Wildfire - H.S

28

"I really can't believe he bought you a ring. Evie, seriously. You guys are moving pretty fast, and now we're going dress shopping, for the Met. As in the Met fucking Gala. The biggest celebrity event of the year." Esme gawks at me, flipping my hand about in her hand as she admires the dainty pearl ring.

I hadn't really thought about it like that. Whenever I'm with Harry my judgement seems to fade from sight. Intuition takes over, it's a relationship that is based solely off of passion.

It seems that everything in our relationship so far has happened on a whim, the chance of us ever meeting in the first place, and then running into each other again on multiple occasions.

Something about it is odd. I just can't put my finger on it.

"I know, I know. Oh God. Do you think I shouldn't go?" I question, bouncing my leg up and down. Now I have somebody with an outside perspective, things appear far different to when it's simply me and Harry in our own little bubble.

Nothing about this situation is me. I prefer to have things planned out weeks if not months in advance.

And right now, I'm in a waiting room to meet with a designer who works with Gucci to design me a dress for the Met Gala that Harry only invited me to a week ago.

It appears that I have thrown all my morals out of the window for him, and I don't seem to have any control over it.

This place we're in right now is way too extravagant, and I feel slightly embarrassed that I'm wearing my sweatpants that have the cats on them. But H told me to wear something that was comfy and easily changeable.

Esme and I are currently sitting on a clear bench that is filled with gloves that showcase floral patterns. 

At first I didn't even realize it was a seating area until we were offered a seat. The coffee table in front could very well be solid gold and has an array of fashion magazines lazed about on top. And I don't mean like your everyday cosmopolitan, I mean the thick stuff, that would probably cost fifty dollars if you were to buy it rather than two. 

And then surrounding us are hundreds of glass cases, each containing a mannequin with some sort of bold fashion piece - each having a small plaque besides it describing what, when and who wore it.

It's like a wonderland.

And I know Esme is very much in her element right now.

"Oh fuck no E. You are definitely going. You are Harry motherfucking Styles' girlfriend. The world needs to know, so whether you like it or not, you are going. And you're going to wear a killer dress." Esme's words come out as an almost scream, suggesting that I was asking an absurd thought of not going.

I see her point, but now the seeds planted there. I just need to not allow it to grow.

Harry Styles is my boyfriend, and I need to understand that we are now in a relationship and he is a celebrity so that means people are going to know exactly who I am, and they're going to find out every detail about me.