The Other One {Harry Styles AU}

28. Now

Manchester airport is crawling with paparazzi. We are followed to the parking lot by the swarm, and I am so glad right now that we didn't take the train. There could have been endless embarrassing shots of me sleeping, drooling, eating. I stay quiet as Harry chats with his mom and sister, loading the bags into the car. The fucking ticket agent must have gotten herself a lovely Christmas bonus by selling my itinerary to the tabloids. Fuck. Fuck. I really hope these assholes don't ruin my trip.

But Harry and his family carry on as if they're not even there. I strap my seatbelt in beside Harry in the back seat and rub my hands on my legs anxiously. At home, and in London and New York, the paparazzi will get right in your face, block your car, follow you down the highway. Airport security seems to have them somewhat contained right now, but I'm worried about getting out of here safely, getting to Holmes Chapel without an unwanted entourage, getting through this holiday without any headlines.

"How was the flight?" Anne asks as she pulls out onto the road. I try to hide my cringe by wrapping my arms around myself. I don't want to talk about our first class trip here; I don't want those wounds reopened.

"It was fine," Harry answers, reaching to unravel my arms, "long, but it was really smooth. No turbulence, so we got some sleep." He slides his fingers between mine and squeezes gently.

"That's good," Anne smiles into the rear view mirror. "This one still looks sleepy," she beams at me.

"I am," I confirm, smiling back. "I think it's just the time change." Or the panic. I am so nervous. What if she hates me? Like Gemma seemed to over the phone. What if I say or do something stupid? God, I'm so not ready for this. I have no idea how to behave.

"Well, we will have an early dinner, and then you two can settle in for the night."

Harry leans over and kisses my cheek, then whispers in my ear, "we should be there in half an hour or so."

"Okay," I nod, looking away from his fixed gaze, so perfectly green. "I'm glad we took an overnight flight, so that I can see the area." The compacted buildings of Manchester have given way to expansive fields coated with snow, like a sea of melted marshmallow. It's so beautiful. I want to eat it.

"Have you ever been anywhere in England besides London?" Gemma asks, turning around in her seat.

"When I was little," I nod. "I've been to Bath, Stonehenge, um...maybe Oxford." I shake my head. "I was only 8, so I don't really remember."

"Is there any place you'd really like to see?" Anne peeks at me in the mirror again.

"Maybe some literary sites, like Stratford-upon-Avon. Oh, and Liverpool. Abbey Road. Like anything related to The Beatles, honestly."

Harry is beaming. "Liverpool is close. We can go one day next week," he says. "Anything else?"

"Um, I know this sounds crazy, but I would love to go to a racetrack." All those years reading Dick Francis mysteries. I want to see the places he described.

"That gambling problem out of control again? Gotta get your fix?" He pinches my cheek playfully.

"I just need one big win, and then I'll be back on top," I say desperately, smirking. Gemma grins at us from the front seat.

The scenery has changed again, and we are in a small village lined with brown and red brick buildings. "This is it," Harry says. "Home." My stomach tightens. No. Your home is with me.

Anne pulls into the driveway of a redbrick home with a sloped lawn and leafless shrubs. "All right. Here we are! Maddie," she turns toward me as she unbuckles her seatbelt, "please make yourself at home here."