Harry Styles is spending the summer in a quiet villa on the French Riviera, hoping to find inspiration for his third album. It's not happening. When he sees a beautiful windsurfer racing across the waves, he believes lessons might be a good distract...
The house was quiet when she came in from storing her gear. Mary must have gone to their room, and she knew that Harry and Niall were in the studio. Lia showered and went to work on her current project.
She had altered a woman's pattern to create a short jumpsuit for Harry. It reminded her of Sean Connery's terry bathing suit coverup from Goldfinger, but neither as short nor as snug. Harry had chosen a cream and soft green toile in a subtle vine and bird print. Lia didn't know if it would look fantastic, or ridiculous, or possibly both at once.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A tapping on the glass door to the terrace broke her concentration and she looked up to see Harry, and deep grey clouds threatening a storm. She motioned him to come in and looked at her phone for the time. It was earlier than she might have guessed; the storm was bringing an early twilight.
"It looks like you're nearly finished. May I try it on?"
It fit well; only a few small adjustments would be needed before it was ready. It was, in fact, equally fantastic and ridiculous. He would carry it off perfectly. He took it off and began looking through her fabric collection while she laid the romper out on the bed, ready to be finished the next time she came in to work, maybe tomorrow.
She studied him, all tan skin and ink, his hair falling forward to brush his brows, eyes dark like deep forest pools in the low light. She wondered if what she saw, what she was feeling right that moment could be put away like a keepsake when September came.
Shaking herself out of the reverie, she had a trifling thought.
"Harry, do you ever wear your pearls anymore?"
"Not particularly, why?"
"They'd look good with the romper, that's all."
"You know, people are going to ask me who I'm wearing, and then they're going to want you to make clothes for them. I could talk to some people, if you'd like."
"I've told you that I only use existing patterns and adjust them a bit. I don't even try to design anymore, it's too depressing." She was pouting, feeling sorry for herself.
"That's it. After Niall and before Stevie. You're going to find the creativity hiding inside you. I'm going to find even more inspiration with you. I'll make it happen."
*****
Niall and Harry worked long hours, sometimes late into the night. Mary and Lia windsurfed, read by the pool, and managed to go unnoticed on Sunday and Monday mornings at the café. Evidently the Musketeers often breakfasted there, and Nigel's presence at a table not far from their own wasn't out of the ordinary.
The photo of Mary and Lia with the young girls from the market, and Lia's name, along with a surprising amount of personal information, hit the internet on Monday afternoon.
Harry was agitated. "Obviously it was someone at the market. What did you tell those girls? They must have spoken with someone, let them see your name. The guys saw no sign of paps. Bloody vultures. Did you see anyone you know from Pampelonne that morning?" His voice had become uncharacteristically forceful.
