Prince and the Pauper

Chapter Seven

"Wear heels tomorrow, Devonne." I mocked in Harry's deep voice. "It will help you blend in here more, Devonne." I growled, wriggling my toes in the cramped heel boots that were making my feet ache. "Smarter for the job, he said." Harry was standing below me on the ladder as I placed some books up onto the shelf, laughing as I muttered away. "Benefit you in the long run, he effing said!" I cursed as I climbed down the rungs of the ladder, and sighed when I felt my feet touch the levelled ground. Harry was standing with his arms folded over his chest, grinning from ear-to-ear at my agitated state.
"To be fair, I didn't think you'd take me seriously. I didn't even think you owned a pair of heels." He reasoned. I touched my upper lip with my tongue at his statement, and his posture stiffened as he realized how it had sounded.
"Shit, Dev, I'm sorry. I-" He stammered but I waved my hand in dismissal.
"It's okay, Harry." My tone calm, and I meant it. I wasn't really offended he assumed I only owned cheap knock-off converse with worn out souls. I was more than aware of my financial situation and how my clothing represented it. I was more than used to the assumption people made, and I couldn't argue with them, because they were usually accurate.
"No it's not." Harry argued. "Why shouldn't you own a pair of heels? Because you're from Wentworth? That's ridiculous and rude." He shook his head.
"But it's true." I said through a bitter smile. "The only reason I have them is because my mother left them with most of her belongings when she hit the road." I shrugged, glaring down at the heels. Silence filled the room as I brought up my mother, and Harry was aware it was a touchy subject. I heard him make a sound that was either a hum of disapproval, or a sound of confusion.
"I don't doubt you could own heels or a dress because of your financial situation, Devonne." I looked up at him and rolled my eyes. Harry shook his head and closed the distance between us, his hand catching my chin and tilting it upwards to make me look him in the eyes. My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel his body-heat radiating through me, his minty breath fanning my face.
"I think you wear torn clothes, and clothes that don't quite fit not because you can't afford it. But because you're happy and contempt with that. You don't desire a luxurious life, or the white-picket fence. Your life-style humbled you, you're grateful for what you have, and you don't long for superficial things." His eyes blazed with intensity and I knew he believed every word he was saying.
"You weren't just born in the humble life, you thrive in it. And you know what, Devonne? That makes you the most extraordinary person I have ever met." Tension thickened the air around us, and I found myself staring down at the floor. Harry's hand remained on my cheek, the cool metal rings on his fingers giving  relief to the heat rushing through my body. The intensity in his eyes proving too much, I backed away from his touch, and grabbed some more books, before stepping up the ladder again. I heard the faintest sound of a sigh pass Harry's lips, but I pretended to miss it. Only when I felt safe at the top of the ladder did I speak up again.
"I'm still no closer to guessing your favourite book." I attempted to lighten the mood. I glanced down at him, and saw his smile return to his face. I internally cheered in victory.
"Good thing I'm a generous man and have given you a copious amount of time." His statement made me snort, and I cringed as I did so in front of him.
"Copious? Seriously? Does thou always articulate in such bombastically proper terms?" I smirked down at him, and I heard the deep sound of his laughter float up to my ears.
"No, get your butt moving you moron." Harry retaliated. Suddenly I felt his foot kick my behind, with a fair amount of force, and I shrieked in fright. The books tumbled from my hands and I heard Harry swear as he dodged the flying items. My eyes widened my reflex made me lean backwards to avoid another book falling from the shelf where my arm knocked it, and I felt my feet leave the rung of the ladder, before the wind rushed up as I fell backwards. I screamed and I heard Harry yell. I squeezed my eyes shut preparing for pain, when strong, bulky arms caught me at the armpits, and then my feet slammed onto the ground. A wave of pain from ground-shock rocketed up my legs, making them wobble. The force from my landing sent Harry stumbling, but he still held his tight grip on me, and we went crashing to the floor. We both groaned as we rolled to a stop, Harry on his back, with me lying flat on top.
"Devonne." Harry moaned a little below me, and I gasped in realization at the position we were in.
"Uh, sorry." I slurred, rolling off him and onto my back beside him. "Sonofagun." I gritted through my teeth, my ankle throbbing.
"Dev." Harry repeated, rolling onto his side and propping his weight up on his elbow as he gazed down at me. His hands brushed my cheek again. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking. I didn't think you'd be so easily frightened and then you fell and-"
"I'm fine." I forced a smile at a slightly panicked Harry. He didn't look so convinced, and his eyes trailed down my body, towards my feet. I followed his worried looking gaze, and winced.
"Is my ankle supposed to hang at that ankle?" I attempted to joke, and Harry shook his head with a guilty expression.
"I don't know." Harry admitted. "But my ankle certainly doesn't." His eyes returned to me. "Does it hurt?" I laughed lightly, and he grimaced. "Stupid question?" Harry guessed, and I shrugged.
"It's not broken." I said, believing my words. I was far from educated in injuries, but I knew I'd be in a lot more pain if it was broken.
"Sprained?"
"More like bruised." I tried assuring him, not sure why I felt so determined to ease his guilt. Harry looked more pained with guilt than I did with my ankle. I surprised us both my placing my hand on his arm, and gave him a reassuring smile.
"A hand up would be nice." I hinted. Harry leaped to his feet and I expected him to offer a hand. Instead, his arms scooped me up, and cradled me against his chest.
"Uh, dude, I can walk." My voice squeaked, but Harry smiled down at me and shook his head, his dark waves falling near his eyes.
"Uh, dude," Harry grinned, "I'm taking you to my mum. She's a whizz with this stuff." My eyes widened and I tried to leap from his grip, and failed.
"Nonono." I chanted. "No offence, but I'd rather not." His eye met mine and he sighed again.
"My family isn't your enemy, sweetheart." Harry spoke softly. "Dante, yes. Me, my mother? No." He continued to stroll down the corridor, and I huffed.
"What if she recognizes me?" I mumbled, looking up at him.
"Oh, she will." Harry laughed. "But she'll want to help. She's the one that helped me twist a few arms to find out about you." He admitted, and I quirked a brow.
"You're a momma's boy." I mused, and Harry smirked down at me, his dimple showing through.
"Sure as hell beats my father." He pointed out, and I nodded. I thought in silence while Harry carried us into the elevator, and Harry muttered to the man in the corner of the level we wanted, before the door closed on us. When the doors opened on us again and Harry walked us down the corridor that was new to me, I spoke up again.
"I don't recall seeing your mother in court." I said. "Dante, your dad, you." I listed off. "Not your mother."
"My mum is..." Harry trailed off. "She's always been short with Dante. You can guess why. Anyways, when the news broke out about Geordie," my heart leaped at the mention of my brother, "that was the last straw. She's given him to shove ever since. She didn't want to support him in court." I was surprised by his confession. I'd always heard about the scandal of Monica Styles and thought lowly of her, clearly she had more morals than I gave her credit for.
"Between you and me," Harry lowered his voice as we approached a door, "I think she was rooting for you." Harry gave the door a sturdy knock with his foot as he was still holding me.
"Just a moment!" A voice shrilled, before the door swung open, revealing not one, but two people. I recognized the woman as Monica Styles from the papers, but the tall man before us rang no bells. Harry, however, stiffened, and I knew right away he knew the well-dressed man before us, and I knew Harry wasn't at all pleased.