Arranged with Style.

9.

Perfection.

The reception, the wine, the deco, the music, the speeches. It was perfection.

But I dislike perfection, perfection is fake, it's not real, not raw, because something that's real comes with flaws, so my wedding was fake.
The smiles, the kiss, the hand holding, my friends cheers.
It was all so fake but so real. Real in the papers we signed, real in the words the priest spoke, real in the fact on the back of this motorcycle I am heading to my new house with my Husband.

Yes, motorcycle.

My stuff was already there apparently, and my baby Bon was being taken there by one of the tattooed guys, I was worried though, I can't see that punk being gentle to a little pup but then again I shouldn't judge a book its cover.

I'm not going to lie, Harrys jacket was slightly wet from my tears that were slowly seeping out of my eyes as I latch onto him from pure fear of the speed and vehicle we are currently sat on. I wouldn't touch him if it was up to me but I had no choice but to hold onto him otherwise I'd probably fly off and break all of the bones in my body.

Doesn't exactly sound most appealing.

We slowed to a stop in front of a. . . apartment block? What were we doing here? Confusion swirled in my mind as Harry swiftly parked before hopping off and began marching in the direction of the entrance without offering me a ounce of help. I huffed to myself.

What a gentleman.

I rolled my eyes hurrying to catch up to his long legs as he passed the security guard who turned his nose up at the sight of Harry but then narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the sight of me trailing after him.

I could immediately tell this wasn't your usual apartment block, it was so prim and proper and elegant, it looked bang out of a modern design magazine that my mother found a weird joy in looking through. Clearly it housed rich people who, much like the security guard didn't think someone like Harry belonged here. Although he was rich, you wouldn't be able to tell straight off the bat with the rugged way he dresses and all the tattoos lining his strong arms. 

"Princess I don't have all day," a harsh voice knocked me out of my thoughts as I realised I had slowed down immensely, almost stopped walking even. I frowned at the harsh way he spoke to me and hurriedly entered the lift with a bored looking Harry.

"Um, why exactly are we here?" I asked quietly as I peered up at him from under my lashes, something about his self confidence and the brash way he spoke was Intimidating.

He stared at me for a moment without saying anything, his eyes held mock and I could tell he was mocking me, my body, my hair, just me in general and i squirmed under his gaze knowing he was lost likely laughing to himself about my flaws.

"Because I live here." He answered bluntly after awhile of silence. He lives here? Surely he has enough money to life in a cool house, so why would he want to live in a a building which houses a mixture of people of all kinds?

"Here? You live here?" I asked completely baffled with his answer. His eyes darkened in colour I noticed as he went to answer me.

"What? Is that not up to your standards, princess." He spat venomously, the supposed to be affectionate term sounding like pure poison.

"No, it's fine. I was just wondering," I murmured quietly taken aback by his hostility and how rude he was being. I didn't expect him to be like this.

He didn't say anything after that, just stayed quiet tapping his foot impatiently before we finally arrived to the top floor.

He stalked away pulling out a bunch Of keys as he walked toward the furthest door numbered 145 and jammed a silver key in before marching inside swiftly. I quickly scurried into the room behind him and shut the door behind me.