*One week later*

Harry and I had met up almost every day after that. He’d always planned some romantic date that I thought was sweet. I was beginning to feel closer to him, and I believed that we’d become pretty good friends. Of course, his perverted side was still there, and he often made very inappropriate jokes that I’d scold him for, and then we’d both end up laughing about something.

I still made time for Kate, of course. In fact, just the other day, we’d gone shopping at her favourite mall, as she’d put it. I bought a ton of stuff; meanwhile Kate had been stuck with the bill. When I realised that she hadn’t bought anything, I tried to convince her to let me return all of the things, but she’d almost screamed at me that this was her welcome present. She’d added later on that she thought that Harry would like the dresses, which made me blush madly. I couldn’t help but to feel that she was absolutely and irrevocably right though; she knew Harry inside and out, what with all the magazines she’d read about him.

Harry had kept on pestering me about the fact that he hadn’t kissed me on the lips once yet. In fact, there had been no actual kissing since that incident where he’d almost frozen to death and

I’d kissed his forehead out of pity. The most we did in public was hold hands. Harry had tried telling me that the press was getting fed up and they wanted to see some real first-base action and I’d shut him up by pulling his hood over his head and yanking the strings tight. We’d laughed like hell after that, and he hadn’t brought it up since.

It was only a week and a half until Christmas, and stores and streets were decorated with red bows and golden ornaments and lights and wreaths. I loved this time of year, where it seemed like everyone was happy about something. It felt like people took a break from being gloomy in the winter and truly appreciated beauty around them, which of course was everything on earth, in one way or another.

Now, today, I received a call on my cell phone. I looked at the caller ID and smiled, despite myself. It was Harry. “Hello?” I said, and he chuckled on the other end. “Get ready,” he told me. I’ll be at your house in ten.” I groaned and buried my face in my hands, rolling around on my bed, “I hate it when you spring dates on me like this.”

“Why?” he asked tauntingly. I sighed, “Because they’re like pop quizzes, only harder.” Harry laughed and said before hanging up,

“I’ll see you soon.” I smirked to myself, despite the fact that I had to change out of my pajamas in less than ten minutes. I quickly grabbed a bundle of clothing and made my way into the bathroom, changing. A few minutes later, I emerged dressed in gray Roots sweatpants, a black t-shirt that hugged my figure exceptionally well, and a white sweater that read “Aero” on the sleeve, in black lettering.

Then a thought came to me. I’d been so obsessed with everything that had been going on since I came to London that I hadn’t had time to check my Twitter account. I quickly bounded over to the bed and reached for my phone on the nightstand, unlocking it. I logged onto Twitter and my eyes watered suddenly when I read comments people had written on my homepage. I scanned over a few of them.

You ugly slut, someone had wrote, you’ll break his heart.

You don’t deserve him, another read.

What a skank, somebody else had typed, tramp, pure and simple. You’re probably just doing this for his money.

I didn’t notice the tears until they fell onto my sweatpants. I quickly wiped at my eyes, but more came, only replacing the fallen ones. Suddenly, it felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I took deep breaths, but my chest hurt, and I felt cramps on the sides of my torso.

Suddenly feeling flustered, I buried my face in my pillow and screamed. There was a knock on the door downstairs, followed by three rings of the doorbell, but I couldn’t answer it. I knew it was Harry, but something kept me back, crying hysterically. Then my phone rang. The caller was Harry, but I cut off his call. There was another, but I kept on pressing the “Do not answer” button. Finally, there was silence, and I could weep in peace. I sniffled and sobbed, and kept on scrolling down the comments, to see if I could find a positive one, but all I found were horrendous insults.

Suddenly, there was a knock. At first, I thought it was coming from my window, but then I realised that someone was standing on my terrace, behind the glass doors. He was frowning. Harry.

He opened my door, and I scolded myself for not locking it sooner.

Then, all of a sudden, he bore down on me, staring at me. He was probably mad that I didn’t answer the door or take any of his calls.

Then he saw how I was staring at the phone in my hands. Gently, he took it from my grasp and read over the horrendous comments. He stared at me silently, while tears continued to pour down my cheeks.

And he was there, comforting me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace. I stiffened for a moment and then hugged him back, drowning my sorrows in his shoulder, where my tears dampened his jacket. I took a deep breath. Damn, that cinnamon cologne was amazing.

I could feel Harry’s hot breath on my throat, and I suddenly envisioned him kissing my neck, but then I scolded myself for even thinking of that. His hands drew small circles on my lower back comfortably, and I was suddenly extremely grateful that he was here. I buried my face deeper into his shoulder and trembled while tears fell.

“Shh…” Harry whispered in my ear softly, and I shivered, feeling a tingle run down my spine, “Shh…it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

"Harry," I hiccupped, "Harry, I want my mom." I knew that I must've sounded like a child, but I missed my mother so much. I felt so bad about leaving my father alone while I vacationed here for a year. Everything with Harry had just distracted me. I'll admit, that's what I'd hoped for; I wanted to escape reality and break out of my abnormally long grieving period. But I hadn't wanted to forget about my mother completely. But I felt as if I had.

"I know, love," Harry consoled, "I know."

And we just sat there…

…and sat…

…and sat.

*One hour later*


“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Harry asked, staring at me. I nodded, wiping my eyes. We stood outside, on my balcony. Harry had climbed over the railing and had one foot on the tree’s branch. I put my palms on the railing and looked down at him.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I managed to get out. Harry seemed to be debating internally with himself. We stood there, in silence for a few moments, when suddenly, he jumped back toward the terrace. Before I could even speak, he was climbing back over, and I asked,

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said sternly, and I rolled my eyes. “Please Harry, just go. I don’t want you to see me like this.” He shook his head, “No…those comments are hurtful. I’m not going to let you deal with them by yourself.” For some reason, this warmed my heart, and I grabbed his shoulders, pulling him to me. He wrapped his arms around me in a hug, and I buried my face into his chest, breathing in his scent.

“Thank you,” I breathed. Harry pulled back and held my at arm’s length, scrutinizing me. “See?” he said suddenly, “You look terrible.” I barked out a laugh, “Thanks.” He looked sheepish,

“Well, it’s true. You look like you’ve lost everything in your life. I’m not going to leave you and let you become depressed over the opinions of a few.”

“A few?” I asked, “Harry, did you see how many comments there were?” He nodded, “Of course I did. But look at this,” he fished his phone out of his pocket and grabbed my hand, leading me back into my bedroom. There, we lay down on my bed, side by side. He turned and stared at me, and then handed me his unlocked phone.

He was already logged into Twitter, and positive comments had shown up on his homepage.

“I deleted the negative comments,” he explained gently, “There were way more positive than negative, trust me.” I took the phone from his hands and examined his page, scrolling down the screen with my thumb.

You guys are the cutest couple ever! somebody had wrote.

Oh my gosh, Harry, you’d better take good care of her! She looks like she’s worth it, I read in another post. There were a hundred other comments, and I skimmed each one of them. Harry watched me read, a small smirk growing on his face. I smiled at him gratefully, handing the phone back to him, where I grabbed his hand and squeezed. He propped his head up on his elbow and stared down at me, and his eyes seemed to glimmer.

“Thank you,” I said again, and Harry stroked the inside of my palm with his thumb. He leaned forward, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he veered his head to the right and said close to my ear, “See? There’s a lot more positive in the world. Three quarters of my fans love you. Those are the real fans.”

I nodded, very aware that his lips were brushing the skin below my ear. He pulled back and looked at me expectantly, and I sighed,

“I’m not going to kiss you, you horny bastard.” He laughed a deep rich laugh, and my face warmed. Once he was done chuckling, he stared at me for a few moments until I shifted uncomfortably and sat up, “You really need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he challenged, and he wiggled his eyebrows at me. I pointed at him, “That! You make me so uncomfortable when you stare at me that way.”

“Oh really?” Harry asked, and he opened his eyes super wide, “Like this?” I laughed gently and crossed my legs, “No, not exactly.” Harry grinned up at me and grabbed onto my arm, pulling me back down, “Come lie down again. It was more comfortable when you were next to me.”

“You just want to get laid,” I protested, and he laughed. Without warning, he sprung onto me and I was trapped under his body.

“Would it really be so bad?” he asked, batting his eyelashes innocently. I laughed, “Yes,” I said, and I sternly put my hands on his chest and pushed him off of me, “And don’t be a flirt.”
He chuckled and I sat up again, resuming my previous position, my legs crossed. I could feel his gaze burning into my back. “What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly. I shrugged, “Nothing much…” I trailed off, “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you. And I’m getting paid for it.”

My stomach lurched as I said those words, very aware that I was spilling a very intimate thought to him. I’d only added the last part because I didn’t want to seem cheesy. But when I looked over at Harry, I saw that his eyes were sparkling mischievously. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “Just thinking about how much I want to kiss you right now.” I laughed, feeling extremely nervous. I could feel my heart speed up and I shoved my hands under my legs, very aware that they’d begun to shake. “Stop being horny,” I scolded him, “Today it’s kissing, tomorrow it’s sexual innuendos.”

Harry laughed, “Please, I already spoil you with sexual innuendos. Like now, for example, we’re sitting on your bed, we’re alone in the house, and you’re feeling particularly vulnerable…I could easily take advantage of you.”

“Would you?” I asked quietly, suddenly serious, “Be honest.”
He shrugged, “Maybe if I’d just met you. But now that I know you better, and I consider us to be friends, I don’t think so.” He shook his head to emphasize his point, and a warm feeling coursed through my body.

“That’s sweet,” I told him, and I fell back on my bed, staring up at the night sky painted on the ceiling. I felt Harry shift, and a moment later, the bed rose slightly. I looked to the side and found that he’d rolled off. He now stood, looking down at me, a smirk playing on his lips as he beckoned me forward. “Come on,” he said, “I want to show you something.”

Harry’s P.O.V

“This is nice,” Isabelle commented quietly as we entered the banquet hall. It was set to become the ultimate Winter Wonderland. The ceiling and walls were painted white, the floor a smooth hardwood. The stage to my right was decked with wreaths and ornaments hung from the ceiling, glinting in the light from the crystal chandeliers. There was a grand piano in the corner, and a dance floor, with a DJ booth at the head of the room. To my left, there was a bar.

Many workers dressed in bowties and formal vests bustled around, hanging up more decorations or setting tables, fiddling with the lighting and checking the microphones on the stage. I vaguely noticed people hanging mistletoe.

I turned to Isabelle and she stared up at me. “Harry?” she asked, “What is this?”

“Well,” I said, somewhat proudly, “This is an annual Christmas banquet that I’ve been invited to. I received an invitation about a month ago. I wasn’t planning on going with a girlfriend, but now that I have one, why not?”

Isabelle blushed, “Are you saying that I’m invited?” I shrugged,

“You can turn me down,” I remarked, “But honestly,” I leaned forward and took her hand, noticing that people had stopped working and were busy ogling us. She seemed to notice too, because she put on her widest smile. “I don’t think it’ll sit too well with them,” I finished.

She nodded, “I’d be honored,” she said in an accent, and I snorted.

“That,” I told her, “Gets more and more terrible each time you attempt it,” I paused as she giggled and then continued, “So what do you say?” I asked.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” she told me, and for a moment, I thought I detected some sincerity in her voice…I had to be imagining, right?

“Good,” I said, and then I cocked my head towards the workers,

“So how about we give them a show? Just a little PDA, hm?” She shook her head, smiling, teasing me. “I’m not going to kiss you,” she said, “But I’ll do something else.”

Her hand came up and brushed some hair out of my eyes, sweeping it across my forehead. Everywhere she touched, electricity danced across my skin. The people watching faded away, and suddenly, all I wanted to do was kiss her.

Don’t be ridiculous. She doesn’t like you.

But the longing was still there. It was slow, but over the week, I’d noticed that I’d started thinking about Isabelle a lot more often. Right when I woke up, I would imagine her lying beside me…preferably naked. When I fell asleep at night, she was in my dreams. I’d often woken up, feeling a strong sense of wanting. And when I was with her, and we joked around, I’d felt pangs in my chest. I don’t know what was happening, but I was beginning to think that I was genuinely starting to feel attracted towards this girl. Stupid, right?

“When is it?” Isabelle asked, jarring me out of my thoughts. I looked down at her, momentarily forgetting that she was here.

“Um,” I said nervously, but then I cleared my throat, “The day after tomorrow.”

“What?” she shrieked, and waiters and waitresses looked over at us. She cringed and lowered her voice. “What?” she repeated,

“Why would you tell me this late? I have no time to get ready!” I snorted, “Please. All you need is a sexy dress and tall heels that make your legs look long.” She shook her head in disgust, “That is the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

I grinned at her and grabbed her arm, tugging her away from the banquet hall. We ran through the lobby and outside, laughing loudly. The chilly air hit us, and I looked over at Isabelle, finding her to be staring up at me, her cheeks red, and her breath emerging from her mouth in a puffy cloud.

“Are you blushing?” I asked. “No,” she told me, fiddling with her jacket sleeve. “I’m just cold.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, and she smacked my arm, “I am! Now take me back home.”

“Is this your way of asking me to sleep with you?” I teased, and she rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said, “If I’d wanted to sleep with you, you would know it.” This type of talk got me excited, and I laughed, “Are you letting me know it?”

“In your dreams.”

“You said it.”

“I didn’t think you were so smart!”

“I’m offended.”

“That was my intention.”

“Gee thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled up at me and we began walking over to the car that was parked waiting. Isabelle slid in and I followed. I looked at her, clutching the keys in my hand. “So,” I began, “How about a little back-seat action?”

She snorted, “You are the most disgusting person I have ever met in my life.” I grinned at her, “Thanks! I try.” She giggled but then looked up at me seriously. “Honestly, if I kiss you, will it shut you up?”

“My lips will be glued shut,” I answered, and she rolled her eyes, “If only that were the case every day.” I groaned, “Are you going to kiss me or not?” she seemed to think about it. I could almost hear the gears in her head clicking and whirring. Or maybe that was my head. Whatever the case, she pursed her lips and shook her head.

“No Harry. I’m sorry.”

“Kiss me,” I said, my voice rising playfully. “Kiss me kiss me kiss me!” She laughed. “Shut up, you asshole!”

I screamed those two words the whole ride back.

Notes

Please rate, comment, subscribe and vote! I know that people are reading this! Please help me get this to ten votes! Special shout-out goes to the first person who comments! Mwah! :)