Kate’s P.O.V

The next day, Isabelle and I browsed clothing racks at a small corner shop boutique down the street from my house. Isabelle groaned. “There’s nothing good here.” I smiled at her, “Patience young grasshopper. I came here all the time. They have great things; you just have to find them.”

“Kate,” Isabelle whined. “The banquet is tomorrow. I don’t have time to be patient.” I chuckled as she held up a black dress. “What about this?”

“No,” I shook my head, “You’re not going to a funeral. You’re going to a festive celebration being held in honour of Jesus Christ. You need to look festive.” Isabelle sighed, “Then why are we looking in the darks section?”

“Good point,” I said, and we quickly moved to the other end of the store, where I could spot red and green. Isabelle held up a red dress, “How about this?”

“Ew,” I said, “That would make you look like an old lady.” Isabelle quickly hung the dress back up and stomped her foot, “Well sorry! I’m not the fashion expert here. Why don’t you just look by yourself?”

“No need,” I said, my eyes growing wide, “I just found something.” I held up a green dress for her to see. It was strapless with a small green belt going around just below the breasts. It wasn’t poufy, but the bottom part felt soft, and I immediately fell in love with it. Isabelle must have too, because she squealed. “Oh, Kate! It’s gorgeous!”

“Right?” I asked, “And it’s your favourite colour! And it matches Harry’s eyes.” At the mention of Harry, Isabelle, looked confused,

“What does Harry have to do with any of this?” I gaped at her,

“Don’t you want to look nice for him?” Isabelle quieted down and began taking an interest in several other dresses on the rack. Her cheeks were bright pink.

“Belle?” I asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, but her voice sounded clogged. I edged closer to her, grinning madly. “Oh God! I know that face. You totally like him!”

“No I don’t!” she said, but her eyes told the whole truth. I squealed,

“Yes you do! You like him! This is great!” She rolled her eyes, “I don’t like him Kate!” she tried to tell me, but I cut her off, “Yeah you do! Don’t try lying.”

She held my gaze for a long time before her eyes dropped. I grinned victoriously. “See? I told you!”

“I do like him,” Isabelle told me, “But only a little. Please don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” “Nothing?” I gaped, “You like Harry Styles. I can`t not make a big deal out of it! And between me and you,” my voice dropped to a whisper, “I think he likes you too.”

At that, my sister looked up at me; “Really?” she asked quietly, “It doesn’t seem like it.” My jaw dropped. How could it not seem like it? “Are you kidding?” I asked, “He almost died of hypothermia for you. He took you on a picnic. He keeps being suggestive. Are you blind?”

Isabelle laughed, “I guess you’re right.”

“I am,” I said earnestly. “Now, we’ll talk about this later. Right now, go try on this dress.”

Isabelle’s P.O.V

The doorbell rang and I screamed, “Bye Kate!” there was a muffled reply and I hurried barefoot down the steps. I quickly opened the door, only to find Harry behind it. He was holding an umbrella while water pelted down all around him. “I didn’t realise it was raining!” I yelled over a sudden clap of lightning.

He nodded, “It is! You look nice!” I tried not to blush. I’d ended up buying that green dress. It was gorgeous. I’d straightened my hair so that it hung in a brown glossy curtain down my back. I was wearing dark eye shadow, black liner, and black mascara, making my eyes look smoky. “Thanks!” I shouted, slipping into a pair of black pumps and shrugging on a small cardigan. I stepped outside under Harry’s umbrella and stared at him. His hair was the same as always, an unruly mess of curls. He wore an impeccable black suit with a green tie, and I noticed that we matched.

He smirked at me, “Are you going to close the door?”

“Right!” I yelled, and he grinned. I grasped the knob and tugged the door shut. Harry crooked his arm and I snaked my elbow through. Paparazzi crowded around us as we made our way to the black stretch limo that was waiting for us. Photographers yelled over the rain, and eventually, we reached the limo and Harry opened the door for me. I slid in.

Harry came in beside me as I studied the limo. He shook out his hair and closed the umbrella, pulling the car door closed. “Damn paps,” he growled, and I smirked. “You’re famous. What do you expect?”

“You’re famous too now,” he pointed out, and I buried my face in my hands, “Don’t remind me.” He chuckled as his eyes raked down my body, and I shifted uncomfortably. “You look nice,” he said, and my heart began beating faster, “You already said that,” I told him, trying to downplay the intimacy. I noticed that none of his bandmates were here. “Where is everyone?” I asked, and Harry grinned. “I got us a private limo. Just in case you wanted to get frisky.” I rolled my eyes. “If you say anything else like that, I will leave.” He grinned and his eyes flicked upwards. I followed his gaze and found that strapped to the inside roof of the limo, directly above us, something hung, green and beckoning.

MISTLETOE.

“No,” I said abruptly. He grinned, “It’s bad luck if you don’t kiss under the mistletoe.” I sneered, “I’ll take my chances.”

“Aw come on,” Harry grinned, knowing that this was making me uncomfortable, “Rules are rules.” I shook my head, and he rolled his eyes, “I’m going to keep bothering you.” I made an exasperated sound and suddenly felt a pang within my chest. Just then, I realised something. I wanted to kiss Harry. I wanted to.

But I was still afraid, so I shook my head free of those thoughts and smacked my hand against his mouth. Without hesitation, I jolted forward, kissing the back of my hand. I pulled back, smiling satisfactorily. “There.”

Harry groaned but I shook my head. “Too bad.” I laughed and sat back down as the car began to move. Staring straight ahead, I hid my hands under my legs to keep Harry from seeing them shake.

Harry ripped the mistletoe down and cursed, and I giggled. He rolled his eyes playfully and we sat through the ride in silence.
When we reached the banquet hall, paparazzi surrounded the car.

Harry grabbed my hand and stared at me, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” I said, and he opened the door, pushing through the people. At some points, I lost sight of him, but my hand stayed locked in his. His hand was big, and his palm was soft, and every so often, he would squeeze to let me know that he was there. I looked down and smiled, despite myself.

Finally, we pushed through the doors to the banquet, and I smiled, remembering how beautiful it had been. It was even nicer now. My head turned up to marvel at the ceiling’s crystal chandeliers that glinted. Harry grinned and led me to the bar, where we each sat on a stool. We were a respectable distance away from each other, but

Harry quickly scooted his seat closed to me. I glared at him disapprovingly.

“Hey,” he held up his hands, “You have to do this. This is like a test, where you have to make it believable.”

"Yay,” I groaned, “My first big quiz.”

Harry grinned and turned to the bartender, who had just walked up to us. He leaned over the counter, “Two martinis please.” The bartender grunted and whisked away to prepare our drinks. I turned back to Harry. “How do you know that I wanted a martini?”

He shrugged, “You just look like a martini sort of girl.” I nodded, pursing my lips, “Mm. You’re right. What else do I look like?”

“An angel?” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I groaned. “You just can’t stop being suggestive even for a moment, can you?” I asked, but secretly, I liked it…a lot. Harry laughed, “Hey, it’s the whole package deal.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed, turning back and leaning my forearms against the counter just as the bartender returned. “Voici ton martini, mademoiselle.”

“French huh?” I asked, “Very well. Merci beaucoup monsieur. Vous êtes si gentil.”

Harry gaped at me as the bartender smiled and walked away.

“You know French?” he asked. “Surprised?” I grinned, “I’m bilingual. Does that shock you?” He thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. “Surprisingly, no. What country are you from?”

“I’m Italian,” I explained, “But I know French and English. I can’t speak in Italian for my life. It sucks.” Harry shook his head.

“Actually, I think learning two languages is hard enough.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, for you.”

“Hey!” he said, lifting his martini to his lips. I giggled and took a sip as well, and Harry grabbed my hand. I tried to look at him disapprovingly, but all I managed was a smile. Harry leaned forward, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but no, he just veered off to the side and murmured in my ear, his boiling breath sending chills down my back. “How about we get out of here?”

“We just got here,” I replied in a whisper. I tried to refrain from letting my eyelids droop when I smelled his musky cologne.

Damn, it smelled good.

“So?” I could almost feel him smirking. I rolled my eyes, “You’re loving this aren’t you?” I heard him chuckled, “Actually, I’m looking directly at the press right now, and they seem to be loving it even more.”

I rolled my eyes again when Harry suddenly spoke, “I like this song. Want to dance?” I ripped my hand out of his, “Um…” I stuttered, looking for a quick lie, “I can’t dance.” Harry scoffed,

“Don’t lie. I looked you up, Miss National Soloist.”

“You Googled me?” I asked disbelievingly. “Hey,” he held up his hands, “I need to know who I’m dating.” Maybe I just heard wrong or maybe I just interpreted it wrong, but he didn’t say fake. He said “dating”, no fake before or after. And my heart somersaulted in my chest for a moment, until I realised that he didn’t like me.

Harry seemed to see that my face had dropped, because he brushed some hair out of my eyes, probably for the press, and said, “Hey, you okay?” I nodded, putting on a neutral face, “Yeah, of course,” I grabbed his hand, “Let’s dance.”

I led him onto the dance floor, a good ten feet from where the DJ booth stood. A man in his twenties was behind the booth, spinning records slowly and adjusting the sound. Soft music streamed from enormous speakers at the ends of the stage, and

Harry quickly pulled me to him. I put my hands on his shoulders, and his hands slid down to my waist.

“Keep your hands on my hips,” I scolded as I felt his fingers glide even lower on my torso, “Or you won’t have them anymore.” Harry oohed and laughed wholeheartedly. “Don’t lie…you liked it.” He was right; deep down, in the center of my heart; I kind of wished he’d touch me like he couldn’t bear to take his hands away from me all the time. Stupid.

I looked up and stared into Harry’s deep green eyes. He stared back into mine as we swayed and took small steps in time with the music. He cocked an eyebrow, “What are you thinking of?” he asked me. I shrugged, “Nothing in particular. Just how good of a dancer you are.” Harry chuckled and without warning I was spun around. He pulled me closer than before, so there was no space in between us, and our bodies crushed the inches that separated them. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning my face. I sighed softly and then blushed.

I shifted my hands uncomfortably on Harry’s shoulders, and almost subconsciously, he grabbed my right hand and twirled me around again, and I smiled at him, giggling softly, “You’re quite the ballroom dancer,” I remarked. He shrugged, “You’re not so bad yourself, Miss National Soloist.”

“Don’t call me that,” I sighed.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because. I don’t like it when people know about things like that. I mean sure, I’m proud of it, but I don’t want to seem like I have a big ego. I don’t want people to treat me differently,” I took a deep breath as I finished, and Harry pursed his lips. “I treat you differently,” he pointed out. I shrugged, “That’s different. You don’t treat me like royalty.”

“I can if you want,” he smirked. “Just shut up,” I sighed. I pulled back and studied his face, and then pushed some of his hair off of his forehead. “You let your hair dangle in your eyes. Why?”

“What’s the big deal?” he asked, still smirking. I shrugged, “Your eyes are nice. Let people see them.”

Harry chuckled and I immediately felt stupid. Why would I say that? I put my chin back to his shoulder and breathed in the cinnamon scent. “You,” Harry suddenly said, dipping his head down to my bare shoulder, and for a second, I thought I felt his lips on my skin, “You smell like vanilla.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, “And you,” I sniffed his shoulder dramatically, “Smell like cinnamon,” I paused, “Mixed in with sweat. How hot are you in that suit?” He chuckled, “Boiling.”

“You should take it off if it’s going to make you feel like you’re in a sauna.”

Suddenly Harry pulled back and gave me that look, a look that had begun as annoying but had soon become endearing. The funny thing was: I’d only known Harry for about two weeks. Yet how was it that I’d already become attracted to him? I guess that’s what happens when you spend almost every waking hour with someone.

“Are you asking me to undress, Isabelle?”

I gurgled out a laugh, “Only…partially.” He grinned as the song finished, and then he took my hand and led me back to the table we had been sitting at, except now there were six other people sitting there. I gaped.

There were the four other boys of One Direction, but now a girl with purple hair and a girl with brown wavy hair like mine were sitting at our table as well. The girl with the brown hair was extremely pretty, and my jaw dropped when she leaned over to plant a kiss on Louis’ cheek. Purple Hair took Zayn’s hand, and I noticed a large engagement ring sparkling on her ring finger.

“Ladies,” Harry said when we reached the table, “May I introduce you to my girlfriend, Isabelle Foster.”

“Oh!” Brown Hair cried, and she stood, walking over to me and enveloping me in a hug. I hugged her back uncertainly. “Hello dear. My name’s Eleanor Calder. I’m Louis’ girlfriend.”

“And I’m Perrie,” the girl with the purple hair waved at me, showing a small smile. “Oh,” I said blankly, “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I, um, noticed your ring. Congratulations.” Perrie and Eleanor’s mouths opened. My brow furrowed, “Is something wrong?”

“Are you American?” Eleanor asked. “Um, Canadian,” I told her, a little overwhelmed. “That is so cool,” Perrie said, “I’ve hardly talked to anyone who speaks that way. What brings you here?”

“I’m staying here with my sister,” I explained, feeling a little self-conscious. Perrie and Eleanor nodded empathetically, while Niall, Louis, Zayn, Liam and Harry shook in silent laughter. I elbowed Harry in the ribs, and he snaked his arm around my hip, pulling me closer to him. Everyone turned back to their conversation and Harry whispered in my ear, “They don’t know that this isn’t real. It’s going to be tough to fool them, but you can do it.”

“Gee thanks,” I said sarcastically. I never even had a clue that Perrie and Eleanor didn’t know the real truth about Harry and me. Now I’d have to lie to them too.

Harry and I sat down, while waiters whirled around, taking people’s orders and delivering drinks. I smiled and nodded every so often, not saying much, still feeling like I was being intrusive. At one point, Eleanor tapped me on the shoulder, saying, “Say something girl!” and laughing. I laughed along too, but nervously. Her actions never changed my way of speaking or acting. I felt awkward and small compared to all of these famous people. Our food soon arrived.

That’s when Harry spoke up, and I wanted to slap him, “Isabelle’s Miss National Soloist.” Everyone looked at me, and I glared at Harry, who only shot me a sexy wink. I turned back to the table and said, “Harry wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Why not?” Louis asked, and I sighed, “It’s stupid.”

“Stupid?” Perrie gaped, “Sweetheart, I can’t dance for my life. You must be good.” Harry nodded, clearly getting into the conversation, and clearly wanting to embarrass me even more,

“She is. Especially in bed.”

Everyone oohed, and Zayn and Niall snickered. I put down my napkin lightly and said, “I have to go to the washroom.” And then I stood up hurriedly and made my way outside to the lobby, where the washrooms were. I could hear someone else’s chair screech as Eleanor said, “I’ll go talk to her.” I walked a bit faster.

Inside the washroom, I ducked into a stall and leaned my forehead against the wall, trying to even out my breathing. How dare Harry say that! I couldn’t believe him. I guess he just wanted to look cool in front of his friends, but embarrassing me wasn’t an option. I tried to think of why I’d be so embarrassed, but at the moment, the door opened. “Isabelle?” I heard Eleanor say, “Please open up.”

Not wanting to be rude, I raked my fingers through my hair once, and blinked rapidly, and opened the stall door. Eleanor stood there, and for the first time, I acknowledged just how gorgeous she was. She wore a tight red dress with strappy black heels. Her hair was curled and fell in ringlets. Her eyes were a lush brown, and they gazed at me softly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Harry can be a bit of a handful sometimes.”

“Yeah,” was all I said, and Eleanor pursed her lips, “Are you okay?”

Desperate to not want to have this talk with someone I just met, I said quickly. “Of course. I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, don’t worry.” Eleanor looked like she wanted to say more, but she must have seen my composure collapsing, so she just nodded gently and said, “Okay. And you can call me El, if you want.”

“Thanks,” I said, and she smiled slightly at me and left me alone in the washroom. I stared at myself in the mirror and rested my palms on the sink, trying to look untouchable, but failing miserably. Just then the door opened again.

“Isabelle?” Harry’s voice asked. I whipped around and stared at him as he pushed open the door and quickly locked it from the inside. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. “This is the girl’s washroom.”

“I know,” Harry said, and he held up his hands in surrender, “But I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “Sorry?” I asked, “You just embarrassed me in front of six extremely famous people, and all you can say is sorry?” I felt tears building up behind my eyes. Harry sighed, “I know it wasn’t right.”

“No shit,” I hissed again, “I am so embarrassed Harry, you have no idea.”

“I do,” he said.

“No you don’t!” I screamed at him. “You don’t Harry! You have everything handed to you in life, on a silver platter! Money, fame, girls! Everything! Do you really know what it’s like to work for something anymore, or to be average? To be judged for your actions, or to feel like you did something wrong? No, because everyone loves you! Because you’re famous!” I lowered my voice and sighed, my bottom lip quivering, “Just go away Harry. Please leave me alone. I’m fine.”

“Would you shut up with all that ‘I’m fine’ shit for just a second?” Harry’s voice was harsh, and I looked up at him suddenly. His eyes hardened and he stepped close to me, so that we were only inches apart. “That’s your problem! You work too much! You won’t let anyone get close to you, or help you in any way! Why can’t you just relax for a moment, and have fun, or let me help you?”

“Do you really think I would want your help?” I cried, “I was fine until you came along. You tease me, you embarrass me, you pester me, and I’m so sick of it! I don’t need anyone’s help, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be asking it from you! Fuck!” I said, “Can you just leave? I don’t need y—”

And that’s when Harry cut me off by pressing his lips to mine. I don’t even remember how he acted so fast, but he was suddenly kissing me passionately. He grabbed my face, crushing our lips harder together, and I grasped onto his elbows to steady myself.

That’s when I realised what was happening. We were kissing. We weren’t supposed to be doing that. I wrenched myself away from Harry and stared up at him silently. Both of us were breathing heavily. And then: CRACK!

My hand suddenly came up and smacked him across the face. My palm stung, and when I saw the red mark, guilt washed over me, but I didn’t care. Harry stared at me blankly, and I stared back at him the same way, like we both couldn’t believe that I had just done that. I sucked in a small bit of air.

And then I was running.

Running away from the washroom, running away from the slap, running away from Harry.I entered the banquet hall and slowed to a speed walk, aware that people would look at me funny if I were walking. I avoided the table that held Liam, Louis, Niall, Zayn, Perrie and Eleanor, trying to remain unseen by any of them.

Quickly I made my way over to the bar, where I sat on a stool and told the bartender, “Une bouteille de vodka, si vous plait.” He nodded gruffly and handed it to me, probably thinking I was going to bring it to the table and share, and I sped out of the hall; where people were too busy laughing and having a great time to notice me.

I peeked into the washroom again to see if Harry was still there, but he wasn’t, so I quickly slid in through the door and locked it. There, I uncorked the bottle and lifted it to my lips. I knew that what I was about to do was bad, but I didn’t care. I drank.

And drank.

And drank.

Notes

I hope you liked it! Please give me some feedback! Special shout out goes to @kiss me you fool! Thank you for commenting! Please comment, vote, rate and subscribe! Thanks!