In My Arms

In the days leading up the Academy Awards, Elizabeth’s schedule was booked with pre-award parties and dinners. Harry’s equally out of control schedule—and management—kept him from able to go to anything with her. It pissed him off. It wasn’t that he was worried because she was pregnant, not entirely anyway, but he wanted to be there with her. They’d been inseparable since they got back together. The media pounced on him as soon as the first pictures of them together hit the internet.

The night before the awards, he finally was able to go an event with her: the Motion Picture & Television Fund's The Night Before Party on the Fox Lot. It was the biggest party in town; an A list event that drew in Hollywood’s top executives and major movie stars. He couldn’t wait to be there with Lizzie on his arm and he was going to meet her there after his last interview of the week ended.

If it ended.

It was a radio show, the nationally syndicated Drive. He wasn’t sure if the hosts purposefully played good cop/bad cop, but he was ready to jump over the table and punch Ryan Davenport in his arrogant face. No matter how many times he asked him not to bring up his relationship with Lizzie, he kept cycling back to it. The other guys tried to change the subject but every time—every God damned time—the fucker found a way to bring the conversation back to him.

“So, Harry, Zayn here’s engaged,” Ryan glanced at co-host Cher Phillips, “so when are you gonna pop the question to Elizabeth?”

Harry ground his teeth together but forced himself to look pleasant. “We ah, don’t really talk about that, it’s a private decision.”

Cher cut in. “But you want to marry her?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“I mean, she’s got to be amazing in bed.” Ryan leaned forward in his seat. “Christ, those legs? And those breasts? She’s a goddess.”

“I don’t really think that’s an appropriate question, actually.” Harry stared him down. “Thinking about her in those terms is degrading. It’s not like that.”

“Your media training is on par.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s not media training, that’s how I feel. We’re not some kind of manufactured relationship. I love her. I’m not going to focus only on her body; it’s crude.”

“See, I don’t believe any of that.” Ryan slumped back in his chair and shook his head. “She’s the biggest actress in the world and she just happens to be dating the biggest boy bander in the world.”

Liam glanced at Harry and cleared his throat. “That’s a bit unfair, man. Don’t you think—“

“We can’t get any of her exes to comment on how she is in bed. Is she a prude in bed or something? Like, is she waiting for you to marry her before she’ll put out?”

“I really think you should just step back from it.” Harry looked down at the mic, forcing himself to focus on breathing evenly. If he looked up, he was going to get angrier. If he got angrier, he was going to bolt. “It’s not your business.”

“We all know you two are sleeping together, come on man.” Ryan rolled his eyes dramatically. “Even the twelve and thirteen year old girls who worship you know that you’re in her pants. Does she like it dirty?”

Zayn cut in before Harry could speak. “I really don’t think that’s appropriate, man. That’s his girl you’re talking about.”

“So, now you all are going to defend his honor?” Even his uproarious laugh was an irritant. “And hers? I read you two had sex in the bathroom at the AMAs. True?”

“Of course we’re going to defend her honor, mate.” Louis glared across the table at him. “She’s like a sister to us; she’s a nice girl. We’re not gonna sit here and take that.”

Ryan waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, I want to hear this from Harry. You love this girl?”

“I do.”

“You want to marry this girl?”

“I do.”

“And yet, you have absolutely no opinion on her sexual prowess in bed?”

Harry could hear his pulse pounding in his ears; he could feel the anger building behind his eyes and, for a moment, he felt lightheaded. “There’s more to relationships than sex. If that’s all that we focused on, we’d be doing our fans a disservice. Women shouldn’t be objectified.”

“Media training again.” Ryan threw his hands up. “Man, she must carry your balls in her purse if you won’t say anything more than you love her.”

“Hey.” His voice was sharp. “Inappropriate.”

Cher broke in and, in the second he glanced at her, the cohost legitimately looked concerned that the interview had reached the point of no return. For him, it had. “I think it’s sweet. He’s protecting her.”

“She must be the one, man, if she’s tamed your playboy ways.”

Everyone started talking at once but Harry rose his voice above them, “I’m not gonna say it again, man. Leave her out of this or I walk.”

For several minutes, the conversation was off him and his relationship with Lizzie. He was starting to get antsy; he needed to get across town and to the Fox Lot in less than an hour. Lizzie was riding in with Tom and Anna. He promised he’d meet her there and if this bastard made him late—

“Harry, are you excited for the Academy Awards tomorrow?” Cher smiled sweetly at him. “Elizabeth’s up for best actress. Her movie was amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“I think we’re all properly excited for her.” Liam was trying to get the focus off him and Harry appreciated it, but he could see Ryan was gearing up for more interrogation. “She’s a brilliant actress and just, really, a cool girl to be around.”

Ryan spoke before anyone could else could speak. “So, Harry, how did you meet her? You two don’t exactly run in the same social circle, I mean, she’s the hottest actress in Hollywood.”

“At a party.”

“Just a party?”

Harry shrugged. “We’ve got interesting jobs but we’re still just regular people. We met at a party and we got on well and were together nonstop after that. It’s just a normal relationship. She loves me for who I am and not what I do, which is what I wanted—what any of us want—in a girl.”

“She loves you for who you are.” Ryan cocked his eyebrow upward. “There’s that media training again. You’re telling me that your sex symbol status had nothing to do with it? This girl dated Captain America, for god’s sake.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“You hooked up with her at that party, didn’t you? Dark corner? Bathroom, just like the AMAs?” He stared at him across the table, like he was daring him to make due on his threat to leave if Elizabeth was brought up again.

“My mother raised me to be a gentleman and I’m not like that.”

“The media says you are.”

“Well, I’m not.” He snapped this time, again feeling his pulse thud in his temple. This bull shit had gone long enough. He pulled out his cell and fired off a text to his publicist: I’m done with this.

Ryan picked up on it immediately. “Is that her texting you now? Listeners, I know you can’t see this but he’s got his phone out. I bet you wish you could see it.”

“She’s not his mother, mate, lay off.” Niall was glaring across the table at the radio host. “She doesn’t make him check in hourly or something.”

“And that brings up a good point. For all of you, not just Harry—though you know I’m most interested in his response—“ Ryan seemed to cut himself off and then start again. “How do your girlfriends handle you constantly being surrounded by gorgeous women, women throwing themselves at you? Because I’ll be honest, I’d have a hard time keeping it in my pants if it were me.”

Cher rolled her eyes. “Which is why, thank god, it isn’t you. Don’t feel obligated to answer him, any of you. Especially Harry.”

Ryan retorted, “I think it’s a legitimate question. Is it hard to keep from cheating? Harry, come on man, you’ve got to have some input on this. If anyone would cheat it would be you, right? I’ve read she’s pretty close to Chris Evans while you’re out of town. Any truth to that?”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.” Harry noticed movement out of the corner of his eye; the booth door opened and his publicist stuck his head in, silently motioning at his watch. “You can feel free to say what you want about me, but I’m not about to let you say anything negative about her. You don’t know her like I do.”

“Well, it looks like Harry Styles gets a reprieve from further interrogation,” Cher laughed nervously, “I’m guessing that person wildly waving their arms is here for you?”

“Prior engagements.” Harry smiled and reached across the table to shake both hosts’ hands. He wanted to shove Ryan against the wall but he wasn’t going to be that guy. He was going to be charming; the better person. “Thank you for having me.”

He waved at the other guys and, without waiting to hear any additional commentary from Ryan, turned on his heel and squeezed through the booth door.

His publicist handed him a long black jacket. “That was pretty harsh in here. What the fuck was he thinking?”

“Anything for ratings, eh?” Harry shrugged the jacket on over his black, long sleeved shirt and adjusted the necklaces around his neck. “Is the car outside?”

“Out front. The driver says he can get you to the Fox Lot in thirty-five minutes or less. I put a bottle of water in the back seat for you.”

“Thirty-five minutes cuts it close, doesn’t it?” Harry took the cologne bottle his publicist was holding out and sprayed it on his neck and chest. “Do I look all right?”

“Black and white striped pants and black boots are you, man. She’s going to love it.” His publicist took the cologne back from him and glanced at his watch. “You’ll get there in plenty of time. Stop worrying, Haz, and have fun tonight.”

He felt better once he was in the limo and on his way to the Fox Lot. Smirking, he took a selfie and sent it to Lizzie, adding the text: I smell good and am wearing clean pants. I’m on my way.

After a few moments, she texted back a picture of her in the limo, smiling away the camera, and the message: I’m not wearing underpants. We took the limo through a drive thru, spilled ginger ale on Tom’s suit, and exchanged obscene texts with Eddie Redmayne. Things are getting real.

He chuckled. God, he was so in love with her. The past weeks were better than any other time in their relationship, as if breaking up had rebuilt them stronger. They declared themselves “officially moved in together,” despite the fact that neither of them spent consistent time in Lost Angeles and with a baby on the way…life was changing. Every moment of it was thrilling and exciting and wonderful—and it was because of her.

When the limo stopped in the holding area at the Fox Lot, Harry jumped out of the back seat and glanced around. He could see the edge of the red carpet, lined with photogs and publicists, and he saw dozen of faces he recognized from the cinema. Robert Downey Jr., Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Jack Nicholson, Will Smith, Meryl Streep; for a moment, he felt like he didn’t belong. These were movie stars. These were American royalty. He was a kid from Cheshire. This wasn’t his world—he didn’t know anyone. He didn’t fit in.

“Harry!”

He saw her; dressed in an impossibly short, pink lace dress and silver high heels. Her hair was swept back from her face in a high bouffant and, even from where he was standing, he could see the diamond earrings and the infinity necklace he’d bought her. She was so beautiful, just the sight of her made his pulse race. She waved him over; she didn’t have to do it twice.

He ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed the back down, then crossed the holding area to her. She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. “Hey sexy.”

“Hey gorgeous.” He slid his hands down her waist and settled them on her hips, then leaned over and kissed her. “That dress…my god.”

She giggled. “You have no room to talk, Hazza, those pants look they’re painted on. Don’t get all offended if I lose control of my hands tonight. I’m going to fangirl on you like you wouldn’t believe.”

Their hands automatically reached for each other and he laced his fingers around hers, pulling her close to him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby girl.”

“I’m going to fuck you in the bathroom just like I did at the AMAs.” She led him towards the red carpet. “You remember Anna, right? And this is her boyfriend, Tom Hiddleston, who smells suspiciously like ginger ale. But, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Harry reached out and shook Tom’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you. Would it be inappropriate to say I’m a huge fan?”

“No, I’m a fan of your music! Your voice is incredible.” Tom smiled broadly and leaned closer, clapping his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “And I suppose congratulations are in order?”

Harry blushed. “Thanks, man, it came as a bit of a surprise. We’re excited, though.”

“Now Anna’s got baby fever.” Tom chuckled. “You’re lucky you missed that limo ride. It was like being trapped in a cardboard box with two cats.”

Elizabeth stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips to Harry’s. “It was my ginger ale too, so imagine my horror when that klutz, Anna, dumped it everywhere. I was trying to listen to your interview on the radio. My favorite part was when you defended my honor.”

He blushed again, dipping her backwards and kissing her throat. “Nobody talks about my baby like that.”

When he straightened her up, she tugged on a strand of his hair. “Here comes trouble.”

He turned in time to see a bald man hustling towards them, a suit jacket slug casually over his bulked up, well defined shoulder. “There she is, how are you doing tonight, kiddo?”

“Classy and sassy.” Elizabeth slid her hand back into Harry’s. “Hazza, this is Brent. My agent.”

“Harry Styles.” Brent firmly shook his hand. He wasn’t what Harry had expected; he looked like he worked out and went tanning—probably too much tanning. “So, you’re the man that’s distracting Liz from making movies.”

“He distracts me from everything.” Lizzie rested her head against Harry’s shoulder and squeezed his hand. “And he does it quite well.”

“Yeah, well, you kids don’t stay out too late tonight. You have to dazzle them tomorrow at the ceremony.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Harry furrowed his brow. “We’re throwing the after party.”

Brent looked startled and looked between them. “After party? Liz, really, an after party for a party?”

She burst out laughing. “God, Brent, calm the fuck down. The only after party tonight is between me and him. Actually, maybe we’ll just have the after party during the party tonight. Maybe you should prepare a statement. Oscar nominee Elizabeth Richards takes complete advantage of sexy British singer Harry Styles in Fox Lot bathroom. Brent Lowe, tortured agent, remarks: I have no comment.”

“Hilarious.” Brent rolled his eyes dramatically. “Does she give you shit like this? Because with me, it’s constant.”

“No, she gives me other things on a constant basis.”

Lizzie snuggled up against him, giggling softly. “Cheeky boy.”

“And that’s precisely why I’m issuing ‘no comment’ statements and ‘I don’t comment on their relationship’ statements left and right. People love to love you,” Brent paused dramatically, “and they love to hate you. Liz and Harry: worlds’ most in love couple. I read what I’m sure what a completely scientific poll stating that you two are a more beloved couple than Price William and Kate Middleton.”

“Just wait until I sell our sex tape.”

“No sex tape, Liz, I swear to God.”

Lizzie laughed and pulled Harry forward, winding her way around her agent. “We’re going to go dazzle the paparazzi with our adorable-ness. Keep up the good work, Brent. You stay safe out there.”

“Yeah, yeah, you go dazzle them, kiddo.”

Lizzie tilted her head to the side and called, “An-na!”

“Right behind you, slut.” Anna slung her arm around Lizzie’s shoulder and pulled on one of Harry’s curls. “Ready to party with us, Haz? We Hollywood kids are a different sort of crazy.”

“If it’s Lizzie’s kind of crazy,” he leaned over and kissed her temple, “count me in.”

The red carpet for the party wasn’t quite like the traditional red carpet, or how he anticipated the red carpet to be the following day for the Oscars. It led from the holding area, past a photo opportunity for the paparazzi, and into the Fox Lot. An assistant with a clipboard and headset scurried over to Lizzie. “Miss Richards, are you ready? Just a few quick pictures and then you can go inside. We have appetizers and drinks as soon as you go inside. Most everyone is going inside and heading to the left: that’s where we have a DJ set up. Is there anything you need or that we can get for you?”

“No, I’m good.” She looked up at Harry and smiled. “Do you need anything?”

“Just you, gorgeous.”

Lizzie smiled at the assistant. “We’re good.”

“Excellent, have a good night!” She made a mark on her clipboard and motioned them towards the paparazzi area. “We’re so glad you both could come tonight. Good luck tomorrow, Miss Richards.”

“Thank you.” Lizzie led Harry across the red carpet and up to the photography station. Flashbulbs flared like a lightening strike; the cameramen all yelling and calling for their attention. It wasn’t nearly as bad when they were cornered on a street or trying to leave a store. This was Elizabeth Richards, Hollywood princess. This was her turf and no one was going to pressure her to do anything.

Except, of course, maybe him.

They walked up to the photography area, stopping in the center for their obligatory pictures. He slid his hand around her waist, and pulled her close to him. It was easy to smile, with this girl in his arms, and he leaned over and kissed her temple. “You look absolutely stunning tonight…Mrs. Styles.”

“I love the sound of that.” She tilted her head up and smiled her dazzling smile at him. The flashbulbs lit up. “It’s better than being as fabulous Kate Middleton. I’d rather have you as my prince in my love story.”

He wrinkled his nose. “A certain ex-flame of mine once wrote a song about love stories.”

“I’m familiar with it.” She snuggled closer to him; his hand automatically slid down to her hip. More flashes. “I once hit a deer with my car when that song was on the radio. Fucking Taylor Swift.”

He burst out laughing. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, completely lost in their own world surrounded by celebrities and photographers and flashing lights. This was starting over; this was the woman he loved and she was carrying his baby. Things were about to change and he completely welcomed it.

There was just one thing he had left to do. He needed to do it; he desperately wanted it to happen and the only thing stopping him, was him. Once he figured out the how and the when, all that was left was to scrape together the courage to actually say the words.

And he would.

He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

Notes

So, I'm going to be really surprised if the pictures I tried to insert actually show up. But let's hope they do, because there's no such thing as too many pictures of Harry.

Comments are welcome and loved!!