Second Chapter. Read and Comment :) Please give me feedback below. And if you comment or vote, thank you, I love you ;)
Madeline
“So you’re, like, from South America?” Ruby, asked me. I remembered her name because her nails matched it; they were claw-like and bright red. She was a model for Burberry, like Isabelle.
I shook my head. “No. I’m from North Carolina, which is in the Southern part of the U.S,” I said slowly. I was trying to be gracious like my Grandmother but it was proving to be hard when Ruby kept asking me dumb questions. Did she honestly not know where America was?
“Okay,” Ruby murmured. It was clear that I had just confused her more. She nodded slowly, trying to process the information.
So far, Ruby was the only person at this party—yes, party, that had actually been nice to me, including my own cousin. The second we had been seated, Isabelle left me alone at one end of the table while she socialized and tossed her hair. Originally, I had thought this was going to be a small get-together with Isabelle’s closest friends. Turns out it was just an excuse for Isabelle to throw a party—there were at least forty people here. Isabelle had only talked to me once—to tell me that I'd "Better not spill anything on that dress. It's Valentino."
If I'd known there would be this many people here, I never would've agreed to come. Isabelle's friends were all so...beautiful. I felt shy and inferior. Most of all, I felt hurt. Isabelle had promised that she'd introduce me to all of her friends, but now she was acting like I was her kid cousin that she was stuck babysitting.
Ruby—obviously bored with our conversation—got up and left, leaving me alone at the table once more. I was almost relieved; Ruby was about as interesting as a paper bag. I watched Isabelle at the other end of the room. She was obviously trashed; she was on her fifth glass of champagne. But even when she was drunk, she still managed to look like the picture of grace and beauty. She was laughing at something one of her model friends had said. Suddenly, I felt incredibly lonely.
I didn’t fit in here.
The heels Isabelle had given me hurt horribly. They were causing my feet to swell. To make matters worse, they were part of the reason everyone was ignoring me. I had tripped and fell over my feet the second I got through the door. I just wanted to rip the sparkly silver material off and throw them at someone’s head.
My stomach growled, reminding me how hungry I was. Turns out that French restaurants serve the tiniest portions. My meal, although delicious, had left me starving. Maybe that was why Isabelle liked to come here so much. She doesn’t eat. I just wanted a cheeseburger or a cone of Cotton Candy Ice Cream like the ones they sold at the CVS down the street from my Grandparent's house in North Carolina.
I checked my phone. How much longer was I going to have to be here? I just wanted to go back to Isabelle's flat, change into my footie pajamas with the little reindeer on them, curl up on the couch and watch The Big Bang Theory.
Ironically, the only person who looked more miserable than I did was Harry Styles himself. He was sitting next to Isabelle with a distant expression on his face. Every couple of minutes he would look at the clock, as if he couldn’t wait to get out of here. He wasn’t talking to anybody and he hadn’t even taken a sip of his champagne. I studied him curiously. His unkemp curls and multiple tattoos contrasted with his "pretty boy" image. I wondered if he knew how to change a tire.
As if he knew I was watching him, he turned to look at me and his green eyes met mine. Electricity scissored up my spine. I quickly looked away. I could feel the heat blooming on my cheeks as I rearranged my silverware for the eighth time.
There was a loud cackle from across the room and I groaned. One of Isabelle’s friends Scott—no, Scooter--had the most obnoxious laugh. It was giving me a headache every time he opened his mouth. He sounded like Ursula from The Little Mermaid.
Then it occurred to me to stop complaining to myself and actually do something about my situation. If Isabelle wanted to ignore me that was her business. I had just arrived here in London, and I was going to explore. Now.
I had to get out with Isabelle seeing me, though. I knew that if I told her, she would just make a big deal out of it. I would just sneak out, go for a little stroll around London, and be back before anyone even noticed I was gone.
I pushed back my chair and walked through the mingling people to the door of the private room we were in, glancing over at Isabelle as I went. I reached the door, quietly opened it and slipped through, closing it behind me to face the main part of the restaurant. I hurried towards the front doors, my pace quickening as I reached the waiting room. Now I just had to get my coat from the attendant and I was home free!
“Madeline?” a deep British accent called.
No. No. No.
I turned to face the owner of the voice. It was Harry. He stood tall, over six-foot, with a lean, athletic body, muscular arms, and mesmerizing green eyes. He leaned against the wall, ruffling his trademark curls with one hand. His eyebrows were cocked, and a smirk was gracing his full lips, “Where are you going?” he asked, suspicion evident in his tone.
“The bathroom?” It came out sounding like a question. I squirmed uncomfortably under his intense gaze. He was unnervingly handsome, I realized with a start.
His red lips curved into a cheeky smile, “Bathroom is that way, love,” he jerked his thumb towards a sign marked 'toilettes pour dames' which I knew meant 'ladies room' in French. "I would know, I come here at least twice a month,” he continued, his smirk turning the corner into a frown.
“You must really like French food." I said shyly.
He laughed, flashing dimples carved deep into his cheeks, “I hate it. But Isabelle loves it so I usually bring her here.”
I cast my eyes downwards, avoiding his gaze. “I'd better go,” I smiled apoligetically, stumbling away from Harry towards the restroom. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
“You’re trying to escape aren’t you?” Harry asked. His cheeky grin had grown wider. Realizing he was more amused than accusatory, I nodded, deciding to just admit to the truth.
"Don't tell. Please." I pleaded with him. He chuckled, as if giving me away to Isabelle was the last thing he'd think of doing.
“I won't. But only if you let me come with you," he rasped, the words slipping from his lips smoothly.
“You want to come with me?” I was surprised.
He nodded. He was toying with me, I knew. His smirk said he was used to getting what he wanted. He trailed his thumb along his prominent jawline, "Mmm. You are a shy one, aren't you?"
I didn't reply. He seemed to think he had me all figured out. I however, couldn't read him at all. He was unreadable.
“Oh, come on,” Harry said, jutting his bottom lip out in a childlike manner.
I looked up at him with wide eyes and Harry gave me a saucy grin, realizing that he had won. He knew I had given in to his charms.
Without replying, I brushed past him, towards the coat rack to gather my things. I could feel Harry's eyes on me.
"Are you coming or not?" I asked him, raising my eyebrows and turning before he could reply. I heard his footsteps following after me.
"Or maybe you're not as shy as I thought."
I quickly put my coat on over my dinner dress while Harry peered out the front window.
“We'll have to go out back.” he said. “The press are out there.” I stepped over to the window and he pointed. Sure enough, there were at least eight men with cameras outside, waiting for a celebrity to leave so they could snap some pictures and attract attention. I hadn't thought of that.
"You lead the way."
He smiled mysteriously, and held out his hand. I stared at it for a couple of seconds, before placing my smaller one on top.
His fingers were warm and my skin tingled under his touch. I ignored the feeling and let him lead me back through the restaurant to the emergency exit. He pushed open the door and the icy wind hit my face. I jumped back. I wasn’t used to this kind of cold.
We stepped out into a back alley. The door shut and locked behind us, and I flinched at the sound of the automatic lock clicking. It was completely dark, pitch black even. Who knew what creepy things were lurking out here? More to the point, could I really trust Harry?
His warm hand was still enveloping mine. He walked forward into the dark and I followed him. Suddenly, I felt myself wobble in my heels. I would’ve tumbled into the street if Harry hadn’t caught me.
“You really are clumsy,” he chuckled huskily. His face was inches from mine. I could feel his hot breath on my cheeks. I wiggled away from him, glad he couldn’t see how pink my face was in the dark.
“It’s these heels,” I said and he laughed again. He had a nice laugh. Deep and throaty, with dimples and everything.
“You can hold on to me,” he replied, leading me forward into the dark alley, "I won't bite."
“If a bear jumps out and attacks us, I’m blaming you,” I told Harry, feeling colder and colder with every step I took.
“There are no bears in London, love,” Harry snickered, “You are a piece of work aren’t you?”
“Me?" Came my indignant reply in the dark. I stumbled again, and Harry steadied me.
“You’re hopeless,” he said, but I could hear the smile in his voice, "Madeline." He said my name, trying it out.
We made our way back to the lit streets and I breathed a sigh of relief once we were safely back on the sidewalk. People hurried past us; late night shopping, popping in and out of clubs, pubs and restaurants.
“I know this great little coffee shop down the street,” Harry said, “I'll buy you something to warm you up.” He flashed me a wonderful smile, one that had my heart beating a little faster and my cheeks warming even with the cold London air brushing against them.
Harry noticed my blush, and he laughed. I bit my lip with embarassment, and peered at the lit-up window displays.
I realized that he was still holding my hand and I pulled my hand out of his grasp, my embarassment heightening. Isabelle would not be happy if she saw me holding hands with her boyfriend who I’d met like, two hours ago.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, putting his own hand in his pocket, and looking away from me, down the street.
“It’s alright,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself. London was pretty, but not in the same way as North Carolina. I missed home.
"How old are you, Madeline?" Harry asked, curiosity burning at the back of his green eyes.
"Seventeen." The wind blew my long hair around my face. I pushed it back with one hand.
"I'm eighteen. Almost nineteen."
He certainly didn't look eighteen-almost-nineteen.
"You're younger than Isabelle." I realized out loud and he laughed and indescribable laugh, deep and husky. I blushed again. What was he doing to me? I'd always been shy, but Harry made my shyer.
"You really don't know anything about me, do you?"
"Should I?" Our eyes met. He tossed his curls to the side and blinked at me with his long lashes. Still smirking. I'd never seen a smirk so--smirkish.
"Oh," I said then, feeling stupid. Of course I should. He was famous. One of the most lusted after males in the world. Most girls knew everything about him; how many tattoos he had painted onto his skin and how he liked his eggs cooked.
"In here," he said after a long, acute pause, and held open the door to the coffee shop, it's awning painted a soft brown.
“Harry!”
The barista, a stout woman with graying hair come over to give Harry a hug. I stood there awkwardly while they embraced, then Harry turned to me. It appeared that even old ladies loved Harry.
“Cynthia, meet Madeline. Madeline, this is Cynthia. She owns this place.”
“Hi, Cynthia,” I said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hi Madeline, dear, you look cold,” she replied, smiling kindly.
“Want anything? It’s my treat,” Harry grinned at me, sliding some cash across the counter.
I decided on a hot chai tea and Harry got plain coffee. We slid in to a cozy booth towards the back of the coffee shop, him facing me. There weren’t many people here, but there was fire going in a little fireplace next to us. It was the homiest place I had been since arriving in London just a few short hours before.
“So, Madeline. What brings you to London? It can't be the weather.” Harry asked.
“I have a scholarship. To the Royal Ballet here in London. And you can call me Maddie. Everybody does,” I told him.
"Maddie." his voice was like velvet, "It suits you."
I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but Cynthia appeared by our booth.
“Here’s your drinks,” Cynthia set down a piping hot chai tea in front of me. It smelled like cinnamon —yum.
"So you're a ballerina, then, Maddie?" Harry questioned when Cynthia left.
"Yes. Thank you for the drink."
He nodded and sipped his coffee. He drank it black, no cream or sugar.
I blurted the question that had been burning at the back of my brain for a while now, "Why did you want to come with me?" I couldn't understand it. Why on Earth would he choose this tiny coffee shop over being with his beautiful girlfriend at a cocktail party?
His shoulders stiffened. He studied me, biting his bottom lip.
"That party was boring. But you're not." He paused and licked his lips. HIs green irises darted over my face. "You intrigue me."
"Oh." I couldn't quite make out what he meant by that. Angus and Julia Stone crooned softly through the speakers overhead.
"I love this song," I whispered, rubbing my thumb against the edge of the wooden table and avoiding eye contact with the man sitting across from me.
"Chocolates and Cigarettes." Harry named the piano ballad with a small smile. I was surprised that he knew the song. It was a song about making mistakes.
I tried not to smile and failed. He softly laughed, "Tell me about yourself. So far all I know is that you're a ballerina and you have a great taste in music."
So I did. I told him about North Carolina and dancing and how much I hated the high heels I was wearing. He listened and laughed and made charming comments.
Despite my own hesitation, I found myself liking him and his stupid dimples more and more, "What about you?" I questioned, wondering how exactly I'd ended up here.
"What about me?"
"You know all about me, but I know nothing about you," I blinked at him, inhaling the scents of cinnamon and rain that surrounded us in the coffee shop.
"I'm Harry. Plain and simple." His gaze met mine, and for once, he didn't smirk. Somehow, I doubted that anything about Harry was plain or simple.
"Can you change a tire?" I blurted. My Grandfather always told me that you should never trust a man who couldn't change a tire.
Harry raised his eyebrows, a chuckle falling from his lips.
"Yes, Maddie. I can change a tire."
"Oh." I gave him a little smile over my tea, "Good."
He just laughed and shook his head. The sound made my heart thrum a bit faster.
****
We'd been in the coffee shop for almost an hour when Harry smiled largely, an idea sparkling at the back of his green eyes. “You’ve never been to London before?”
I nodded, wondering the relevance of this.
“I have an idea,” he said with a mischievious smirk. “Finish your tea, I have somewhere I want to take you,” was all Harry said.
And that was how I ended up standing in front of the London Eye at 11:02 with Harry Styles. It was beginning to snow, soft little flakes that fell on my eyelashes and made my nose turn red. Harry grabbed my hand and I let him pull me over to the line to get onto the eye.
“Harry, what are we doing?” I asked him. This was crazy. I hadn’t even been in London for a day and already I had been halfway across town with a guy that I barely even knew. He lived in London, when he wasn't on tour with his band. So he'd taken it upon himself to show me around. He made quite an attractive tour guide.
“I figured you haven’t seen much of London, yet. So what better way to see London than on the London Eye? With me.” Harry looked down at me with laurel colored eyes. He really was charming. I didn't want to refuse, but I didn't want to face Isabelle's wrath. She had quite a temper.
“Harry, I can't. I need to get back to Isabelle. We’ve already been away from the party for two hours. She’s going to be furious,” I told him softly.
For one perfect second, his green eyes were locked with my hazel ones. I couldn’t look away. It was if there was a force holding me there, locked in his gaze.
“Trust me,” he said, “She’s probably so trashed she hasn’t even noticed. Come on, Maddie. We’re already in line. We might as well do it.”
I smiled, agreeing without words. He gave me a sexy, lopsided grin. He was probably very used to girls giving him whatever he wanted.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. Isabelle’s name flashed across the screen.
“It’s Isabelle,” I told Harry, who was looking at me curiously.
I couldn’t bring myself to hit ignore, so I answered the call.
“Madeline, where the hell are you?” Isabelle barked through the phone. I was right. She was furious.
“Um,” I said meekly, “I’m at the London Eye.”
“What are you doing? How could you leave without even telling me?” Isabelle hissed.
"I—"
“And where is Harry? Is he with you?” Isabelle interrupted, suspicion crawling in her voice.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Harry. My boyfriend. Surely I've mentioned him once or twice."
Let me talk to her, Harry mouthed at me, and I handed it over to him.
“Isabelle? Yeah—,“ Harry started. I heard Isabelle yelling at him through the phone, interrupting him every time he tried to get a word in. Harry ran a hand through his curls, and pushed them to the side, turning his back to me.
“Why does it even matter? I’m just taking her on the London Eye. She’s never been here before,” Harry argued.
I could hear Isabelle’s muffled voice, “I know that, Harry. She's my cousin.”
“Then why does it matter?” Harry’s voice was rising. I had a feeling this really had nothing to do with me and had to do with something else.
“Because if the press see you two together it will look bad,” Isabelle snapped at him. I recognized the sharp tone in her voice. Isabelle was not someone who you wanted on your bad side.
“Of course that’s all you care about,” Harry voice lowered dangerously. He turned over his shoulder to glance at me as though he didn’t want me to hear.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Unlike Harry, Isabelle’s voice was getting louder.
“You know.” Harry growled. I felt like a kid listening to her parents bicker.
Isabelle mumbled something I couldn’t hear and Harry hung up, handing me back my phone. He looked awful miffed. His green eyes had a hint of sadness in them.
“She says to tell you she’ll be here in five minutes,” Harry told me, rocking back on his heels.
“So I guess that means we can’t go on the London Eye,” I looked from the giant, ferris wheel like structure to him.
“We’ll go,” he said, “Before I go on tour with the boys.”
"Really?" I asked naively.
"I promise."
I knew right away that he wouldn't keep his promise. He was a celebrity. He was extremely busy. He had award shows, and concerts and interviews. He had a billion famous friends. But I found myself nodding anyway. We stepped out of the line for the London Eye and walked over to the sidewalk. It was still snowing, fine little flakes that settled on my coat and hair.
Harry must have known what I was thinking, because he placed a hand on my back and bent his head so his mouth was right next to my ear. His lips brushed my soft skin and sent chills up my spine.
"I always keep my promises."
My lips parted and I blushed furiously. He laughed his raspy laugh. His warm hand guided me to the curb.
I immediately recognized the Rolls Royce as it pulled over to the curb. I reached for the door, but Harry, always the gentlemen, reached it first.
"Bye, Maddie," he crooned, closing the door behind me. Our eyes met through the glass, and he winked before turning away.
Isabelle got out the other door, walking around so she could talk to him. I watched them curiously, but then averted my eyes when he leaned down and kissed her. I pretended to be immersed with twitter on my phone and tried to ignore the guilt in the pit of my stomach.
After about five minutes, Isabelle got back in the car. She looked happy, her red lips curving into a smile. On the other side of my window, Harry waved to her before stepping away so Dave could pull out from the curb.
“Isabelle, I’m so sorry I ran off without telling you. It was so irresponsible and—“ I started.
“It’s fine,” Isabelle chirped, waving me off, “Just next time you decide to go traipsing around all of London with my boyfriend, tell me first.”
“I wasn’t—“
“Save it Maddie. It's a lovely night, don’t go ruining it with your excuses,” Isabelle flipped her buttery blonde hair, which had managed to stay perfect all evening, over her shoulder before turning away from me towards her window.
I turned towards my window and stared out into the London night. The headlights of the cars made pretty pictures when they hit the falling snow. It was magical, like little beams of sparkles falling into the road. London had this surreal feel to it, like it was out of a storybook.
Too bad all I wanted to do was go home.
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