Prince and the Pauper

Chapter Eight

Monica Styles was a beautiful woman despite her age. Tall and voluptuous, with long locks of black hair, the colour that would blend perfectly with the midnight sky. Perfect olive skin, and dazzling green eyes. Although Harry, too was a handsome man, he shared most of his fathers looks. The man standing behind her was also blessed in appearances, but completely different to Mrs Styles. His height was average for a man, marginally taller than Monica. Even from where I stood it was clear Harry was at least five inches taller. His skin wasn't as tanned as the Styles family, and his eyes were a piercing blue, so bright they seemed to glow. His eyes were almost haunting.
"Trace." Harry greeted with a tight nod, his tone had grown husky. I glanced up at him and his eyes met mine, and they softened a touch.
"Harry." The man, Trace, smiled. His smile was sinister, and it made me cautious of him as his gaze found mine.
"And you are, my dear?" His lips curled higher.
"Devonne Abel." I had opened my mouth to answer, but they hadn't been my words spoken. I looked up to see Monica smiling at me, and she stepped forward. "I had always hoped I would eventually meet you." She grinned, and I heard Harry groan lightly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating through me, as Harry still held me in his strong arms.
"Of course, when I thought of they ways our paths would cross, in the arms of my Harry was not one of them." Her laugh was pleasant, and I found myself smiling in a mixture of embarrassment and agreement.
"We had a, uh, incident." Harry coughed awkwardly. "She doesn't think it's broken or sprained, but I think it's her stubbornness saying that." I glared up at him, and he sent me a wink, making my nose crinkle up in disdain.
"A good thing your mother could have been a nurse in another life." All of our gazes snapped to the man before us. Monica flushed and smiled, before returning her attention to me.
"I'll be back with a first-aid kit in a mo." She flashed a pearly white smile at me and scurried out of the door in her stilettos.
"Um, you can put me down, Harry." I murmured. Harry crossed the room and lay me across the black leather couch against the back wall of what I assumed to be, Monica's office.
"What in the world did you do, may I ask?" Trace questioned, his shark smile putting me on edge. I had never seen the man before, in the tabloids or in the court case, so I knew he wasn't a family relative. Although his looks told me that anyway. Whoever this man was, Harry clearly didn't like him. His rigid posture spoke volumes. At the sound of Trace's voice, Harry's spine snapped upright as if somebody had slipped ice-cubes down the back of his shirt, and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. He was trying to remain formal, but his tone was laced with bitterness.
"What were you doing in my mothers office, may I ask?" Harry reflected the attention onto Trace. Trace laughed, but it wasn't friendly. It was forced, and sounded like a brooding storm.
"I work with your mother, Harry." Trace pointed out. "That requires conversations sometimes. You'll learn all about the business world when you grow into a man." My eyes widened at the suggested insult, and Harry closed the distance between the two of them, their bodies a centimetre apart. I watched on partly curious, and partly entertained. Harry had come across as gentlemen, cool, calm and collected, but the Harry before me was hostile. His shoulders were squared and his voice was razor sharp.
"Being a man requires more than a suit and a brief case, Trace." Harry snarled. "It requires maturity and balls. And not the type of balls you use with my mother. In your work." My jaw dropped open as the true identity of Trace dropped, and I bit my cheek to contain my laughter. I had never seen this side of Harry before, and I had to admit, I found it rather endearing, and attractive. Trace leaned back and let out a wolf-whistle.
"Big claim you're making there boy."
"I don't think you'd know anything about a big deal." Harry's voice was smug, and this time I couldn't control my laughter. A chocked giggle passed my lips, and I coughed in a pathetic attempt of covering it. It was clear they both heard as they spun to look at me. Harry's lips tilted into a victorious smirk, whilst Trace remained void of any emotion. Those stark blue eyes found mine, and the intensity made my chest tighten. There was something painfully familiar about him. I knew we'd never met before, and yet the look in his eyes made me get an eerie sense of Deja-vu.
"So what connection do you two share, then?" Trace directed the question at me. "If you don't mind me saying, you two aren't exactly cut from the same cloth." He gestured toward my clothing, and my back straightened defensively. I pushed my tongue against my cheek and made a sound of disdain.
"Care to elaborate on that?" I asked, my tone holding the same lining of loathing Harry had spoken with.
"I don't mean to offend." Trace raised his hands in surrender, but we all knew that was a lie. "But your clothing would suggest you don't dabble in the same business and lifestyle as Harry does."
"Oh?" I tilted my head to the side. "Yet I still have more clothing on that you and your business with Monica." It was Harry who laughed this time, only he made no attempt to hide it. His hands clapped loudly just as Monica reappeared, first-aid kit in hand. She smiled at us all and crossed to where I lay on the couch, painfully oblivious to the tension in the room. Trace was smirking at me now, a smirk that suggested arrogance and pride.
"I shall leave you to it, Monica." Trace spoke up, nodding his head politely. "Call me when you've made a decision." Monica nodded in his direction, before sitting herself down on the couch by my feet.
"See you around, Harry." His voice falsely friendly. "You too, sweetheart." His right eye dropped in a wink, and my anger flared, Harry going rigid too, and then Trace was gone. Harry moved to stand behind my head, and perched himself of the arm on the couch I lay on, and Monica pulled the shoe off my foot gently.
"Is it bad?" Harry asked his mum quietly. He sounded nervous, and guilty, and I found myself wanting his mum to deliver news that would put him at ease. It was conflicting how just two days of knowing Harry had me thinking I had him pegged all wrong. He was still a trust-fund kid, and he had the dress code and stride of an uptown man. At a glance you would assume he was snobby and pompous, the way he held his head high, and rolled up the sleeves up his expensive dress shirts, sporting a Rolex watch. And yet...The way he spoke with politeness, and his cheeky sense of humour was a strong contradiction. Then there was his eyes. The way they shone so brightly, but it wasn't just the beautiful green that caught me. It was the honesty and sincerity behind those eyes. It was impossible to look him in the eyes and doubt where his true intentions lay. He was an honest man, and the truth he spoke was never rude. Unless it was with Trace, but given my first impression, that was well deserved.
"It's definitely swollen." She said with a frown. "You are right though honey, it's not broken." I smiled up at Harry.
"Told you." I chirped. "I'm never wrong." Monica laughed and I saw she too had a dimple. He got his charming looks from his mother apparently.
"I like this one!" She cheered, and Harry playfully shook his head.
"Wait till she back-chats you, ma." His hand poked my cheek, teasingly, and a wave of heat washed through me. I prayed he didn't feel it too, but the way his touch lingered slightly, and his finger slowly trailed down my cheek before dropping to my shoulder told me otherwise. I took a deep breath, and forced myself to focus on Monica assessing my injury, rather than the beautiful man sat beside me.
"I doubt it is sprained," Monica said at last, grabbing a bandage and efficiently wrapping it around my foot and across my ankle. "But it will bruise and be tender for a few days. Just try not walking around too much, or put too much pressure on it, and it'll be better in no time." She gave my foot a light tap to finish, and I smiled gratefully at her.
"Thank you." I said honestly, and she returned my smile.
"No need to thank me. It was the least I could do considering." She trailed off, and silence filled the room. "But you're working with Harry he told me last night, so clearly you're a very reasonable and forgiving woman." Monica stood up and put a hand on her son's shoulder. "I'm glad you could see not all of us Styles are money-obsessed and cruel. You seem like a genuine young woman, Devonne." I looked down at my lap and spoke in a quite tone.
"That's being a bit generous." I admitted softly. "I wasn't exactly easy going on Harry when we first met."
"Actually," Harry cut in. "You were." I squinted up at him in confusion and he gave me a wry grin. "Technically when we first met it was in the hospital when I bumped into you. Literally." His Cheshire cat grin made me laugh. "You were perfectly polite then. It was only when you found out who I was that you sassed me." We shared a laugh, and Monica's eyes darted between the two of us with a coy smile on her red lips. It was a knowing smile, the kind a mother wore when she first met her child's partner, and Harry and I both knew it. I bit my lip to contain my laughter.
"Well I wouldn't blame you." Mrs Styles confessed. "What Dante did... we all know despite what the court said it was him," she shook her head in disappointment. "I am truly sorry for Dante's actions, Devonne. He was always troubled, you must have heard of the rumours on why." She let out an exasperated sigh. "When we found out what he had done to your brother I was disgusted. I pleaded Drake to pull off Dante's lawyer and let him face the consequences, but appearances are everything to that man." She shook her head. "When Harry told me what the verdict was, I was fuming. So was Harry. So when he asked for me to find out about you, and Geordie and how you were coping, I immediately agreed. I hope you don't mind, sweetheart." Her words were sincere, and I shook my head to let her know it was okay. Admittedly I was freaked when I first found out how others had dug into my life and background without my knowledge, but it had come from pure intentions, which made the news easier to swallow.
"It's okay." I assured her. "Harry explained it all, and I appreciate your concern." Monica let out a relieved sigh and placed her manicured hand over her heart.
"Good. Do you..." her tone softened, "do you mind if I ask how Geordie is doing?" Her words choked me. Whenever somebody brought up my brother it felt like a fist was squeezing at my throat, freezing me from speaking or breathing. My throat felt raw reminding me of seeing Geordie rushed into surgery with a tube down his throat helping him breathe. The image was nauseating. My little brother, hurt out of greed.
"He's still in a coma." I mumbled, picking at my nails. My breath trembled, and Harry gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But I have hope he'll wake up soon. No, I know he will. My brother is a trooper, he'll pull through. I know he will." I spoke firmly now. "And he'll wake up and smack me for painting his toenails pink." They both laughed, and I found myself smiling. "I thought it would make him wake up." I admitted with a smirk.
"It will give you something to look forward to." Harry assured me. "To when he wakes up and sees what you've done." My heart swelled at his words. He had spoke with determination and belief that Geordie would wake, and it gave me the reassurance I needed. I glanced out of the glass window that took up most of the back wall, and saw the sun setting behind the large buildings, the hospital Geordie lay in only just visible. The only reason it was noticeable was the fact that the old grey building stood out something like an eyesore to the luxurious glass buildings surrounding us.
"I'll drop you off home." Harry spoke up. "There's no way you're walking all the way back to Wentworth on that ankle. After all, it is my fault." He winked yet again, and I cursed myself for blushing at the memory of him kicking my ass, making me fall.
"What did happen?" Monica asked.
"Um," Harry and I spoke in hesitant unison.
"There was a ladder" I admitted, dancing around the details.
"And a clumsy girl." Harry teased.
"And a lot of heavy books." I added defensively.
"And a reckless boy." Harry continued when Monica looked between us with confusion.
"And a foot..."
"And a ass..." Realization dawned on Mrs Styles face, and then her eyes shut tightly as she laughed, shaking her head.
"I see." She hummed. "Although I wish I didn't." Her words were playful, and the similarities between Harry and his mother were striking, and I smiled at the thought. Seeing him as a mothers boy was cute, not that I'd admit that to him.
"C'mon then, trouble." Harry scooped me up again and I yelped in surprise.
"It was a true pleasure meeting you, Devonne." Monica acknowledged as she held the door for us, and I smiled sincerely at her.
"You too, Mrs Styles."
"Oh please! Call me Monica." She chuckled.
"Seeya ma." Harry kissed his mothers cheek, before departing and carrying us away. I waved goodbye and it was only when Harry had got us downstairs and all the way into his flash car that I realised I had left my shoe in Monica's office, along with my old feelings towards Harry and his family.