Prince and the Pauper

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Adlington's elite Harry Styles, son of Drake and Monica Styles , was spotted out for the first time in two weeks since his girlfriend, Devonne Abel died due to extreme conditions she was subjected to in her abduction by none other than Harry's own brother, Dante Styles. He refused to comment on the matter, but he was photographed leaving Adlington Hospital this morning. An insider working in the hospital claims he visited late Devonne's brother, Geordie. The same Geordie that was allegedly attacked by Dante Styles nearly four months ago, and is still in a coma due to the violent attack. It is rumoured that Harry is now taking legal guardianship of Geordie in  loving memory of Devonne. Further more-"  I switched off the television shaking my head, and looked over at Harry who was watching me carefully from the couch beside me.
"They really believe I'm dead." I said with a forced laugh.
"It wasn't that much of a stretch, Dev." Harry reasoned, running a ring-clad hand down his sharp jawline.
"The condition you were in when we found you, I  wasn't sure if you were going to make it." Harrys eyes glossed over with fresh tears at the raw memory, and I reached out for him, climbing into his lap, his strong arms instantly locking around my waist as I sat in his lap, my legs stretched out of the couch we sat on.
"Hey, I'm Devonne Abel. It's going to take a lot more than a heartless dick like Dante to keep my big mouth shut for good." I tried lightening the mood, and Harry laughed lightly, raking a hand through his hair, which had grown considerably recently.
"I know." Harry whispered gently with a hint of a smile on his pink lips. I grinned as I looked down at his arms that held my tightly. My smile grew when my eyes landed on the newest addition to his tattoo collection. A pair of feathered angel wings inked on left bicep, a single feather floating around it as if it had fallen. In the feather was one word, my name, Devonne, in cursive writing. I loved it, and Harry did too, smiling every time he looked at it.
"I really did think you'd stop calling me Angel once I lost my virginity ya know." I quipped light-heartedly, making Harry laugh.
"You think so lowly of me. " Harry faked hurt, and I smirked up at him.
"Not because you were playing me or anything." I reasoned. "But because Angels symbolise innocence and purity."
"Huh, I thought they symbolised Christ." Harry teased, and I jabbed him playfully.
"God, innocence, purity. It's all the same thing. Same song, different verse." I retaliated making Harry chuckle.
"That's not why I started to call you Angel." Harry sobered up somewhat, making my brows quirk.
"Oh?"
"The definition if your name, Devonne, means Devine. Follow that train of thought, Devine-divinity-Angel-" his fingers trailed along my cheek and traced the shape of my lips,
"my angel." His sincere words warmed my heart, and my cheeks as I felt them flush. I let my fingers trail from his newest tattoo, across his taught stomach, under his shirt, and let my hand rest over his beating heart. His skin was warm and the rhythm in his beating heart gave me a sense of calm.
"Harry." I let my eyes dart to his face to see his eyes had fluttered shut at my touches, but they snapped open when I spoke his name.
"Mmm." He acknowledged me, and I took a deep breath.
"How long am I going to have to...hide. How long am I going to have to be dead?" I whispered, and Harry grimaced in pain. I knew he was struggling with this as much as I was. Only five days had passed since news broke out about my "passing" and it was taking a  toll on the both of us. I hadn't been out of the house since, and cabin fever was making me go crazy. Or maybe it was the separation between me and my brother. Either way, it was getting the better of me. I was emotional, and Harry was stressed. He'd get restless when I went out to the backyard to hang up the washing, but he would bite is tongue. Knowing I needed the small escape outside to feel like I was in fact, still breathing. That small five minute task of the day had become the highlight of my days, even if it was doing chores. Harry on the other hand, hated it. He'd stand there, watching me with his arms folded across his chest, posture stiffened and alert, looking for a sign of life besides us, or the security team. I hated seeing this serious and cautious side of him all the time. I had grown so used to his cheeky and playful remarks, and I missed them dearly. The dangerous spark in his eyes when he said something naughty. Or the dimple in his cheeks when he told a cheesy knock-knock joke. I missed the old life.
"Dad has lost interest." Harry sighed. "He believes your dead, and has since settled his focus and attention on his new motel." My blood boiled just at the thought, knowing that land had once been where my brother's hospital room was.
"Trace hasn't bought it?" I asked hesitantly, making Harry's lips tighten.
"He's...sceptical. I think for the most part he thinks it's true, but he's not one to take something on the word of somebody else. Let alone the press. But mom has played the roll of the grieving mother of a heartbroken son well, and he's backing off." I took all this in, and Harry gripped my chin in his fingers, tilting it up and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips.
"It's not long till this is all over, baby." His whispered into the skin of my neck.
"I think I could handle the apple-pie life just fine nowadays." I sighed, letting my head collapse onto Harry's shoulder, and I felt his body shake with laughter.
"Sounds pretty damn appealing right now." Harry agreed, running his fingers through my messy hair. I grew confused when Harry lifted me off his lap and got up, pausing halfway from me towards the kitchen, looking over at me with a smile on his lips.
"Oh you didn't mean a literal apple pie?" Harry faked surprise. My eyes squeezed closed, and I threw my head back in a fit of giggles. Partially due to the joke, but mostly because my old Harry was creeping back in. I'd missed this so much. I covered my face with my hands laughing, my head collapsed back against the sofa.
"You're such a dork." I giggled, and Harry laughed too, proud of himself.
"Yes, but I'm your dork." I was still laughing as Harry dragged me off to the kitchen. Apparently we were going to bake an apple pie. From scratch. Including the pastry. The thought was daunting, but Harry remained confident in his baking skills, and instructed me carefully on what to do. Half an hour later we were both covered in flour from a food fight, and I laughed as I picked an apple peeling out of Harry's unruly brown hair.
"Now my hair is going to smell of apples." Harry playfully grumbled, and I smirked over at him.
"Well I smell like a cinnamon factory, so we're even." I reasoned, and Harry chuckled. I watched as he took a small spoonful of the cinnamon sauce I was mixing as he tasted it, licking his lips slowly.
"Needs a little more sweetness." He winked at me, and I playfully rolled my eyes.
"Pass me the sugar, sugar."  His hip playfully bumped mine at his joke, and I snorted at his line, and passed the sugar over to a grinning Harry.
"I'm going to make me a cup of tea." I commented lightly. "Want one?"
"Please." Harry was still smirking at his joke as he stirred in the sugar.
"Okay. Pass me the tea...bag." I retaliated. I laughed loudly and obnoxiously as Harry dropped the wooden spoon in surprise at my retaliation. I bent over and slapped my knee laughing.
"You are sooo going to get it." Harry growled playfully, and I shrieked as he hauled me over his shoulder and carried me over to the couch, plopped me down, and attacked me with tickles.
"Stooooop." I moaned with laughter, squirming below him as he grinned wickedly as he pinned my arms above my head with one hand, and tickled me with the other.
"Surrender! Surenderrrr!" I wailed and  Harry rumbled with laughter, pulling back with a proud smirk, as I lay there panting out of breath.
"I was kidding! You're not a bag! What even is the insult in that?" I reasoned, but Harry quirked a brow.
"I'm not sure in all honesty. But the insult is implied." He narrowed his eyes and I laughed again, still  a little breathless.
"Okay, you're not a bag, even though the hidden meaning behind the insult is unclear. "
"Damn straight." Harry smirked now, and I teasingly shook my head.
"More of a sack than bag-ah! I'm joking!" I squealed as he attacked me with tickles again, tears from raw laughter itching in the corner of my eyes. |
"You want my sack more like." Harry grinned, and I felt my stomach start to ache with laughter.
"Oh my gosh, you didn't just say that!" My voice squeaked with raspy laughter, and Harry laughed too, all tension now evaporated from the air.
"I'm a modern day Shakespeare."
"Oh yes, oh how thy heart palpitates at thou's tongue of velvet." I rolled my eyes, causing Harry to tip his head back and roar with laughter. Through our wriggling on the couch my body must have somehow pressed on the remote making the TV switch back on. Background noises of more headline stories buzzed in the background as Harry and I wrested playfully on the couch, my hands trapped in his large ones, my fingers wriggling and itching towards him to attempt at returning his attack. 
"Breaking news, Adlington's scandal storm takes another blow as the man behind the rumoured Styles family affair, Trace Ritzon, has been rushed to the hospital after being shot." Both Harry and I froze, and our heads snapped to the TV, and sure enough, footage showed the attack. Wherever it happened, it was clearly some public event, paparazzi flashed their cameras as Trace strode through the crowd with grace. The building in the background was familiar, and my stomach knotted as I recognized it as the High Court of Adlington. Just as Trace was about to enter the glass doors, a loud bang emitted from somewhere off camera. Shouts and screams followed as Trace staggered, and fell to the ground. My mouth dropped open at the sight, and the camera spun dizzily in the other direction, zeroing in on a man. The shooter. The gun was lowered in his hand now, he appeared surprised he had hit his target, but not remorseful. His tall body stood staunch, straightening with confidence now. Something about it was familiar. The camera zoomed in as more shouts and profanities sounded from the background noise, but all turned silent when the face of the shooter stared right into the camera. Those dull brown eyes, shoulder length straight hair that demanded a cut, the permanent scowl on his face sent me back to my past. A tall body that could have been the ultimate armour of protection to a  loved one, but was never put to use. His hooded eyes turned from the camera and then he was gone, disappearing into the frenzied crowd, who was too afraid to stop him. But I saw him, and I would remember him. I always had after all this time. A mixture of emotions stirred, anger, betrayal, guilt, but a small part of it...hope?
"Dad?"