SURPRISE! I added this chapter early as a special thank-you for getting me to 200 VOTES already! <3 And because I didn't want @tanvi116 to fail her finals... so you all better enjoy it :)
Dedication goes to... @abbyrebekah for being a HUGE Directioner and a straight up amazing person <3
---------------------
Chapter 15 *Wedding in: 10m 10d*
-Hallie-
I twirl around the kitchen, humming to myself and searching for something to eat for lunch. This is the first time since I arrived back home from America that my parents haven't been clinging to me and shooting questions frantically, convinced something terrible might have happened that I'm determined to keep a secret. I'll admit, it's a nice break.
Still, even my parents' nagging couldn't crush my spirits today. Finally, after a year of desperate saving and being stuck in my bedroom, I'll escape to my very own flat. I've already signed the lease, and it's official. I'm moving out.
I'm a bit tight on money, but I'll manage. I can get a job, waitressing or something, and I'll afford it. And it isn't the nicest place, but it'll do. Besides, I'd prefer that any day. I can't stand another minute living under my mum's strict rules. I should be more grateful, of course, but it's hard to be when I'm technically an adult and she's still given me a curfew of eleven-thirty.
Besides, it's time that I grew up, as Ara constantly mentions. Thriving on my own in Florida--staying in a hotel, making my own choices, not being interrogated by Mum every second-- was a dream come true. I can't remain trapped in my flowery purple bedroom forever. And if Ar is old enough to get married, I'm old enough to move out.
I wince, frowning slightly at the grey countertop as I heat up the stove for grilled cheese. Although it's been splashed across the news and all over Twitter, I try to avoid thinking about the wedding. Like if I keep it out of mind, it'll disappear.
I dig through the refrigerator, searching for the cheddar. It was disappointing, I admit, that Harry wasn't even upset about the picture. According to Arabella, he didn't even say anything, just grabbed her hand and promised he'd be there for her forever and that she was all he needed. Hearing that caused my gut to ache, but I suppose everything will work out in the end. This just proves how tightly he's wrapped around Ara's pinkie, and how much more effort unwinding him is going to take. On the bright side, fans are rabid, tweeting a stream of nasty things about Arabella. It sounds awful, but it's quite amusing, actually.
I suppose, in reality, we're also rather lucky that nobody turned on Niall. I mean, the picture may have proved to everyone that Arabella was the culprit of the flirting, but I'm somewhat surprised Niall faced no blame. Since Arabella talked Harry into thinking they were just talking as friends, there wasn't any reason for Harry to be peeved with the boy, but Nialler really risked a lot, including his reputation.
Even though I desperately wish I didn't need to, I decide to call Ar to celebrate my new home. Calling Ar has been a nightmare lately, because even the tiniest conversation will lead to her wedding, which is obviously a painful topic. I tell her about unpacking, she tells me about the suitcases she wants for their honeymoon. I grumble about my mum, she grumbles about how Harry thinks a wedding shouldn't be so costly. It drives me absolutely insane.
I scoop my sandwich onto a china plate, my stomach rumbling at the delicious scent of melted cheese and grilled bread. Dialing her number, I lean against the cabinets with my arms crossed stiffly across my chest.
"Hey Hal."
"Ar, I got the flat!" I announce quickly in an effort to keep things simple and hopefully avoid the topic of the wedding.
"Oh my God! When are you moving in?"
"Next weekend," I state proudly. I spent the morning secretly packing my a few valuables into boxes. I'm not entirely sure how I'll break it to my parents, who still refer to me as their little Hal-Hal.
"That's brilliant! Guess what?" And the subject switches back to her. Shocking.
Uh oh. "Erm... what?" I ask shortly. Please don't mention the wedding, please don't mention the wedding.
"This is a big responsibility," she confesses uncertainly and my stomach dips. "But I trust you, because we're best friends."
"What is it?" I snap, my curiosity getting the best of me.
"It's a rather long story." Which means she obviously has to tell it. "Harry and I were chatting last night, and he mentioned that we didn't need some extravagant wedding planner, even though I really wanted Sarah Haywood, because her designs are absolute perfection. But he would not give in, even though I cried some and begged him. Which is ridiculous, since he's loaded from all the One Direction stuff," Arabella whines bitterly. Oh no, poor baby, her life is so unbearable. She's marrying the man of my dreams, but it doesn't matter because she can't hire a famous wedding designer.
"Is there a point to this story?" I know I should be a bit more patient, but there's only a certain amount of wedding talk I can handle.
"Anyways, I was thinking about it and I realized 'Oh my goodness the solution is right under my nose'. Because who's a detail freak? Who's brilliant at designs and themes? Who's basically the most amazing person in the world when it comes to planning things?"
I sigh. "Sarah Haywood?"
"You, silly!" she exclaims, squealing excitedly. "I mean, you're a perfectionist, right? And my best friend, so I can obviously count on you to make the right decisions."
I tense up, shocked. "Wow. I'm, uh, honored, Ar, but I'm going to school really soon and I can't handle that kind of pressure." And it would kind of kill me to plan the day you say your vows with my true love.
"You can, I know it," she replies encouragingly. "And besides, we'll be paying you one hundred pounds a week. It's summer, anyways, so you'll be available all the time. And when you get back to school you'll only have to work on the weekends that you have time, if you'll drive in to London, which isn't that far from Oxford, anyways. Please, Hal?" she pleads.
She's serious. She is actually begging me to plan her wedding, even offering money. I don't know the first thing about planning a wedding, but I am a perfectionist, and detailed, and organized. I probably could design the most flawless, breathtaking wedding in history if I put my mind to it.
And then again, I could also design the most awful. If I'm the one pulling the strings, it could end up a complete disaster, and perhaps even put an end to Harabella once and for all.
Even though I know this entire idea is probably foolish, I grin deviously. "Deal."
-Arabella-
"Deal."
I smirk victoriously at the dark oak floor. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I gush, choking my voice with false-joy. "Talk to you later love, bye."
Hallie is so easily convinced, it's almost boring. How gullible can she possibly be? As if I couldn't talk Harry into hiring Sarah. Please, I could do that in my sleep, but as it happens to come with a price, forget it.
Besides, Hal is talented. I spent years doing class projects with her, and she organized everything to the most minuscule detail, not to mention took full full responsibility for the entire thing. If I have faith in anyone to make my wedding a success, it's Hal. That's not the only reason I need her, though.
See, last night, before bed, I snuggled up to Harry, blinking a few tears into my eyes and biting my lip. I call it my signature get-what-I-want expression. "Harry, about the wedding plann-"
"Fine," he interrupted sleepily. Well that was quick. "You can hire that Haywood lady. On one condition."
I shivered, giddy at the idea of throwing my perfect wedding. A gorgeous gown, perfect location, lovely flowers, music, lights, honeymoon. "Anything."
"Erm, I don't know how to say this. Basically... you need to find a job."
I swear my heart stopped beating in my chest and my face paled. "You're joking. Why do I need a job?"
"First of all, a professional wedding planner is expensive--"
"First of all, you're a world-famous performer who has no money issues," I retorted, my face stiff.
"That's not the problem. The problem is, you don't earn money, you... spend it. And I love you, you know I do, and I want to spoil you as much as I can, but at the moment fans are saying loads of bad things about you. According to them, you're using me for my fame and money..." he trailed off.
I sucked in a huge breath, about to go into a rage that I should not have to get a job and if he believes these rumors then I can hardly rely on him to be a trusting, loving husband. Then I'd start sobbing and he'd comfort me and apologize, exactly as predicted.
But I suddenly had a better idea, one that wouldn't give him the impression that I was acting like a spoiled brat and still get me out of work. "Well, actually, I've been thinking, Harry. And I know you'd rather not empty your wallet on a wedding designer. So I thought, maybe I could do it instead. Plan the wedding. But not if I have a job," I said sincerely, staring up at him with shining eyes.
He looked vaguely amused, wrinkling his forehead and shaking his fluffy curls. "You want to plan the wedding... yourself?"
"I do." A whole lot more than I want to get a job, at least.
He planted a kiss on my forehead, drawing me into a tight embrace. "Darling, why course you can. If that's what you want."
A few moments later, I began panicking. No way was I ready for the responsibility of planning an entire wedding, whether it raised my reputation among the fans or not. The mere stress of it would kill me, plus it would likely turn out to be a complete disaster. And that's where Hallie comes in. Because planning my own wedding would be ridiculously hard, so why not have Hallie 'assist me'?
This is why I build relationships with gullible people.
-Hallie-
I stretch on tiptoes to reach the spice drawer, wobbling and struggling to grab the salt. My fingers brush the shaker and I roll my eyes, frustrated. Why did God curse me with such a short figure?
I slap my palm down, hoping to boost myself up a bit, and scream. My skin sizzles and I yank it off the hot burner, watching as it bubbles painfully. How did I forget to shut the stove off? I sprint towards the sink and blast the stinging spot with ice-cold water, fighting back tears.
A few minutes later, I cautiously remove it from the stream of water, feeling my hand prickle and stings, like ants are digging into my hand. Oh God, oh God.
The center of the palm already has a large, puffy white blister that seems to be swelling. The skin around it is raw and red, throbbing and burning. Every few seconds, a burst of pain surges through my nerves.
I absolutely, positively hate burns. Tears trickle down my face, my hand hurting too much to block them. A burning sensation flares in my hand and I gasp, choking back a sob.
'Don't fight fire with fire, or you'll get burned,' my subconscious chimes in helpfully. I scowl.
'Shut up. The only one getting burned is Arabella,' I argue defiantly. Oh my God, isn't one of the first signs of insanity communicating with yourself? Am I going mad?
'Mad? Oh please, you crossed that line long ago.'
I sink into my chair, ignoring the annoyingly witty little voice in my brain, clutching an ice pack to my injured hand, and texting with the other.
To: Zayn Malik, Niall Horan, Liam Payne
Good news, boys. You're talking to Harabella's wedding planner. Time to fight fire with fire x
------------------
So, thoughts? Who likes the wedding planner thing? Anybody who doesn't...? I wasn't positive about it but I went with my gut.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment and vote, guys. I swear, even the tiniest comment like 'nice chapter' makes me smile.
Countdown: NEXT CHAPTER IS THE MOMENT GUYS. THE HALLIE-HARRY MOMENT. WHO'S PUMPED? Let's see... the next chapter will be uploaded if THIS chapter gets to 20 votes. Just 20. START VOTING!!