"Uh .... " is all I can manage at the moment. He had to come at the most opportunistic time, didn't he. His timing is impeccable. Like always.
"Oh, right. I forgot you're not good at that," Harry Styles says, the memory of our first meeting flashing before me for a brief second.
"I'm Harry," the British lad extends an arm out to my mother's husband who takes it.
"I'm Elaine's stepfather," he introduces himself somewhat protectively. The word still makes me cringe. Harry Styles doesn't seem to be fazed at his stern 'father-like' attitude. Instead he flashes a wide grin, somehow easing my thoughts for a slight moment. "This is my wife, Sandra, Elaine's mother."
My mother rises from her seat, her face beaming with a smile anyone from a mile away can see. Even though she's not a fan of the band, she's definitely a fan of celebrity gossip. And who so happens to be almost in the middle of every article...Of course, it's Harry Styles.
"You're here with Elaine?" She asks, her tone completely star stricken yet breezy at the same time. Probably under the impression that Harry Styles and I are .. together, together. Before she jumps to any conclusions, I speak up.
"It's not what you think," I chime in, descending myself between my mother and Harry Styles. "We know each other, but it's not like that. We're just friends."
Are we really friends though? I think to myself.
"What?" She asks innocently. "I wasn't thinking anything."
"I know you mother and I know what goes on in that head of yours," I assert but she brushes me off, literally. She drives me to the side, tucking her arm around one of mine, lurching me to her hip.
"Oh hush. Would it be alright if we join you two, Harry?" My mother asks, her hand reaches for Harry Styles'arm, her long manicured nails circling around his forearm. I'm suddenly filled with embarrassment.
With a smile, he agrees. It's not as though he really had a choice because my persistent mother is already pulling him down to sit.
My mother's husband excuses himself to get more drinks. I reluctantly fall back in my seat, the regret of not leaving earlier nipping at my skin. My mother suddenly turns to me, making me flinch.
"How could you not tell us that you had a friend here? I was feeling like such an awful mother, leaving you all alone on this trip," she bats her eyelashes.
"I wanted to be alone," I remind her.
"Well, I'm just glad you have someone to keep you company," she turns to Harry Styles who is looking at me. I widen my eyes at him, trying to mentally tell him that we should've left when I said. "So how did this happen? How did you two meet?"
"We actually met in London," he answers.
"That long ago! Oh my. Excuse us for a moment, Harry, will you, dear?" She says, pulling me up with her. Even though I want to know why she's hastily lugging me outside the room, I already have an idea why.
Once we're a few paces away, I set a hand on my mother's grip on my wrist, her tread coming to a halt at the contact. She doesn't let go but I take a sharp glance at it, signaling her to free my arm.
"What's going on? Where are you taking me?" I ask, slightly annoyed at her rash stunt. Harry Styles must be thinking that we're some dysfunctional family planning a murder or something.
"How come you never told me about him?" She asks with concern.
"About who?"
"Harry Styles," she says his name with so much air and wallop. As if he's some Greek god or something. "He's a celebrity, isn't he? I remember seeing his face on E! multiple times. You can't forget that kind of face."
" We just met a few times," I tell her. She's unconvinced, her heart set on something I'm all too familiar with.
"So what are you two? Are you really just friends?" She questions, her unwanted interrogation further confused me because even I don't know the answer to that question.
"Yes. We're just friends," I say, hoping that my tone is enough to persuade her.
"Not after tonight," she bats her long lashes at me.
...
Uncomfortable. That's how I feel as of this devastating moment. She literally had to force me in this dress, pulling at my arms as though I was a stubborn toddler who hated putting on clothes right after a shower. The fabric of my mother's body con dress is itchy, biting at my skin, especially at my hips. It's flattering in some places because my mother is a bit smaller than I am, although I would never say that to her face because weight is a very sensitive issue for her.
When we return from her room, my heart races to even higher levels, if possible, than the first time tonight. I'm nervous because I never usually wore dresses. Especially, not short ones. The only dress I ever wore was the one I previously wore. I always hated the feeling of having an opening down there. It's as though I was on display for the whole world to see.
At least that's why I think I am skittish.
When my eyes lay open those forest green irises, an instant revelation hits me. I knew the reason for my cold sweats. It's because Harry Styles is here and the small, irrelevant fact that he's going to see me in a skin-tight dress for the first time.
I know it sounds dumb and completely middle school-ish. But that's how I feel. That's how my natural bodily instinct is reacting to him. And I didn't want to acknowledge it. Not one bit.
Pushing my foolish thoughts aside, I try to ignore the way he's staring at me as we make it to the table. My mother prompts me to sit next to him and I don't have any other choice but to. It was either him or her husband.
"What?" I ask Harry dismissively, brushing the minor confidence boost away by the way he's looking at me so confusingly dazed.
"You look ... beautiful," he answers, a modest smile on his lips.
"Thank you," I manage to swallow, pretending not to be moved by his words.
A few sips of wine later, I already feel a little buzz spurring in my head. I'm pretty sure it's only been ten minutes too.
My mother and her husband and Harry are deep in some conversation that I, voluntarily, didn't want to be a part of. They're probably just blabbering on about how great the cruise is and how lovely the weather has been. Even though I'm only half listening, I'm not completely nulled to what's going on. Every now and then, my mother's husband would interrupt Harry Styles and, now this might be the alcohol talking, but I swear I saw him glare at him too for stating his opinion on some political issue.
"Would you like to dance?" Harry Styles whispers in my ear, the close space between his lips and the shell of my ear setting my cheeks ablaze.
"I don't dance," I say, with a smug grin.
"You sure?"
"Noooooo..." My O's extending longer than I wanted. Wait, was that the right answer?
I shrug it off. Eh, whatever. As long as my ass is still in this chair, I know I won't be humiliating myself on the dance floor.
"Elaine," my mother intervenes. "Don't be rude," she snaps quietly. Her composure is totally cordial when she turns to the gentleman beside me. "She'd love to dance with you, Harry."
My ability to refuse magically dissolves as soon as Harry Styles stands up, his hand extending out to me. My eyes remain transfixed on his palm, unsure of whether I should take it. If my senses were not so inhibited, I would have refused him. But my senses are already out the door.
My hand rests in his for a second before his fingers tenderly wrap themselves around it. He wears a pleased grin and gently pulls me upward, leading me to the edge of the dance floor. The pianist is playing his rendition of Ed Sheeran's "Perfect", one of my favorite songs.
Unsure of whether where to touch him, he waves out an arm, signaling me to take his hand. Once I oblige, his other hand guides mine to his shoulder before it rests firmly around my hip.
He starts to sway first, his foot taking a step back, then the other. Every few seconds, I would have to keep looking down at the floor, hoping that I don't trip over his. Or worse. My own. How embarrassing would that be.
He seems to be moving gracefully while I, on the other hand, seem as though I'm learning how to walk for the first time. Our movements come to an abrupt halt when I step on the tip of his right shoe.
"I'm so sorry," I belch out remorsefully. "Told you I didn't dance."
"It's okay," he assures me. "Wouldn't be the first time a girl has stepped on my foot." Though he meant it in an assuring way, I find a foreign sensation creeping through body, one that I particularly hated associating myself with. Jealousy. "How about this?"
Before I can answer him, the arm around my hip lurches me upward slightly, almost causing our chests to bump into one another's. My feet falls onto his as my soles remain groundless. I worry that my weight might be too much for him so I pull away but he urges me forward.
"This way I won't be distracted," he murmurs, the grin on his face widening so that his dimples concaved further in.
"You don't have to do this, you know?" I say as he starts to sway us.
"I know."
"No, I mean. You don't have to be so gentleman-like all the time."
"What do you mean?"
"He's obviously not taking a liking to you." Ever since he and my mother's husband met, there's this small tension between them. I can't pick out why.
"Your step--uh, I mean, your mother's husband? I know."
"If you know, then don't be so kind to him. Everyone should be treated the way they treat others."
"I agree, but he has good reason to. He's only acting like that because he thinks we're... involved."
"But we're not," I point out rather quickly, dismissing any speculations that there might be something more between us.
"I know. But he doesn't have to know that," Harry Styles says smugly. If he doesn't know, then why doesn't he just clarify to him that we aren't involved. "Let's change the subject, shall we?" He suggests with a carefree tone.
"Okay, let's," I say, interrupting him. "What are your plans after One Direction?"
For a moment, he's taken aback by my question. I can feel the muscles in his shoulders tense up. It's been in my head the past couple days because I find it strange. Strange that he's out here all by himself. Strange that he's not once called to see how they're doing. Strange that he might be running away from something, which I can only assume to be negative problems.
"I've never really thought about it," he pouts his lips, brushing off my question, but I know better. I know he's telling me a lie. But instead of prodding him for an answer, I let it go. I don't want to make him anymore uncomfortable than he already is. Though he doesn't show it, I can see it in his eyes - how he feels about my mother's husband, how he holds so much secrets inside that no one is allowed to breach them.
"That was a deep question," he comments. "I don't think I can beat that but you said, everyone should be treated the way they treat others. So, tell me, are you still in love with him?"
"In love with who?"
He tilts his head slightly, raising his brows as if to tell me that I know who exactly he is referring to. And I do. I do know who he's talking about.
"No," I answer. Though it might have held some fallacy a few days ago. But as of this moment, in another man's arms, I feel lighter, as though a weight has been lifted..."Why are you so curious about who I'm rapt up with?"
"When did I give you that impression?"
"Just now, and before with Marco," I say. "The very first time Marco came into the conversation, you assumed he was more than that. That he had feelings for me. And now, you're asking me whether I'm still in love with someone."
He doesn't even contest to my allegations.
"Why do you care so much about my love life?" I ask him, trying to be as collected as I can.
He thinks for a long, hard moment, his vehement gaze never leaving mine. The intensity and persistence in his eyes gradually fades before they falter to my lips, stopping there for a profound amount of time before bringing his eyes back to mine. He surveys every inch of my face, silently asking for permission, finding any sign of rejection before he leans in.
Again, like too many recent situations, I feel my heart thudding in my ears. Each aching second bringing an agonizing desire to pull him close and press my lips against his. But I don't move. I don't do anything but watch him intently as he advances forward.
The moment the piano stops, Harry stops, his lips hovering right above mine. I feel his grip around me loosen and my balance shifts back on to the unsteady floor. As he averts his gaze from mine, suddenly apologetic for making me think as though he was going to kiss me, he tears away his arm and takes a step backwards.
The familiar disappointment from this morning settles in again, and I'm suddenly sobered up from the moment. I blink away the discouraging feeling building within me. My chest continues to pound heavily, and I find myself wondering if he's feeling the same thing I am.
Without a word, I watch him walk away from my me over to my mother and her husband. He says a few words to them and leaves, not even giving one glance back at me.
Left dumbfounded and most utterly confused, I follow him, my feet stomping in his footsteps. Once I'm away from the crowd room, I rush to the elevator. My patience runs thin as I wait for the damned lift. When it finally comes, I step into it, thankful that no one else is sharing it with me.
I want to know what just happened. I want to know the answer to my question. I want to know why he was so inquisitive about my love life. I need to know because I know that by tomorrow I won't be able to find the courage to demand a straight answer from him. He always has a way of diverging from my constant wonderings. He's the only one who gets away those things with me, and I let him. But not this time.
As soon as I reach the door of our cabin, I feel my heart racing even more, almost at full force against my rib cage. I barely take two steps in before a sudden pressure wounds around my wrist, yanking me in a spiral like motion. The room spins for a split second and our eyes meet instantly, those green irises much darker than earlier. Before a word escapes my lips, his large hands swiftly position themselves on my cheeks, heaving me forward as his lips enclose around mine.
A/n: well there you have it folks! What do you think?! Ahhhh! Their first kiss!
11/2019 - Wow...Reading and editing this...I kinda get goosebumps from that kiss...