom, and no sign of her.
I walked downstairs, spotted a pot of coffee on the breakfast bar next to a note. I grabbed a mug on my way over before picking up the piece of paper.
Meeting with my manager. Hopefully yours is nicer than mine.
Fuck feelings ;)
FW
I let out a quick laugh as I exhaled. Seemed like we'd both be dealing with our teams this morning to discuss where to go from here.
Luckily, the drive to the restaurant Carla texted me was quick. I put on a pair of sunglasses from the overhead compartment in my car before walking into the restaurant, keys and wallet in hand.
I walked into see both Carla and my publicist Alandra. Between the two of them, my mother, and my sister, it was easy to say that my life was run by women. I contributed much of my success to that fact.
They both stood to greet me, and I took a sip of the water on the table.
"I already took the liberty of ordering you the pear and goat cheese salad. I wanted to get right down to business," Carla began. I nodded, taking another drink so I didn't have to start the conversation.
"I see you've started to do some extra credit," Alandra said, eyebrows raised.
"You know me," I answered sardonically. "I love to go the extra mile."
"At first, I was angry." Carla picked up where Alandra left off, ignoring my quip. "We were going to go into this slowly. To try to make it seem as organic as possible, seeing as the only time you allow yourself to be in the spotlight is when you're in the middle of a project. But Harry, the TMZ article linked to that picture has been shared more times than anything written about you in years."
"Sex sells," Alandra continued. The way they were bouncing off each other led me to believe that they had been sitting in this restaurant long before they had told me to arrive. "So Carla and I were discussing maybe emphasizing the intimate, sexier nature of your relationship with Francesca."
"Fake relationship with Francesca," I corrected.
"Obviously this is up to you, Harry," Carla amended. "But you know how it is. Relevancy is key. You haven't released any music in a while, although your fans know that you've been in and out of studios. Basket Case just released earlier this month, but the hype surrounding that will last two months tops. A sexy, long-term relationship is the perfect first step of receiving press attention before it's announced that you'll be directing The Touch of the Weeping."
"It's not just up to me. Francesca has to be okay with this too," I reminded.
"Of course," Alandra answered. "She met with her manager and publicist late this morning. Both teams have already been in communications since we first woke up and saw the TMZ article. She agreed this was the best direction to move forward after she saw the picture."
"And the picture is clearly the two of us? It can't be written off as photoshopped?"
Carla shook her head. "Your rings and hand tattoos are visible. Earlier in the night before this had all happened, Francesca posted a picture on instagram of her wearing the exact same dress."
I nodded along, although I was sure there was some way to claim the picture was fake. If this was what Francesca wanted, and two of the women I trusted most agreed, I would go for it.
"Which leads us to our next step," Alandra said. "I know you're meeting with the screenplay author tomorrow, but this afternoon it seems like you don't have any work-related plans. What about personal plans? Were you anticipating anything this afternoon?"
I shook my head no.
"Perfect," she said. "You're meeting Francesca at Tropicana Pool Cafe at four. Cocktails, food, swimming. Swimsuits. Sexy."
Carla glanced at Alandra before looking back to me. "Now, you two definitely have physical chemistry, but only do what's comfortable. If that's just holding hands, fine. If you think you could throw in a kiss or two, great. But nothing that you or Francesca aren't comfortable with. Being in bathing suits will bring enough attention as is."
I nodded as our lunch was placed in front of us, going over many thoughts in my head, the loudest one wondering if it would be just as easy to kiss Francesca sober as it was last night.
xxx
I was lounging in a chair poolside, arms behind my head, sprawled out on my back, eyes closed to protect myself from the harsh light of the sun that still hurt my eyes despite my dark sunglasses. I had only taken a few sips of the drink that a waitress had dropped off, not wanting to end up how I did last night.
The heavy LA sun felt great on my skin, but I knew that I'd probably have to take a dip soon to avoid getting too hot. Moving to the shade meant less visibility, less potential "candid" shots.
I was nearly asleep when I heard the scraping of the chair next to me on the concrete as it was pushed closer. I turned my head, squinting my eyes open.
It was Francesca moving the lounge chair closer to me. She wore sunglasses that looked similar to mine, and a cotton black dress. I could see the strings of her bikini tied around her neck.
She stood for a bit, and a gaze that felt hotter than the sun swept down from my eyes, to my chest, abdomen, and stopped at my swimsuit. I was wearing trunks, but they were shorter and a bit tight, leaving little to the imagination. She set down her bag on the chair before she grabbed the hem of her dress.
"Ready to get sexy?" she asked, and I thought I could hear some sarcasm in her voice. She may have been just as uneasy as I was about this.
I didn't reply immediately. I just watched as she took off her cover up to reveal a tiny, black, string bikini.
I had a feeling that I would have to do very little faking in regards to my attraction to her.
"Sexy means sharing a lounge chair," I told her, scooting to the side and patting the open space next to me. She laughed, walking over and sitting down next to my hip. Her back was to me as she folded her dress and placed it into the bag at her feet.
She ordered a gin and tonic from the circulating waitress before taking a bottle of tanning oil from her bag. Pouring it into her hands, I was thankful for the dark lenses of my sunglasses as I shamelessly watched her rub it into her legs, stomach, and chest. I averted my eyes once she got to her arms, grabbing my phone from the table next to me and checking my email.
"Harry?"
"Francesca?"
"Will you rub this on my back, please?"
I turned to look at her facing me now, skin sleek and shiny with oil.
"It's nearly 4:30," I explained. "It's too late to get burned."
"I know that," she replied, waving me off. "But this is the oldest sexy trick in the book! Rubbing sunblock on your partner's back."
I was still getting used to Francesca's personality. I found her very unpredictable. One minute, she'd be biting her lip, mysterious, closed off, and heartbreakingly beautiful. The next, she'd be witty, clever, charming, and... just fucking cute.
That was the thing about Francesca Westbrook. She was an alluring and acrimonious enigma all at once. Sweet one minute and sour the next. A headfuck of intrigue, question, and enticement all wrapped up in black silk.
xxx
We'd finally gotten into the water. Francesca had insisted she was too cold to go in immediately once she'd arrived, and wanted to lay out for a bit in the sun before taking a refreshing dip.
I was a hot mess in the most literal form of the phrase. I had already been baking for quite a bit considering I arrived early and she got here late. Then as she lie down next to me, skin pressed against mine, I reached a new level of frustration. Hot, sweaty, and slightly turned on, it had been difficult to stay comfortable. It had been my own fault though. I was the one who insisted we share a lounger.
There were only a few others in the pool. Each of us had spread out in the water naturally, ensuring privacy. When we walked over together, I immediately went all the way under, willing to risk ruining my hair if it meant cooling off. Surprisingly, Francesca must have had the same idea, because when I came up after submerging myself for an extended length of time, her hair fell in wet waves down her back.
I moved back closer to where she was lingering near the edge. I noticed she had a tight grip on the side of the pool.
"What's the matter? Can't swim?" I joked.
The glare she shot me was enough confirmation.
"If I stay in the shallow end, I'll be fine."
Had I thought there was a possibility she actually couldn't swim, I wouldn't have asked. I wouldn't have even begged her to get into the pool with me.
I still stood about six feet away from her at the end of the shallow end, heels just in front the slight incline leading toward the deep side.
"Come to me," I urged, waving my fingers in beckon. "I'll hold onto you."
She shook her head, eyeing me warily as I slowly walked toward her. "I'm fine right where I am."
"Hanging out in the shallow end? All by yourself?" I tutted. "That's not sexy."
"Drowning isn't sexy, either," she spat back.
"I won't let you drown. I've got too much to lose." I continued to move closer to her. "I need to keep using you to build my career. That shitty picture of the back of your head was shared more than the high quality red carpet photos of me at my movie premiere."
I felt slightly victorious when she started to laugh, and I allowed this distraction to move closer until I wrapped my arms around her waist, her skin slick from the water and tanning oil I'd helped apply.
"Did you see the photo?" she asked, hands settling on my chest.
"No, I didn't look."
I slowly started walking us backwards.
"It's actually pretty hot. My ass looks great in it."
"I'm sure," I conceded, lips twitching, still walking backward and resisting the urge to lower my hand and feel it for myself.
When we got to the decline in the pool, and she felt the sloped floor beneath her feet, she started to panic.
"Harry," she warned.
"Francesca," I echoed.
"I don't like this."
"Hold on tight," I told her.
"Harry!"
As we continued to move deeper, and her feet were unable to reach the bottom as easily as mine, her arms moved from my chest to around my neck, and she quickly pulled her legs up until they were wrapped around me.
I looked at her in triumph. "There we go," I said, tightening my grip on her and lifting her a bit so she settled higher on my hip.
She tried to keep her glare menacing, but I could tell she was endeared.
"Bastard," she mumbled under her breath, tightening her arms around my neck and staying close to my body in fear.
I walked us over to the side of the pool and moved until her back was against the wall so she felt more secure. I slowly leaned in until my forehead rested against hers.
"See?" I whispered. "Much sexier."
She nodded reluctantly, following a drop of water that slid down the bridge of my nose with her eyes.
"Harry?"
"Francesca?"
"Remember how we kept saying 'fuck feelings' last night?"
My stomach rolled as her light brown eyes stared deeply into mine.
"Mmhm," I hummed.
"I meant it."
"Me too."
"So we can't let this get messy."
As she talked, I moved closer to her long neck, pressing my lips gently beneath her ear. I brushed them down as her fingers tangled in my hair.
"We won't," I assured her, muffled into her skin.
Her hands moved to the sides of my face and I felt her pulling me back. She moved me until we were face to face again, foreheads touching.
"No feelings," she urged seriously.
"No feelings," I repeated before I tilted my head and kissed her.