Heiress Of Valletta (One Direction/Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Heiress of Valletta

  Front seats at my favourite band, One Direction's, concert. The curly haired boy looks me in the eyes, and pulls me up on stage. He whispers he loves me, in front of the world. Then, he kisses me. "Yeah, Alex!" My friends cheer to me and millions join them. Harry, the curly haired boy, starts dancing with me, and spins me in a circle. He dips me, and I fall. A girl from my school, Lilly, stands over me and glares. She takes Harry's hand and he starts dancing with her. I lay on the ground, crying, as the world laughs at my misery.

  I sit upright in my bedroom. The familliar pink walls and the green and black comforter is soft against my bare legs. I see the same wall decor, and my closet is the way I left it, my elephant pillow was where it was when I left it last night. Carefully, I get out of bed and creep over to my desk to find a note taped to my laptop screen, still open to my Twitter page. I take the note, and look into the mirror to see if the rest of my room had changed. Nothing. The only thing was me, and sweat was going down my face. My brown hair sticking to it, and my brown eyes were shocked, with bags under them. Luckily, it was all just a dream. I haven't gone to the concert yet. My tickets have a different date written on them. It's tomorrow.

  I turn my attention back to the note, and sit down to read it. The familliar scrawl of my dad's handwritting signals that he probably went somewhere. I looked at the clock, it was 10:30.

"Jack,

I've gone out to get things sorted out with Izzy, she left late last night after a fight. You were out with Cassandra and I didn't want to interupt. She got pretty upset that I had your mom over and you weren't here. I tried to explain that she had come over to see you, but you weren't home and I wasn't expecting her. Because, I wasn't... Anyways, there's some food in the fridge for you, and remember that your clothes are in the dryer if you can't find any.

Mom is coming over later, so do a bit of cleaning.

I love you, Alex! x

-Daddy"

  I set the note on my desk and roll my eyes because dad called me Jack... A stupid nickname that he made up for me one day when he saw me eating Apple Jack's, and I laughed so hard milk came out my nose... Izzy is my dad's beautiful girlfriend, and she always has her hair perfect, because she's a hairdresser. It isn't suprising that she was mad, though. I remember how Cassandra and I just stayed at her house discussing what we were going to wear to the concert tomorrow. She's wearing a dress, which is a suprise, and I am, too. I'm buying it today. I loved how dad left me some food and said that my clothes were safetly in the dryer, but I hated that mom was coming over. I didn't want to clean, and there was a reason I chose to go with dad when they split up last year, when I was eighteen. I hated living in a hotel suite, and mom never really paid attention to me when we were around. She was always so involved in her stupid hotel.

  My iPhone rang and brought me back to reality. I run to my bedside in my spandex and volleyball t-shirt and picked up the phone that is in a burgandy case. It says, "Incomming Call From: Cassy! (:"

  Cassandra. I send it to voice mail, and put it back on the stand it was on, then I spin around. I stretch, and my stomach growls. I clutch it, and head downstairs to see what dad left me. I pass lots of my dad's pictures every morning, but it's different this time. I stop and back up to look at a new one... It's a picture of me doing my homework, and it blurs out everything around me. I smile at it, and keep walking. The brown walls give a comfort to the living room, and the burgandy curtains match my phone case. It's dark in the room, and I open them. The sun lights up the room, and I can see them warming up the leather sofas already. My dad kept the house after my parents split up, and he's a pretty wealthy guy, because he's a carpenter. He built our house, and it's amazing. I was never picked on at school, and I think some of the reason is becasue of my father's money. The house he built is fairly big, and it's half brick, and half siding. There are pillars around the front step, and beautiful rocks beside the steps, on a hill that dad built the house around. We have pretty flowers all around the outside, and an oak tree in the front yard. In the backyard, there's a pool, a patio, and a gazebo, but my favourite part of all the outside, is a row of 4 trees that dad put 2 hammocks in so we could read together on slow Sunday nights.

  As I think about this, I wander into the naturally bright kitchen, with it's orange walls, and all the advanced appliances. It's mostly white, and there are navy blue bar stools around the island. I open the white fridge and peek in. We have lots of food, but there are two eggs on a plate, sunny-side up. My favourite, and I take them out, popping them into the microwave for 30 seconds. Once they're done, I sprinkle them with salt and pepper, and grab a fork from the dishwasher. I turn on the radio, and take a seat at one of the stools.

  "It's going to be a nice day in Valletta, sunny all around!" Says the weather woman, and then she says it in Maltese. "Huwa ser tkun ġurnata sabiħa fil-Belt Valletta. Sunny kollha madwar!"

  I grew up in Valletta, Malta's largest city, so I can speak both Maltese and English. Although, we frequently speak english. She continues to talk, and then the news man comes on and says a few words that catch my attention.

  "One Direction concert in Birkirkara tomorrow at 7 o'clock. Tomorrow, also is supposed to be very hot, so wear your shorts and tank tops, Directioners!" Now, he speaks Maltese. "Wieħed Direzzjoni kunċert għada Birkirkara fi 7 għaxra. Għada, ukoll suppost tkun sħun ħafna, sabiex jilbsu xorts tiegħek u tank tops, Directioners!"

  I love when he mentions Directioners. Every girl in Malta really loves One Direction, and being a small island, all the teenagers are true Directioners. Everyone knows it, too. The more I think about the concert tomorrow, the more excited I get! The thought of catching one of their eyes, (preferably Harry's,) gets me riled up. I hear my ringtone from upstairs, and look at my half eaten food. I drag myself up, and see it's my mom. I roll my eyes, and think about what she might say. "Hello?" I say, and clear my throat.

  "Hi, għasel!" I roll my eyes. 'Għasel' means 'honey'. "I was just wondering if you're doing anything today? I was hoping we could go down to the 'bajja,' and do some swimming and tanning, not that we could!" She laughs her 30-year-old ex-wife kind of laugh, and I shake my head, smiling. We couldn't tan if we tried. We're meant to be little, thin, brown haired white girls.

  I love my mom, so, I have to accept her offer. "Alright, when? I haven't even finished my breakfast." I say, and start walking down stairs again. Thinking about what to wear.

  She sighs, "Għasel, it's almost 11:00! Are you almost finished? I could be there for noon." I roll my eyes, she knows I need my sleep. I scratch my hand, absentmindedly and look down to see a blue vain popping out. That doesn't happen often, but every few weeks it does.

  "Yeah, that sounds fine. See you soon, omm." I always talk some-what Maltese with my mother, and I always call her my 'omm' (mother in Maltese,) ever since I was small.

  "Inħobbok, għasel." She says, 'I love you, honey.'

  "Inħobbok, wisq." I say back, hanging up on her, and finishing my eggs. I needed about half an hour. I put my dishes in the sink, and walk down the downstairs hallway, into the laundry room. It's bright yellow walls, and white carpet give it the same bright feeling as the kitchen. Over the dryer is a saying in Maltese that I read everytime I come in here.

  It says, "il-kamra tal-londri, tagħbijiet ta 'gost," or, in English, "The laundry room, loads of fun."

  My father has a twisted sense of humor...

  I grab a navy blue spandex that goes halfway to my knees, and a long yellow halter top. On my way back to my room, I open the closet in the living room and take out my new red, yellow, green and blue beaded sandals. The beach that omm and I are going to is in Birkirkara, and I don't know the weather for there yet. It's a private property on the hotel land my mom owns, and it is opened to the guests, so hopefully, there will be some cute boys. Some guys usually play volleyball, and that's why I put on my spandex. I leave my hair down, because it's straight and I don't need to do anything to it, usually. I go upstairs and open my pink curtains in my room. I go into my bathroom, and get ready.

  After I'm done gathering up my beach stuff, I go downstairs and use Twitter from my phone. I feel so proud to have all of the boys following me on Twitter. They must know my parents. The richest carpenter in Valletta, and the owner of a long line of hotels all around Malta. All I am is the hotel heiress, and the rich daughter. Who knows? They might know me, too.

  I tweet to my thousands of followers, "Going to the bajja in Birkirkara with omm! Can't wait. xx"

  I have 3 favourites a few seconds later. I'm on Twitter until I hear my mom pull in the driveway.

  Time for a beach day! I think as I lock the door and get in my omm's white convertable.