You Still Remember (Harry Styles)

28. Italy

Alicia’s POV

“You like whipped cream, don’t you?” Harry asked me as he watched me lick the remaining cream off my finger.

Milan, Italy. That’s where we are now. Like in Paris, I was sharing a hotel room with Harry again. And this morning, he ordered our breakfast to be taken up to us-in bed. I didn’t even know how that was possible, since he had to rehearse, but I liked having him with me for longer, so I didn’t complain.

“Hell yeah I like it.” I said, spraying more whipped cream onto my finger.”Aren’t you supposed to be rehearsing?”

“There’s no harm done by doing that later.”

“Except the boys will probably kill you.”

“Wrong. I made calls. They’re all having a nice sleep-in right now.” He took a piece of chocolate from a plate and tossed it in his mouth. “Wow. This tastes amazing. You’ve got to try this.”

“Oh?” I asked as he put a piece in my mouth.

He was right. The chocolate was divine. It had just the right amount of choclatey-ness (yes, I know that’s not a word-shut up), the creaminess and milky-ness…it was just perfect.

“Oh…wow.” I was lost for words.

“Like it?” Harry asked, smiling. 

“Like it? It’s perfectly sinful. It’s so good!”

“Makes Cadbury seem like shit.”

I giggled. “Tell me about it.”

“Care for some of this?” He took the bottle of fancy wine from the table.

“Wine? In the morning?” I asked in disbelief.

“Why not?” He smiled brightly.

I chuckled. “Sure.”

He handed me a wine glass and was about to pour the wine when all of a sudden, we heard a knock on the door.

“Hello?” A voice with a thick Italian accent called out from the other side of the door.

“Great.” Harry muttered in annoyance.

“Yes?” I called out in reply (since Harry was most likely gonna say nothing).

The door opened by a crack, and short man with a moustache poked his head through.

“Can we help you?” Harry asked, trying to hide the frustration in his voice.

The man blushed, as if he’d just walked in on a married couple celebrating their honeymoon-which was probably what we looked like anyway, with all the cream and the chocolate. And the fancy Italian wine-especially since Harry was about to open it.

“I’m sorry, Mr Styles, but the other members of One Direction wanted me to come get you, so you can go to the arena for rehearsals.”

“Yeah, OK. I’ll get changed and be right down.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry-once again.” He quickly closed the door behind him.

Harry sighed and put the wine back on the table. “I guess we’ll just have to save this for later.”

I sighed too. “Well, you can’t forget your career, babe.”

“I don’t.” He got out of bed and started to search through his suitcase for clothes. “I just wish that I could be with you more.”

“Aw, I’ll be at your rehearsals soon.”

He fastened his belt and threw his T-shirt on. Backwards.

I giggled. “Your shirt’s on backwards, you fool!”

“What?” He looked down at it and slapped his forehead. “God, I’m a fucking idiot.”

My giggling upgraded to laughter. “Only sometimes, Haz.”