In My Arms

By the time Harry was able to finally take a break from touring, everything had changed. Zayn was gone. There were only four of them left now and, despite what the media tried to portray, they had no intention of ending One Direction. The tour just started; it felt like they were unstoppable. Zayn and his issues weren’t going to change that. Zayn and his solo career wouldn’t change that.

He took Lizzie to Paris for a week at the stone monolith that was the Shangri-La Hotel Paris. He would have spent every penny he had to give her nicest weekend of their lives: his mum called it their “baby-moon,” their last romantic weekend before the baby arrived and everything changed again. It was one of those rare occasions where he was perfectly content letting them know he was Harry Styles of One Direction, in order to reserve the nicest suite: draped in white and ecru, complete with a stone terrace and full view of the Eiffel Tower.

On their second night at the Shangri-La, they relaxed in plush chairs on the terrace to watch the sun set. She was still dressed in the moss green silk mini-dress she’d worn to dinner at the hotel’s L’Abeille, but had long kicked off her heels. The lights of the Eiffel Tower, sparkling against the fading blue of the evening sky, and the soft spring breeze relaxed him to the point he could almost fall asleep. He was content; exhausted from the tour, but satiated by being back with Lizzie.

She had her iPad propped up against her belly, in what she referred to as the ‘beached Lizzie’ position. They’d been idly staring at a list of baby names for nearly ten minutes. It was a wordless ten minutes. Finally, she pointed at the screen. “That one’s not bad.”

“I always thought it was a boy’s name.”

“I’m not a fan of ambiguity.” She pointed at another. “This one?”

“I can’t even pronounce that.” Harry chuckled, pressing his lips to the top of her shoulder. “What about Nora? Nora Jane Styles.”

“So, you’re saying your vote is Nora Jane.”

“Wait, this is a vote?” He tugged on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Do I only get one vote?”

“Well, no, I suppose you can have two.”

He laughed and pulled her to him, taking the iPad out of her hands and setting it on the terrace. “What do ya we just wait until she’s born and see what she looks like? Maybe she looks like a Lucy.”

Elizabeth jumped slightly and then grabbed his hand, pressing his palm to her low abdomen. “Wait. She’ll do it again.”

He held his breath, like he might miss what the baby was doing. After a moment, he felt a strong pressure against his hand, not so much a kick, but the feeling of the baby stretching outward. His eyes widened and he could feel his lips curling up into a smile. “No fucking way.”

“She’s rolling. It gets insanely uncomfortable if she just, like, stops in the middle. Just wait until she really starts wiggling. It’s like the movie Alien.” She giggled and then glanced down at her stomach. “I’m…nervous.”

“Me too.”

“Do you…” she stopped talking took a deep breath before starting again, “Do you think you’ll still be in love with me when the baby comes?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She signed. “Because…I don’t know. I’ll be a mom then; somebody’s mother. You might not find me as sexy as you did before, or not as desirable.”

“Impossible. You’re going to be sexy and more desirable then; you’ll be the mum of my little girl. My daughter.” His cheeks blazed with heat as he said it. “I love you, Lizzie. So, so much; you have no idea how much I love you.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “And I love you, Hazza. More than anything.”

He slid down to his knees on the terrace, resting his head against her stomach. He could feel the baby moving against his cheek. Taking a deep breath, he quietly sang ‘Isn’t She Lovely?’ against Lizzie’s belly, reaching up with his free hand to lace his fingers around hers.

With his other hand, he reached into his pocket.

For a moment, he felt slightly lightheaded. Panic welled up in his throat like it was clogging his airway at the hollow below his Adam’s apple. He remembered feeling like this before: every time he sang on X-Factor. Every time he put himself up in front of those judges, putting the vulnerable side of himself out in front of everyone and opening himself up to hear ‘no.’ His fingers trembled slightly, his stomach tensed like he was going to be sick. All combined, the feelings were like a tangle of knotted yarn: he couldn’t sort it out.

He stopped singing. “Lizzie?”

“Yeah, Hazza?”

His mind went blank. What did he say, what did he even do? At the last second, he yanked the ring out of his pocket and held it out to her, his voice a raspy murmur, “Will you marry me?”

She stared at him. Her mouth fell open as she sucked in a deep breath, touching her fingertips to her lips. “Oh my god. Harry.”

He fought back tears as he smiled at her. “Let’s do this properly, shall we?” Adjusting to one knee, he slid the diamond ring on her finger, pressing her fingertips to his lips. “Marry me and make me the happiest man alive.”

She threw her arms around him and kissed him, murmuring her answer against his lips, “Yes!”

Notes