Witness

We decided to keep it between us for a while, the secret that I’d been carrying around with me like a brick. For a while, it was just Harry and me, learning how to be ourselves around each other. He played his album for me (I pretended politely to like it a lot more than I really did), and I showed him screenplays I’d written (and I think he did the same for me). I had dinner with his parents in that once-Mafia home and in our free time, I showed him pictures of whatever family I had – of Susan and the few pictures she had of me when I was little, of Amelia, and of Thomas. For the first time, we truly got to share our lives together.

And for the first time, I felt myself falling for someone. Hard.

In the little village of Holmes Chapel, I was Mara Hitchcock with Harry and Harry alone. For the first time in months, I was able to be myself with someone wholly and truly. And it felt like freedom. Being with Harry felt like freedom. Because he was patient with me. Because he was interested in me. Because when his skin finally grazed mine, it felt like heaven. Because I was falling for him.

Damn, was I falling for him.

He would disappear for business every few days, and in the meantime I worked under the guise of Lilia George at the Old Red Lion, filling pints and spending time with my new friends. Someday I would figure out how to tell them the same way I had Harry, but for the time being, I was enjoying it being our little secret. There was something sexy about it all, in a weird way. On quiet nights in my house, I felt safe for the first time in a long time, simply waiting for him to come home.

In the mornings, I would run. In the afternoons, I would go and bother Anne while she planned fundraisers. In the evenings, I would work at the Red Lion. And when I got home, I would call Amelia in New York and giggle endlessly about my new life with Harry Styles. I missed her, but we understood. I was on an adventure and Harry’s laughter was my soundtrack.

The best part of it all was waking up in his arms when he came home, our skin pressed against each other and our hair ruffled from romping late into the night. I could finally sleep safely now that everything had fallen into place. Damien was gone. And I had time to figure the rest out; I had all the time in the world.

My life was becoming more like the movies I once despised. But damn it, I was loving every minute of it.

“Mara,” Harry whispered in my ear one morning, his body curved around mine like a perfect mold of my figure. “Hey, wake up. I had an idea.”

I mumbled into the morning light, rolling over in bed to face him. His eyes were still sleepy, but bright in quality at this thought he was apparently harboring. I had to squint to see him, as we’d forgotten to close the blinds before tumbling into bed together. But through my eyelashes I could see him, curly hair askew and mauve lips curled into a coy grin.

“What is it?” I asked impatiently, ready to go back to sleep.

“I think you should come to London with me today,” he murmured. “See that part of my life. Stay for a few days and meet the guys. Everything.”

Immediately, I was awake, sitting straight up in bed. “Seriously? Today? Are you crazy?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Coming from the girl who considers her ceiling to be one of her best friends in Holmes Chapel, I think that’s a bold accusation!”

I grabbed the pillow from next to where I sat and smacked him with it, causing him to laugh. “It’s true, don’t deny it.”

I rolled my eyes. “But Harry!” I protested. “I work tomorrow!”

His grin grew. “I may have already asked one of the girls to take your shift,” he hummed. “I just know how badly you’ve wanted to go to London and now that you can, I feel like why not?”

Why not. The two words I’d seemed to be living my life by as of late.

“Why not?” I responded with a breathless laugh.

“Yeah?” Harry questioned. I nodded. And in a fit of blankets and laughter, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back down to the bed.

It took me all of ten minutes to get packed, dragging Harry out the door. I was in awe when we got to Ringway International – Harry had opted to fly back to London that day – crawling into what appeared to be a private airplane.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, marveling around the aisles as Harry took his seat. “Is this what your other life is like all the time?”

“Not all the time,” he responded. “Sometimes I take Simon’s plane.” His smile was teasing as he winked at the end.



I fell in love with London the moment we hit Kensington High Street.

We didn’t make it into the city right away, as Harry needed to be in the studio as soon as possible and he was also insisting that the first time I see it be at night.

Romantic idiot.

But Kensington reminded me of the Boroughs, of the comparatively quiet shopping districts with storefronts varied in color and architecture and style. The smile on his face matched mine as he watched me excitedly stare out the window, feeling like a little girl on Christmas Day – or at least, how imagined a little girl would feel on Christmas Day, anyway.

Admittedly, I’ve never been able to carry a tune. All of my musical talent had been poured into a bucket with several large holes drilled in the bottom. Once, in a second grade choir concert, I had been the only student who attended class regularly enough to receive the solo. Needless to say, I ended up running off the stage in a fit of tears at the end.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have a good ear for music. And whosever voice was coming from the recording box as we entered the studio that late afternoon had the voice of an angel.

At first, I was distracted by the Sony Records offices themselves, housed in a sprawling building with walls paneled in long glass windows, making the rooms bright with natural light. Everything in the Syco office was glass, it seemed, from the doors at the entrance to the minimalist table the receptionist sat behind as she greeted Harry and I upon arrival.

But then I heard that voice.

“Who is that?” I asked under my breath as Harry led me to their individual recording studio, a “RECORDING IN PROCESS” sign illuminated before we could get through the second set of doors. Harry turned to me and smiled excitedly before opening the door, his turn to be like a little boy on Christmas.

“That,” he hummed, placing a hand on the door handle and pulling it open with typical, dramatic, Harry Styles flair, “would be Zayn Malik.”

His voice was clear and pure, with a range I’d never seen come out of a guy who looked the way Zayn Malik looked. His arms were covered in tattoos, skin tanned, shirt proclaiming profanity, hair coiffed with a shocking streak of blonde right through the bangs. But I stood fast by the opinion that the boy had the voice of an angel. As he saw us come through the door, his dark eyes lit up with recognition from behind the glass panel, raising a finger to signal he was just finishing his part. Instead, Harry guided me to the lounge and mixing area, where we instead found three other boys wrestling with each other over the last bite of a candy bar.

Harry cleared his throat. “Oi!” he exclaimed teasingly, putting on a silly voice before pulling the blonde off of the others. “I’ll be having none of that! None of that now!”

“Nice of you to show up,” one with a cropped cut tutted – I’d come to known him as Liam from Harry’s descriptions. “Niall’s so ravenous from waiting on you he nearly ate the rest of Louis’s candy bar and the fingers that were holding it.”

While Niall pouted, the third one in the stripes, Louis turned his eyes to me. “Is this her?” he asked Harry, who broke out in a smile and nodded.

“This is Mara,” he introduced, my heart stopping a bit at hearing my real name in an introduction. With his words, our secret was no longer our secret – but the secret of everyone in the room. I glanced at him with wide eyes but the smile on his lips calmed my nerves. He looked so happy to finally be sharing this part of his life with me.

“Where are our manners lads?” Louis exclaimed, shoving at a pouty Niall. “Christ, you’d think we were raised in a barn.”

“You lot have never had any manners when you’re hungry, let’s be honest,” Zayn announced jokingly while coming through the door to the lounge. “Mara, nice to meet you. So glad Harry finally got it together so we could, he talks about you enough. And most importantly, excuse these idiots.”

The producers rushed Harry into the recording studio, as they too were anxious to get his part done so they could break for dinner, which left me feeling like I’d been thrown to a pack of hungry wolves. But in moments, the boys were all smiles and hugs, introducing themselves and being much more pleasant than they’d been with each other just moments before – and even more so apologetic.

“Honestly guys, it’s fine,” I insisted as they tried to make me as comfortable as possible on the couch, sandwiched between the lot of them. “I’m from New York. I don’t even think telling someone to fuck off is really that rude.”

“And how does a New Yorker end up in Holmes Chapel, might I ask?” Liam questioned. Harry always had said he was the polite one.

I scoffed. “I know Harry has already told you the rollercoaster of a story that is my stupid life.”

Zayn shrugged. “Yeah, but we’d like to hear it from you too.”

And before I knew what I was doing, I was telling them, the words spilling over like I’d been filled to the brim, just waiting to tell someone more though I hadn’t even realized I’d been feeling that way. It felt good to talk to someone other than Harry about what I’d been going through, especially in not such a high emotion situation – I hadn’t just woken up naked next to any of them after a drunken, blacked out night, after all. Harry came out from recording a couple of times to pout, feeling as though he was missing out on our conversation. And when I was done, they started telling stories on Harry, Niall doing an impressive impression of him complete with a fedora Harry had left laying around, though his stomach was grumbling audibly into the room.

I liked Harry’s band mates. Even just spending that small amount of time with them helped me understand why Harry was so Harry.

He had a lot of encouragement.

We had nearly launched ourselves into a round of charades waiting for Harry, the boys deranged with hunger and me simply excited for new friends. They were all shouting guesses as I gestured to a pillow I’d made out to be a lion – they’d figured that out so far, but as far as who I was, they were having trouble. Not to mention they were getting silly with their answers by the time Harry came out and announced he was ready to get dinner.

“David Attenborough!” I wailed in defeat, earning disappointed groans from the boys – they should have known that one.

“I should have gotten that one!” Niall exclaimed. “I do an amazing impression of him.” I challenged him, though I already knew he was stellar at impressions from his performance as Harry earlier in the afternoon. But as he pretended to be the British nature show host, narrating everything Louis did as we headed to the car park (as Harry would call it), I was in stitches, holding Harry’s hand all the way.

“They rather like you,” Harry quipped as we climbed in his car, the rest getting in what appeared to be Zayn’s. “Niall doesn’t do his David Attenborough for just anyone.”

All I could do was grin like mad.

Driving into London that night was breathtaking, Harry playing an amazing playlist to set the mood. It worked. I nearly swooned at the lights, the shapes, the people – it was like being home, but almost… dare I say it, better. I marveled at every sight, as we passed the London Bridge to get to the restaurant we were going to downtown.

“Could you see yourself here someday?” Harry asked quietly as we pulled into a parking garage. “You know, if you decide to go back to university? There are some amazing art schools here.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised at the question. “A little fast, don’t you think?” I hummed, taking his hand in mine as we began to walk to the restaurant. “But I do love it. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Harry asked with a shrug and a smile.

That smile. I couldn’t help but marvel at it. It was the brightest thing I’d ever seen.

Or, so I thought, until the second we broke into the London night air, we were swarmed with the flashes of camera bulbs, blinding me senseless. There were voices calling Harry’s name, asking him questions, begging me to look at them. The paparazzi.

“Keep your head down and keep walking,” Harry loudly ordered in my ear, though it was hardly audible over all the commotion. He gripped my hand harder and pushed onward, guiding me across the street to the restaurant, the horde following us all the way. My heart was pounding in my chest, all the attention making me struggle for air, my eyes still seeing spots from the initial flares. And as we made it into the restaurant, Harry closed the door definitely behind him, sighing heavily.

“Well, looks like our secret is out, Miss Mara.”

And at his words, an ominous feeling came over me I couldn’t quite place.