24th September 2016
The universe is conspiring against her. It has to be. It's the only explanation.
Eloise had left Harry's house in LA at 6pm, braving rush hour traffic. After delays at the gate and again on the runway, her flight had eventually taken off at midnight, two and half hours late.
Finally landing at Heathrow just before 7pm the next day, she'd been forced to endure Britain's favourite past-time just about ever since.
Queuing. Waiting. Wishing. Ever so impatiently.
She'd queued to get off the plane. At passport control. In the baggage hall.
And with her battery draining fast after all her mindless scrolling, she couldn't even call anyone to bitch and complain about it. Besides, she'd come too far to ruin the surprise for her nearest and dearest now.
Finally, furiously, making it to the front of the queue at the lost luggage desk, it was only when she turned to gesture to the empty carousel that she'd spotted it - appearing dejectedly through the plastic partition to begin its lonely journey back to her. Better late, than never... How apt, she figured.
Swearing like a sailor, she'd stomped over and hauled her suitcase off the belt, smacking her shin as she distractedly took in it's battered corners, scuffs and gouges. Fucking fabulous.
Emerging through customs and prowling around the arrivals hall with her drunkenly rolling suitcase and carry-on bag slipping off her shoulder, she eventually found her driver, snoozing in an armchair in the corner of Costa.
Grabbing them a couple of strong coffees and some food to stave off her hanger, she'd woken him up and had to dig deep to give him more than surly one word answers as they trekked to the car park. It was quite the performance, even if she says so herself.
>
Blinking from the hypnotising glare of the oncoming headlights, she works out her fifteen hour journey, door to door, is now into its twenty first hour.
And she's still on the sodding M4. Roadworks and traffic, naturally.
For a few calming deep breaths, she stares at the soppy, tired smile and tangled bed head of her lock screen, remembering what she's heading home to, before resting her head back and closing her eyes, willing time to move faster.
Suffice to say; longest journey, ever.
It's been torturous progress, but she feels her mood gradually start to lift with each minute and each mile closer. She'd do it all over again, anytime, if it gets her back to him; home.
>
Jarred awake as a tyre clips the pothole on the bend, Eloise's quick reflexes kick in just in time to avoid cracking her temple against the window. She mutters "Every damn time" to herself and lays a cautious hand on her cricked neck with a wince.
Stretching out her long limbs against the supple leather seat of the Mercedes, she catches the apologetic glance in the rearview mirror.
Waking up the phone in her lap, she clocks it's 11.45pm with a grimace. She's cutting it mighty fine and now can't help but wish time would slow down for her.
Spotting a few cars parked along the road up ahead, she clears her throat. "Just up alongside the gates will be fine, thanks Ken. Sorry again it's such a late one".
"As you wish, Miss. Don't think of it. You must be exhausted after that long delay. Hope you manage to get some rest before the big day".
With a soft smile and quiet "Hmm" in the affirmative, she gathers her leather tote and suitcase as the car pulls to a stop. With a final "Thanks", she slides out the door and into the late night.
She takes a deep breath, grateful as always for the restorative properties of the English countryside - all the more so after such a frantic trip to smoggy LA and the stale cabin air of that long flight home.
It feels crisper than she remembered. Autumn drawing in quickly now, it's a clear night with the stars out in all their majesty. She takes in the contrast of the bright almost-full moon against the inky blackness and hopes it's a good omen for the next couple of days - the British weather usually predictable only in its unpredictability.
>
She taps in the code and slips through the heavy iron side gate, tiptoeing her way over the wide expanse of the gravel drive, keen to avoid its tell-tale crunch announcing her arrival.
Weaving a path around all the cars, she keeps close to the stone wall of the house, careful to avoid tripping the security flood lights.
She spots Harry's sleek brand new black Range Rover in the far corner of the drive, noticing it's parked right alongside Ollie's identical car and smirks at the divine symmetry. She feels a ripple of excitement at proof of him being so near. Just a few more minutes and she'll be back in his arms.
>
Under the dim light of the stone porch she digs for her parents' keys in her roomy tote, then quickly steps through the heavy oak front door.
It's dark in the hall, little light seeping in from the kitchen to the back or from the living and dining rooms to either side. She pauses to check for any noise, but the house seems surprisingly quiet, given all the cars.
Stepping around towering crates of wine and spirits, she makes her way cautiously up the stairs, mindful of the notoriously creaky third and sixth steps.
At the top, she inclines her head towards the faint murmur from the den at the very far end of the landing, but heads in the other direction, to her bedroom, just in case he's turned in for the night already.
As she peers around the door frame, her big squishy bed looks oh so inviting, but not quite irresistible - he's not in it. But she feels warm and fuzzy at seeing he'd brought her bags from home. His alongside hers, but open on the floor. He's definitely here.
After Jamaica, she'd had a week in London before being called back to LA unexpectedly for meetings with Phoebe, the production team and Netflix.
Beating her back to London, he'd arrived home from Jamaica to find her waiting bags, hastily packed for the wedding a couple of weeks early - a gloomy reminder of their unanticipated extra time apart.
She's so comfortable with him that the thought of him in amongst all her stuff, settled in her childhood bedroom, taking on her big rowdy family without her, doesn't fill her with any apprehension; just a sense of contentment and an eagerness to get back to him.
So with renewed energy, she unwraps her scarf and drapes her buttery soft black leather jacket on the end of her bed post. Toeing off her black suede fringed Saint Laurent ankle boots, she flexes her toes into the plush carpet. Lithe in black leggings and a cropped sweatshirt, she reaches up in a delicious full-body stretch, popping her neck to either side.
Hearing a muffled cheer, she checks the time again - 11.53pm - before skipping down the hall with a spring in her step.
>
The heckling and hollering intensifies as she nears the door to the den; the soundproofing their Dad installed as rowdy teens only capable of masking so much. Cracking it open, she pokes her head through and takes in the sight before her.
It's noisy; music pulsing from the speakers overhead, the huge TV glowing but muted. It's chaotic; beer bottles and wine glasses scattered on the coffee table. It's warm; more people crammed in than she expected. The oversized sectional sofa seems small under so many broad-shouldered bodies. All eyes are trained on the ping pong table in the far corner, and the small crowd gathered around it.
Hers crinkle in familiarity, recognising James' sea lion cackle a mile off. But it's the man of the moment, Ben, holding court refereeing at the net.
Mer, with her arms draped around his waist, leans heavily into him, her rosy cheeks a tell-tale sign.
She can pick out Ollie as one player in an instant, his bulky silhouette as familiar as her own shadow. Two peas in a pod, quite literally.
It's over his meaty shoulder that she finally spots Harry. Paddle in hand, arms aloft and outstretched, head tipped back as he unleashes a characteristic "Ha-ha-haaa" guffaw.
The down lighter above him picks out the rich tones in his perfectly tousled hair, highlights the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, the curve of his long neck and casts shadows over the defined muscles of his arms. 'God, he's beautiful', she can't help but think, 'How did I get so lucky?'.
>
With lips pinched between her teeth to try to contain the beaming smile that threatens to spill into automatic laughter and reveal her presence, as she scans back up, her eyes lock with his. Surprise written all over his face, he smiles impossibly brighter as hers, uncontainable, breaks across her face too.
Neither notice Ollie take advantage and sneak the match point. She breaks out of their trance in surprise at the thundering boom as cheers and boos immediately resound.
Ben and Mer notice Harry's distraction and crane around to see what's captured his attention so thoroughly. In the time it takes for her to squeal with delight at no longer being quite so outnumbered, and for him to shout an excitable "Whaaaaat?", Harry has ducked and dived through the crowd and hurdled clear over the sofa to swoop her up and into his arms. Her long legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.
Voiced pitched low in her ear, awed and disbelieving, "No fucking way... You're here?".
Characteristically low and slow. He grasps her jaw and finds her smiling lips for a kiss.
>
The cheers and catcalls of the small crowd pull them apart sooner than both are ready for.
A chorus of "Eloise!", "Ellie!", "El!", "Lo!", "Lol!", "Lolly!" - every nickname under the sun, bestowed by some of her very favourite people.
Lucas is clearly heard above the din. "Oi, Styles! Three brothers, right here, man".
Reluctantly finding her feet, she rests her forehead against his and slowly flutters her lashes open to look into her favourite eyes - marbled swirls of near electric green in the spotlights from the vaulted ceiling. She locks on to his intense warm gaze and smiles again, whispering "Hi, you".
With a quick, coy glance to the watch on his arm wrapped around her shoulder, she looks back up and deep into his eyes. "Happy official Anniversary, baby... Just!".
His beaming smile and loving kiss in return make the crazily busy last few days, and torturous long journey home, more than worth it.
>
Soon set upon by the others' hugs and greetings, Eloise catches Harry whip around to question Ollie, Ben and Mer as to whether they'd known she was coming.
They'd all been lamenting her unavoidable last minute trip, missing out on the final few days in the run up to the wedding and not least their first anniversary.
They still can't agree on the exact date. Harry's adamant it has to be the fourth of July; she counters that he didn't call her his girlfriend or trade "I love you's" until late September. Now they've celebrated both dates.
Ben and Ollie are clueless, but Mer's sly smirk gives her away. "Well of course I'd know when my bridesmaid was arriving!", but hastily placates them, "But only your Dad and I knew. She wanted to surprise you!".
>
A couple of hours later, after plenty of hugs, catch ups, wine, fiercely competitive games of ping pong, raucous karaoke and even an impromptu dance-off - instigated, of course, by James and Lucas - Eloise finds herself pulled down into Harry's lap.
Snuggling into his arms, she can't help but inhale deeply after she places a tender kiss behind his ear - the last of his Tom Ford cologne blending with what is unmistakably just him.
As he turns to find her lips with his, he catches the end of the yawn she'd been trying to conceal. "Oh, babe, you're exhausted. Come on, let's go... Big couple of days ahead".
After his quick "Right, you losers, we're off to bed" and the resounding ribbing and thinly-veiled threats from her brothers, Harry is up and steering her by the shoulders towards the landing.
>
She has locked the bedroom door, switched off the lights and is peeling off her leggings by the time he emerges from the en-suite, stripped down to his boxers, toothpaste foam dribbling down his chin.
Eyeing her long bronzed legs unapologetically, he leans into the doorframe and asks, around his toothbrush, "You were vague on the phone and again back there...", before turning back to the sink and rinsing his mouth.
She has sidled up next to him by the time he pops back up to his full height. His hand curves around her pert cheek and pulls her to him, fingers dipping under the delicate lace. 'Cheeky, indeed', she thinks as she casts her eyes appreciatively over him in the mirror, checking for any changes since she'd last seen him a few weeks before.
The Dunkirk crop is long gone, but he must have had a trim in the week. The fresh cut accentuates the sharp angles of his face and jaw and pulls attention to those hypnotic eyes, but it's longer and carefully tousled on top.
His tan from his time in Jamaica is still a suspiciously deep bronze. "Do not tell me you've had a spray tan for the wedding? You're such a tart!".
"What? No!", he drawls defensively. "It's been warm; I was in the garden working on some lyrics in the week".
Still skeptical. "Hmm, I'll have to corroborate that with other sources, mister", she says playfully in a silly clipped and stuffy accent.
He raises an eyebrow comically to match her haughty expression, and squeezes her bum playfully. "Aaaanyway... Stop swerving. LA? The suspense is killing me!".
>
Turning to him, she pops a hip against the sink and looks him straight in the eye, keen to read his reaction to her news carefully.
"Well, the script is fiiiinally locked down and fully approved! The studio head was really happy with the final amends and the test screener results, so we're officially green lit. Which is amazing!".
He grips her hands in his in excitement. "No way! That's huge. You guys worked so hard to get it over the line".
"It's insane. I'm barely a year out of uni. Phoebe has been so incredible. Not just with the co-writing, but, ugh, the politics navigating all those execs, producers and agents... It's been a real eye opener".
"How so?".
"Oh, I'm sure there are similarities with labels and licensing and all that, but it can just be intimidating, you know?".
"I feel like there's a 'but' coming...? Oh, was casting sorted too?".
"Ugh, not quite. The execs couldn't agree on the final shortlist. They kept going back over and over the tapes, picking over the chemistry reads with Sandra."
"So what happens next? Another round of call-backs?".
"Well, that's the thing. They, umm, they made an offer..." She looks up at him carefully, intent on gauging his reaction. "Well, to me."
His brow crinkles in confusion as he gently grasps her arm. "El, what are you saying?".
"They want me to play her. Villanelle. Apparently they've wanted it since they saw my read on Sandra's tape. They said I got her in a way no one else came close to; but of course I do, I wrote her! But I just don't know if I'm ready for that...". She tugs a hand through her hair, pulling at the roots in anguish.
"Hey!" he steps closer into her space, and lifts a hand to each side of her jaw. "Stop that. You are incredible. With lots of experience already. You've studied acting and performing for years - even longer than you've been writing. And now you're Hollywood endorsed and green-lit! What are you really worried about, hmm?".
With a scoff, "Pshh, oh other than public humiliation, presumed nepotism... I just don't know if I'm ready for that kind of exposure? And they were pretty insistent. I'm worried the project will be at risk if I don't say yes... It'll be huge pressure as it is, just keeping up with the inevitable script edits during shooting. Attempting double duty, for my first big TV gig? I just don't know...".
"Can't say I've ever seen you not thrive under pressure, babe... What did Phoebe say?".
"Well that's just it. I can't work out if they're just swayed by her success right now with Fleabag, or if she might have had a part to play in all this. She was coy when I asked and just said I should go with my gut".
"Sounds like good advice to me. Want some more? Sleep on it. Properly; the plane doesn't count." He leans in for a sweet kiss, "I'm so, so proud of you, El".
Wrapping her arms around his neck, pressed up against him, she peppers kisses along his collarbones, as his fingers dance under her sweatshirt. "Yeah, yeah... Thank you, baby".
Looking up at him through her lashes as she pulls away, "But, umm, when you say 'sleep'...?".
He has her sweatshirt over her head, legs wrapped around his waist and is heading towards the bed before she's finished whispering sultrily in his ear.
>
He gracelessly throws her on to the squishy duvet and dives right on top of her. Peals of giggles into his neck resolve to a lingering sigh when his thumbs graze her ribs as he plants his hands. He transfers his weight to his left forearm and trails the fingertips of his right hand reverently up her arm, across her collarbone and up to her cheekbone to brush her wavy blonde hair out of her face. "Ah, there she is".
Blue locks on to green in the dim light of the room as the pad of his thumb drops to trace the arc of her lower lip. He dips his head to follow the movement with his lips; tongue following suit as she gasps into his mouth.
He flexes his hips in to hers as his teasing lips trail down her pretty neck, pressing a kiss to the hollow between her collarbones on his way down to the swell of her breasts. The fingertips of his right hand follow his lips' progress and dip under the delicate pale pink silky cups. With a little tug, he pulls them down to free her, tongue lathing her pebbled nipple before sucking gently and moving across to mouth and bite gently at the other.
Her breathing deepens as her long fingers trail over the dancing muscles of his back, up his bowed neck, to tangle in his tousled hair as she begins to writhe under his attention.
With a flex of her fingers, her nails scratching into his scalp has his mouth popping off her nipple with a soft gasp of pleasure. With a tug at his curls, she nudges his head up whilst craning hers down to meet in a steamy kiss.
His hand delves under her arched back to unclasp her bra and pull the straps from her shoulders. She lets go of his hair to fling the bra over the side of the bed, distracting him with a roll of her hips as she looks at him through long lashes. "God, I missed you".
He pulls himself up a little to align their cores; the long, thick expanse of him tenting his black boxer briefs into the silky soft scrap of her knickers. Both inhale raggedly as he shifts to grind against her, "Need you. So badly".
She runs her hand down the muscled planes of his back to dip below his waistband. As he rolls his hips again, she sinks her nails into the meat of his bum and he pulls his mouth from hers with a reverberating groan catching in his throat.
It evolves into a snigger as she pushes his boxers down, whilst trailing her toes up the back of his calf then up his inner thigh, hooking into the cotton and pulling them the rest of the way off.
"Patience, my flexible friend", he chuckles.
"Safe to say you're way past the friend zone, Styles", she sasses back.
"Hey! No need to remind me... Unnghh", he trails off, hardening even further as he strokes along silk, now unrestricted and feeling the heat emanating from her.
"Shhhh", she hushes hearing a muffled laugh from down the hall, "Everyone's still up".
With a strangled groan, he pushes up to sit back on his knees, erection bobbing against his toned stomach.
She's a goddess, he thinks; looking up at him wantonly, hair splayed around her. Entwining his hand with hers resting on the pillow over her head, he leans forward and tells her so, before capturing her lips and pouring the depth of his feelings into the kiss.
He keeps just enough of his wits about him to surreptitiously skate his right hand down, dipping a finger under the silk to find her slick and wanting. "You're so wet for me", he moans.
Hooking his fingers, he strokes up her thigh, over her bent knee and down her calf. She flicks her foot with a flourish and the silk sails across the room, ending up near the door.
Goosebumps erupt over her flushed and heated skin as he trails his hand back up. Stroking, circling, dipping, curling.
With a breathy sigh around snatched kisses and panted breaths, "Please, H-".
He melts back down over her, "I've got you, babe".
She mouths at the bulging meat of his left shoulder as he holds his weight above her. Reaching down, she strokes his silky length; impossibly hard now, the head dark pink and glistening. He can't help but grunt at her gentle squeeze before guiding him home.
As she tightens her other fingers around his hand, he lifts his head to hold her dark blue gaze as he eases gently in.
Mouth hovering just over hers, he whispers in reverence "How does that still always feel like the first time?".
After shared declarations of heartfelt "I love you's", their hips start to dance.
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