September 2023
When I awoke the following morning, Francesca wasn't in the room. I turned over to check my phone and enjoy the relaxation time. Having a late morning lie-in was a privilege I rarely experienced anymore. I held my phone up as I read through missed messages and emails, one arm resting behind my head.
When I got to Instagram, I braved looking through the comments I had posted on the picture of Francesca. It was just of the back of her in a bath full of bubbles, staring out the window at Paris surrounding us. Most were harmless, as media scrutiny of my love interests had dwindled as my fan base had aged and matured.
I spotted a comment from Axel, just a bunch of surprise-face emojis. I had to admit, that picture was daring. But the superficial, selfish side of myself had wanted to gloat. I had wanted to broadcast that - even for one night - the elusive and dazzling Francesca Westbrook had been mine.
Thinking of Axel and Nora, I was reminded of the first time they had met Francesca. The dinner had gotten off to a rocky start, but by the end of it, they were as easily charmed by her as I had been.
As I ran our conversations through our mind, my fingers paused as they replied to a text from a sound editor. I distinctly remembered Nora, Axel, and Francesca discussing their tattoos and piercings. Francesca had sympathized with Axel regarding his experience getting nipple piercings.
I decidedly recalled spending a large portion of the night admiring Francesca's body, specifically her breasts. I never saw any piercings.
The door to our suite opened as I turned the night over in my mind confusedly. Francesca walked in, a pair of compression leggings and a gray tank top framing her figure. She looked sweaty, and I could see a small patch of sweat at the small of her back when she turned around.
"Good morning," she greeted when she saw I was awake.
"Hi," I replied, still focused on last night.
"Sorry if I woke you on my way out this morning," she said distractedly, pulling her sneakers and socks off and then, surprisingly, sliding right out of her leggings in front of me. "I needed to get a workout in."
"I didn't hear anything," I told her, not averting my eyes. "I sleep like the dead."
Her tank top came next, and she was left standing in a thong and sports bra. I felt like a peeping Tom, but I needed to see again for myself if she truly had no nipple piercings. Maybe not noticing had been a product of my lusty haze last night.
She pulled her bra over her head and turned back to set her hair tie on the vanity. She peered over her shoulder at me.
"I thought you'd be a little more sly with the staring."
"Your nipples aren't pierced," I stated, ignoring her previous comment.
She smirked for a second, eyeing me before turning around and pulling down her thong. "No, they're not," she agreed.
I blinked. "At dinner with Axel and Nora, you said they were."
She snickered. "I was trying to get a reaction out of you; get under your skin. It worked."
Of course it did, I thought to myself. I choked on my water.
"It was almost too easy," she replied. My gaze was fixated on the view of her from behind. Eyebrow raised, she murmured "Careful, you're drooling."
"I'm admiring," I corrected.
"If I weren't so smelly, I'd crawl across the bed and have my way with you again."
"I wouldn't mind," I told her, although I'd prefer her smelling like her body wash and that intoxicating perfume of hers I had grown to love.
With a shake of her head, she turned and shut the bathroom door behind her. I waited until I heard the click of a lock before I completely relaxed. I knew I was fucked.
xxx
At a small Parisian cafe, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I watched her sip her espresso, the tiny cup looking dainty in her hands while mine fumbled with the small handle. She tore off a piece of our shared croissant, dipping it in her drink before placing it in her mouth.
"So, there are a few things I've been meaning to talk to you about," I told her.
She brushed off her hands before picking up her napkin and carefully wiping around her red lips. I waited until her eyes met mine before continuing.
"Is it about that conversation you had with Rowan?" she asked bluntly.
I stared at her, glad I didn't have any espresso in my mouth or I might have choked on it. "How did you know about that?" I asked.
"We run in similar circles," she replied.
I didn't buy it. My circle was particularly small, and before Carla orchestrated our meeting, I had never even met her or spent an extended length of time with someone close to her.
Sensing my disbelief, she remedied, "My best friend Julia apparently attends the same beach yoga that Rowan does. She overheard his side of the phone conversation."
That made more sense - kind of. One thing was tripping me up.
"Rowan is doing yoga now?"
Francesca looked at me like I'd grown a second head before composing herself. "Stop evading," she chastised.
"Okay, so I haven't been completely honest with you," I started at watched as she eyed me warily. Great start, I thought to myself bitterly.
She carefully placed her mug on the saucer in front of her, leaning back in her seat. "I'm listening."
"Rowan and I didn't break up because he didn't fully accept me for who I am, although that was somewhat true."
She looked confused, and I knew I was talking in circles. Pulling myself together, I continued, "When we first started dating, Rowan was great. He was my first serious male relationship. I'd had flings and hookups, but he was the first one I really wanted to start something with."
At the beginning, Rowan wanted whatever I wanted. I was slow to commit, and he was patient. I wasn't sure of how the balance between two male energies would work - every previous relationship I'd had was one male and one female. Although I knew it before, he helped further clear up the idea that relationships, no matter what the sexual orientation, did not need "heteronormativity" in some way - our relationship was whatever we made of it.
"We were officially dating for a few almost a year when we started talking having much deeper conversations, really trying to get to know each other. And long story short, he thought that I was insisting that I was bisexual because I was scared. Maintaining the claim that I was attracted to women was my way of protecting myself."
Francesca remained quiet, letting me get the entire story out in silence. Her focus was razor sharp on me.
"We fought, and he claimed that I only ever did things halfway. I didn't want him to move in with me, but I let him spend the night every night. I would be in a committed relationship with him, but I wouldn't announce it to the public. I would admit that I was sexually and romantically attracted to men, but I wouldn't admit to having no interest in women."
Francesca nods, her head tilted to the side as she listens, allowing me to continue.
"We broke up, and it was horrible. I loved him a lot. I poured myself into film and acting as an outlet. It wasn't the same as writing music, but I was out of practice. I wanted to continue to develop my acting career." I fiddled with the rings on my fingers distractedly. "But he showed up at my house about a month and a half later, and he apologized. And I could tell that he was sorry. So I took him back, and we dated for another year."
Francesca's eyes are warm and focused entirely on me. Her face shows none of her thoughts, just that she's listening intently. I appreciate her patience and focus as I navigate this story.
"I could never get really get over it, though. I trusted him as far as being faithful went, but some of my trust in his respect for me dwindled." I paused, taking a deep breath in. "Everything came to a head in December of that year." I folded my hands so I'd stop messing with my fingers. "He proposed."
For the first time, Francesca's face gave away what she was feeling. Her eyebrows rose, showcasing her surprise.
"We had never even talked about marriage. I was shocked. So I said no. And I knew there was no getting past that."
Francesca sat back in her seat as I watched her intently. She tilted her head to the side and plays with her hair that falls over her shoulder.
"Do you regret saying no?" she asked me gently.
I shook my head. "I don't ever wanted to get married." It was never something I had planned on doing. I wanted a life partner, and I wanted a family... But a marriage was not in the cards for me.
"I get that," she told me. "I can't see myself getting married either."
I nodded my head in understanding. Both of us had parents who'd separated, so it was understandable that we'd be left with less-than-stellar opinions regarding matrimony. I didn't know much about her family's situation, other than what I had read online. Which reminded me of another difficult topic we'd have to hash out. The fact that I felt like I knew more than I should about her family life growing up.
Later. There was still much to be discussed about Rowan.
"So," I started awkwardly. "When I ran into Rowan at the Basket Case premiere, that was the first time I'd seen him since the dust of our breakup settled. It was originally a clean break." I folded my leg, resting my ankle on my thigh. "Until he reached out to me a week later. We reconnected, and have been hooking up a bit ever since."
Francesca took her lip between her teeth, looking uneasy. "So basically the whole time we've been pretending to date, you've also been seeing Rowan."
I paused before responding. I understood that technically I was supposed to be committed to her, as we both signed a contract with the intention of appearing to be in an exclusive relationship. But I did not sign my heart away to her.
"Yes," I said simply. "And I'm sorry that the pictures leaked. I don't even know why I agreed to start things back up with him."
My eyes floated to the window, watching people walk by, undoubtedly living lives much simpler than ours.
"I think I was lonely," I said quietly. "I crave partnership and I like companionship." Selfishly, I didn't want to be alone.
"Are the two of you still hooking up?" she asked, her face unreadable.
"No," I answered quickly. "I called him on my way to Geneva and told him I thought it would be best if we stopped seeing each other."
She looked at the table, eyes upset but face even.
"Is that why you started things with me immediately afterward?" she asked sharply. "For the companionship?"
"What?" I asked in disbelief. "Of course not."
"It's not that I expect us to profess our dying love to each other or anything," she quickly backtracks. "But I don't like thinking that I'm a coping mechanism."
"That's... not how I see you at all," I said evenly. "I'm sorry if that's how I made you feel."
"It's not," she disagreed.
I was confused. She made it clear she didn't want emotions tangled in... whatever it was that we were doing. But here she was, thinking that I was using her for companionship. But would it be better if I told her I just saw her as a physical interest?
I didn't think so.
Deciding to move on to my next personal Everest, I broached another difficult topic.
"I did something else on the flight to Geneva too," I said.
Francesca waited for my reply, and when I hesitated, she sat back up with her arms on the table. "What?" she prodded. "You booked a new movie? Told Carla you wanted to break up with me? Joined the mile high club?"
"Of course not," I replied easily. "I joined the mile high club when I was seventeen."
She rolled her eyes.
"I googled you," I told her.
Her eyebrows raised, waiting for me to continue.
"So?" she finally asked. "I admitted to googling you the night of your premiere."
"Yeah," I said. "But I feel weird knowing things about you when you haven't told me yourself."
Her face softened. "Harry," she breathed. "We've both been in Hollywood too long to get upset about things like that anymore."
"It's still not right."
"You're sweet," she said, voice saccharine. "What skeletons did you dig up?"
"Well, you were born in France. Your and your father are estranged. You moved out of the house when you were a teenager and your mother tried to sabotage your education in retaliation."
I'm relieved she didn't look upset that I told her so bluntly.
"That pretty much covers it," she replied, shrugging. "It was rough for a while but I had supportive friends who took me under their wing."
As she finished the last of her espresso, she put her sunglasses back down over her eyes, gathering her purse from the back of her chair.
She peered at me over the frame of her glasses, meeting my eyes.
"One of whom was Jacob Lynch. I know you don't like him, but he's been one of the constant supports in my life." She stood and I followed. "I don't always agree with his choices, but we are there for each other no matter what."
Impressed with how easy I've found these conversations that had been eating away at me, I leave a few extra euros on the table as a tip. I rest my hand at the small of her back as we exit the cafe.
xxx
October 2023
I had seen Francesca covered in sweat after a workout, dark marks in the cotton surrounding her back and under her breasts. I'd seen her in every color of the rainbow. In sequins, in silk, and in nothing at all.
I found her stunning always, however, nothing made me feel like dropping to my knees quite like the sight of her in my clothing.
She'd stolen a pair of my boxer briefs and a black shirt as she lounged before the Halloween party. The only item on her body that she owned was the lacy black bralette she wore. Her long legs dangled from my barstool, as she worked on the laptop in front of her.
I walked up behind her, my hands dragging up her thighs and over her stomach. I pressed my lips to her ear as she inhaled deeply.
"You are so tempting," I whispered. "Sitting in my house, wearing my clothes."
When she leaned her head back, I figured it was a sign for me to close her laptop and move my mouth to her neck. When she heard the laptop close, she stiffened.
I paused.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"We just had sex, Harry," she sighed.
"So?" I asked. "Is it so bad that I want you again?"
"Should we slow down?"
I took my hands off of her, rounding to the side of her chair so we were face to face. "Why?" I asked.
"We've been doing this for a while," she told me. "Should we try to cool things down? We have to maintain this fake relationship until January. We're getting a bit unprofessional."
I rolled my eyes. "To be quite honest, I hardly find using my love life as a marketing tool the highest standard of professionalism."
It was the wrong thing to say. Her face fell before she immediately pulled away and headed toward the living room.
"Francesca," I called after her. "I'm sorry if I offended you."
Even after all this time, I still found Francesca difficult to read. When things were good, they were really fucking good. And when things got like this... well, they weren't necessarily bad, but they left me feeling helpless to fix anything and uneasy.
"You're like a green light, Harry," she told me. "Everything is go go go."
She didn't look over as she stalked off to my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
Well if I was green, then she was red. Red like her lips. Red like passion. Red like romance and love and all of the other affectionate feelings she pretended to despise.
Like red and green, we were complimentary. We looked good next to each other, our hues and pigments flattering. But maybe, like complimentary colors, we didn't mix well. Two colors on opposite ends of the color wheel coming together, swirling into brown.
Green wasn't a bad color. Not by itself. But neither was red. Maybe we were just two good colors destined not to mix.
xxx
I watched the Francesca from across the room as she mingled, looking as happy as ever. I was left still feeling disheartened from her change in mood earlier.
I had really been looking forward to going to this Halloween party together. We'd had our hair and makeup professionally done to look like the perfect duo of Morticia and Gomez Addams. Our costumes were designed by Versace and looked phenomenal.
A blonde haired skeleton appeared at my right.
"Everything okay?" she asked, following my gaze toward Francesca.
It was Francesca's best friend, Julia Walsh. Since Francesca and I were both technically invited, she'd cheated the system and brought Julia, a holistic nurse whose only ties to Hollywood were the strings of her pendulum that she dangled in front of her A-list clients, as her plus one.
I'd learned that Julia and her family had been another one of the necessary support systems she had clung to throughout her time in high school. Julia's mother had been a teacher at The Hollywood Academy of the Performing Arts that Francesca had attended. They grew close from the close relationship developed between Francesca and her theater performance teacher.
Julia looked the part of any other celebrity in the building, but there were things about her that set her apart. One being how frequently she found herself starstruck.
The first time I met Julia, Francesca hadn't told her I was coming over. Julia was going to introduce new methods of meditation she'd learned about when she saw me walk through the door. Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
I'd learned she'd been a fan ever since she and Francesca had first met. She'd used our notebooks in school and attended a few One Direction concerts in her day. Francesca had told me beforehand that Julia had been thrilled to find out that we were "dating," but didn't expect to meet me without time to... prepare herself.
She'd cut herself off mid-sentence when I entered her foyer, and I was nervous that she'd stopped breathing. Her face was flushed and she looked like tears were forming in her eyes.
"Oh my god," she gasped out. And to my surprise, she'd immediately followed up with, "I'm so sorry," and rushed out of the room to collect herself.
Luckily, my allure had seemed to fade away after the first few times I'd seen Julia. As a holistic nurse in Hollywood, she was often booked by celebrities seeking alternative treatments to whatever modality they were facing. She knew how to handle herself.
If anyone knew Francesca inside and out, it was the woman dressed as a skeleton beside me.
"Will I ever figure her out?" I asked Julia. She remained silent, sensing there was more I wanted to say. "I feel like I know so much about her and her past, but she won't let me in to see the real her."
"I've been here for the worst of her life, and I've been here for the best of her life, Harry," she replied. "Some kids come from a troubled childhood apathetic, jaded, or unmotivated. Others emerge fierce, strong, and successful. By now, I'm sure you can see in which category Francesca fits."
I could indeed. Despite moments like this, Francesca continued to impress me every day.
"I've been a Harry Styles for a very long time, as I'm sure Francesca has told you." She turned to face me, eyes serious. "But I will always be a bigger fan of Francesca Westbrook."
She patted my shoulder soothingly before walking away. If someone as pure and caring as Julia had so much admiration for Francesca after so long, I should keep trying. I knew that Francesca was worth all of my effort and attention, even if that meant breaking down her emotional walls brick by brick.
A/N: hello everyone! i am so so sorry this took FOREVER to update. i hope you like it though
cold reads has been nominated for a few awards! i am so so so grateful (but undeserving). even with my slow updates, someone thought of cold reads while nominating their favorite fics :,)
if you'd like to vote, you can vote for:
November fic of the month @/1drooftopawards on tumblr
and you can vote for CR in a variety of categories in the 1D Craft Awards @/1dcraftawardson tumblr
thank you guys so much for your continued support! response for the last part was amazing!
xoxoxo ally <3