The Love Club

I’m a little drunk, but Harry is, too. It doesn’t make the glances we keep stealing at each other any less authentic.

We walk the streets of Paris bumping into each other side by side, his arm slung around my shoulder with our hands connected. Niall and Tinley are perhaps worse off on the sober train than the two of us, and we laugh as we watch Niall throw Tinley over his shoulder and haul her toward the Eiffel Tower, which has been our destination despite the fact that no one has spoken it aloud. When we reach the grass, Harry patiently pauses while I slide off my heels. The lawn is wet with early morning dew, but I don’t mind as my eyes follow Niall and Tinley’s silhouettes. She beats against his back, kicking and flailing to be let down, but they’re both laughing. I wish I could capture this moment and hold it with me forever.

“Are you still feeling poorly?” Harry asks low in my ear, and I try to refrain from shivering as the heat of his breath carresses my skin.

“No,” I answer truthfully. When I turn to look at him, he’s already watching me with mild amusement.

“Might be the wine,” he offers.

I shake my head. “I’m not that tipsy,” I tell him.

“Me either,” he admits. Up ahead, Niall loses his footing and trips, Tinley landing on her back while Niall thuds to the ground on his stomach. I wince and Harry laughs. “Can’t say the same for those two.”

We both quicken our pace to catch up to the couple tangled up in one another and caught in a fit of laughter. I roll my eyes and Harry makes a tsking sound, but wastes no time in sitting down beside them. He motions for me to join him, and I do, allowing him to pull me down between his two legs, which are folded up with his knees on either side of me. I lean back and he locks his arms around my shoulders. He’s warm and comfortable, and I’m further gone in the scent of his cologne than I am on the chardonnay from dinner.

I feel light and effervescent as I study the national landmark before me, lit up for the evening. The stars are harder to make out through the haze of city lights, but if I squint my eyes just right and focus hard enough, I think I can make out a few. Niall and Tinley are still quietly giggling beside us, but I don’t mind. I can’t think of a time in the recent past that I’ve felt this happy. I lean my head back against Harry’s chest and hear his erratic heartbeat. When I tilt my head to look at him, he’s already watching me.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

“Everything,” he responds.

“You really know how to paint a picture,” I roll my eyes, and his chest moves as he laughs.

“I’m thinking about how much it costs to keep the Eiffel Tower lit up, how bad I am at speaking French, how lovely you look in that dress, where I can find the best maccaroons, when the best time would be to kiss you, and how long the drive to Amsterdam will be,” he lists off.

“Hmm,” I hum.

“What are you thinking about?”

“The amount of wine Niall has had to drink, what time I should call my dad in the morning, if I’ll ever come back to Paris, how dumb I’ll look when I stand up and the dew has soaked through my dress, and when you’re going to kiss me.”

“Hmm,” he counters playfully, brushing his lips against my neck. My head falls to one side to allow him more access. He sponges kisses along my collar bone, working his way up my neck to my jaw. When I turn to him, he’s ready to accept my lips.

We indulge in each other for a few moments. I sigh into his mouth and he swallows the sound, his hand helping support my chin in the right direction. I pull away when I need oxygen, and he sounds winded from the awkward angle at which he’s bending down to meet me. I smile at the sound of his ragged breaths, allowing one final peck on the lips before I return to my previous sitting state. He takes a deep breath and his arms settle back around me.

Niall and Tinley lay side by side a few feet away. Niall is plucking up grass by the handfull, but Tinley is pointing up at the sky. They speak quietly, and I think she’s trying to point out constellations but Niall’s either too drunk or too distracted by the sound of her voice to care.

For this moment, everything is simple. No millions of fans, no paparazzi, no soulmates looming on the horizon; just four twenty-year-olds in Paris, hopelessly lost and recklessly in love. Harry’s heartbeat is still erratic and I smile softly to myself and think, I did that.

So we sit in silence, saying nothing and thinking everything. We communicate without words; me nuzzling deeper into his chest, him absently drawing circles on my wrist. I match my breathing to his and we gaze at the Eiffel Tower while I wonder how this can be happening to me.

And in my heart, I know it’s too good to be true.

“Will you tell me something?” Harry asks eventually, his voice coarse from disuse.

“What do you want to know?”

“What was your mum like?”

I’m thrown off guard by the question and I wonder aloud why he’s asking it.

“I guess I was thinking about my own mum,” he admits, and I scoff.

“Glad to know what you think about with me sitting between your legs.”

He laughs, pulling me closer to him when I try to wiggle my way out of his grasp. I’m joking and he knows it, and I allow myself to be pulled up onto his lap while he stretches out his legs before him.

“I just mean how much she loves Paris. My dad brought her here on their honeymoon and she still keeps a photo of the two of them standing on this lawn on the fireplace mantle,” he explains.

“My mum was the most incredible person I’ve ever known,” I tell him once I’ve settled into a comfortable position. “I was young when she died so I don’t remember that much about her, but I get bits and pieces every now and then.”

“Like what?”

“Sometimes I’ll catch a whiff of her perfume from someone on the street, and I remember things about our life in Nebraska. Nothing life-changing, just things like riding a pony with her sitting behind me, telling me how to hold the reigns and where to place my legs. Or the time we went to this restaurant and I ordered pancakes and they came out shaped like Mickey Mouse. I wanted to go back, but they shut down, so my mum brought me home and made Mickey Mouse pancakes for me herself.”

“She sounds lovely,” Harry mused, resting his chin on my shoulder. “What was her name?”

“Lynne,” I answer. “My dad said he fell in love with her the moment they met.”

“How did they meet?”

“She decided to study abroad in university. She ended up at Oxford for a year, where she met my dad in a linguistics class. When she graduated and returned to Nebraska, my dad went with her. He said he would have followed her anywhere.”

Harry is quiet when I finish speaking. It’s a thoughtful silence that I don’t breach. Instead, I look over to where Niall and Tinley are. Niall is holding up his iPhone and snapping a picture. For a moment, I think he’s taking a selfie with Tinley, but then the flash goes off in our direction and I frown. Harry does the same.

“Okay,” he declares. “Back to the hotel for the two of you.”

Niall whines and Tinley giggles into her hand as I extract myself from Harry so he can grab a proper hold of his bandmate to help him up. I do the same for Tinley, who is unsteady on her feet for a moment before she eventually leans on me for support. It seems this will be our walking position until we hit the street and can hail a cab. Harry manages Niall’s weight better than I’m managing Tinley’s, and they’re a few feet ahead of us.

“You look cozy,” she comments.

“You look drunk.”

“Maybe a little,” she waves off. “Not too drunk to forget you making out with that Styles kid over there.”

“Yet too drunk to find her own footing.”

“You liiiiiiike him,” she sings.

“I’d like for you to pick up your feet and walk,” I urge.

She frowns down at her feet as if she’s realizing for the first time she has them. Tentatively, she steps forward. I take a firm hold of her arm and decide to simultaneously support her and drag her across the lawn. Harry and Niall are lightyears ahead of us.

“D’ya think Niall likes me?” she asks, her voice a loud whisper. I would laugh if I didn’t want to cry.

“Yes,” I answer simply.

“Really?”

“In fact, I have superpowers and I’m sure of it,” I tell her.

She blinks up at me incredulously, and I stare back without humor. A moment later, she giggles. “Good one.”

If only.

“I just,” she sighs, slumping into me. Her feet are still moving, which is something I’m grateful for. Harry has already hailed a cab and is trying to figure out how to best maneuver Niall in. The blonde is laughing at the puzzled expression Harry wears, his finger pointing in his face with his other arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulders. I can tell Harry’s frustrated, but he’s doing his best to refrain from showing it.

“I just think about how magnificent he is and I wonder what I’m doing here,” she finally finishes. “He’s funny and talented and good-looking and I’m just Tinley.”

These thoughts reflect mine toward Harry, but I push them back as I focus on helping Tinley in the direction of the taxi. Harry has managed to get Niall inside and has turned to watch me struggle with mild amusement on his face.

“Don’t you think he’d be happier with someone else?”

Harry moves to help me as we finally hit the sidewalk. There’s a curb and he helps her step down before ducking her head into the cab. I watch from behind, studying Harry. His long hair falls to his shoulders now, curls poking out from beneath a brimmed hat. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal his plethora of tattoos, and his green eyes are bright. When he smiles at me, he flashes a row of perfect white teeth and a matching set of dimples in his cheeks. His strong jawline is dotted with stubble, despite the fact that there’s an ongoing joke that Harry is physically incapable of growing facial hair. I want to melt. I want to cry.

He reaches a hand out toward me and I accept it, still lost in a trance-like state. His strong hands fold me into the seat and he slides in beside me, giving directions to the driver. I look down to where his right hand is connected with mine, his left arm thrown over my shoulder.

This is the start of something. I can feel it stirring within me and it’s fire in my belly. We sit in the backseat of a cab, connected and content and yet still yearning for more.

I want more. I can’t have it.

When we arrive at the hotel, Harry gets to work pulling Niall and Tinley from the backseat. He pays the tab and shuts the door, giving it a hearty thump before it drives away. We work together to get Niall and Tinley to their respective rooms, and he places a glass of water and a paracetamol on each of their bedside tables. He walks me to my room, places his hands on my cheeks, and draws me to him.

When he leaves, I am breathless and drowsy and ill all at once. He disappears down the hall with a lingering glance and I shut the door just as I begin to cry.

And then I run.

-

The flight to London is an hour and ten minutes, but there’s no way I can sit alone for that long and not allow my mind to wander. It’s how I find myself in a general store kiosk, browsing magazines. From most, Harry’s face is staring back up at me. I swallow back bile and reach for a Vogue.

I feel strangely mechanic. I haven’t slept, haven’t had the time to between packing my belongings and booking this flight. I haphazardly threw together a note to Niall and shoved it under his door before making my way to the lobby and requesting the number for a taxi service from the concierge. Once inside, I gave him the address for Charles de Gaulle.

Gatsby and my luggage have both already been checked. I have my satchel with me, the contents of it consisting of my boarding pass, my wallet, and a pack of gum. I pay for the magazine with a quiet, “Merci”, and I’m on my way.

The line for security is long, and I check my watch. There’s twenty minutes to spare before I board, and I feel like I’ll make it just in time with the amount of people standing before me. Saving my magazine for the flight, my eyes scan Charles de Gaulle airport for something interesting to focus on.

I find him instantly and bite back a scream. Hoping he hasn’t seen me yet, I try to bury my small frame behind that of a large business man before me and the elderly lady behind me. It’s no good; I see his shadow as it settles over me.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. Not yet. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away.

“Mina,” he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer. I can’t help but turn to him, my brown eyes meeting his murky green ones. He has dark circles sunk in above his cheekbones, and his hair is tucked carefully into the hood of the jumper he’s wearing. He doesn’t want to be spotted, but I can’t tell if he’s hiding from paparazzi or hoping to blend in and take me by surprise. I’m in the process of trying to puzzle this out when he holds out an envelope with his name written on it in my hand.

“What is this?”

I bite my lip as I look at the white envelope, then up to his face. The line has moved and the elderly lady behind me coughs. My feet move forward of their own accord, but Harry moves with me, separated from me by a rope.

I know exactly what’s in that envelope, and from the look on his face, he does, too. I can see the corner of the cheque he made out to me peeking from it, and I think of golfing with him in London. I study his eye where he’s healed now, the bruise invisible after three weeks worth of tremendous make-up jobs by Lou and the power of time. His lips are parted and I want to press mine to them. More than anything, I want to venture a hand to his forehead and smooth down the creases there, erase away the pain.

I ache with the pain of my immense failure. I know who he belongs to, and yet I couldn’t help but indulge myself. Now we’re both lost in the wreckage. My biggest regret was not being strong enough to keep him at a distance. My heartbreak is one thing, but his is worse. This is all my fault.

“I can’t take that money,” I tell him, and my voice comes out stronger than expected.

“Fine,” he says, and rips the paper in two. I watch on with a heavy heart. “If I hadn’t made it abundantly clear last night, you’re fired anyway.”

Neither of us smile at the joke. He’s trying so hard to make this light, but I know better. I love him, I think, and it’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself. I can feel it more than I ever have as I stand separated from him, watching the way he looks at me, the way he tries to hold himself together through his panic. He doesn’t want to lose me, and the feeling is mutual, but I know where his path leads. It’s not me.

“You should call Victoria,” I say.

He raises his brows, clearly surprised in the turn this has taken. He’s already shaking his head at the idea, and I have to move forward again in the que. It gives me an excuse to collect myself without the difficulty of having to look at him.

“That’s not what I want,” he says, and though he doesn’t say it, I know what he’s implying. It makes things that much harder, but I stand my ground.

“It’s what you need,” I correct him.

“Please tell me this isn’t some bullshit about you failing as a matchmaker or something,” he pleads. “The stupidest thing I’ve ever done is asking you to do that for me.”

“Then what is this about?” he demands.

“We both knew this was temporary, Harry,” I sigh. “I have a business to run.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and the glint in his eyes would be terrifying if I weren’t so tired. I run a hand through my hair as I shuffle forward again in line. “You like me. I can tell you do, because I might annoy you and I might drive you crazy, but there’s something here. And you’re leaving because you’re too scared to figure out what that means.”

He’s angry, a sight I’ve never seen before. Where his tactic might have been gentle prodding before, he can see that the line is getting shorter and shorter while he’s getting nowhere with me. I look at him, my stormy, turbulent boy, and I swallow back all the I love yous threatening to spill out. The businessman in front of me is having his boarding pass scanned, and our time is up.

“You don’t understand it now,” I tell him as I step up and hand my boarding pass over. “But one day you will.”

I hike my bag further up on my shoulder and step through the doorway that leads to each boarding area. The walls are glass, and as I walk with my head held high, biting back tears, I can see that he’s still following me on the other side. When I sit, he sits, too.

He’s still waiting for me to change my mind.

How did I allow us to reach this point? Over before it has even started, and it’s still not soon enough. I’ve still managed to fuck everything up.

I glance over my shoulder at him, where he’s sitting hunched over in a seat parallell to the one I’m sitting in, just on the opposite side of the glass wall. His hands are folded and he supports himself with his forearms on his knees. He’s watching me with a fierce, melancholy stare. I bite my lip and avoid my eyes because I’ll never forgive myself if I go back there. I’m giving him the chance he deserves to be with the one he’s meant for. I’m the one who has to live with the consequences.

He’s angry now, but he’ll forgive me someday. I can’t say the same about myself.