Becoming Mrs. Styles

Chapter 4

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- Hayley

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Chapter 4

Clementine’s POV

 

 

I sat down on my glossy leather couch, wrapping myself up in my favorite fuzzy blanket. I folded my legs underneath my bum and scooped out a large bite of my 100 calorie frozen yogurt, yes, I’m aware it’s not near as good as ice cream, but a model has to stay… model.

I turned on my TV, flipping through the channels, until I saw a picture of myself, plastered across the screen.

A plump orange headed newscaster held the mic close to her mouth.

“This is where witnesses say Harry Styles was with a girl, now, I know what you are all thinking, ANOTHER girl? But, according to this exclusive footage, this one is different.”

The screen cut to a shaky video of Harry, sliding into his car. The smile printed on his face was fake, I could tell. Only one dimple was showing, whereas while we were at the flat, when he was talking to his bandmates, both dimples were showing.

I knew this was all an act, but it honestly made feel a little sad that I didn’t make him happy.

“Her name is Clementine, and she is my fiancée.”

The screen cut back to the reporter, whose outfit was the ugliest shade of purple I had ever seen. And being a model, I have seen a lot of purple.

“Is this for real? Is this just some publicity stunt? This is what Directioners have to say about this… ‘Situation’”

“She’s a total slut, I mean seriously? Did you see her? Harry could do so much better; you say she’s a model? Puh-lease.”

“I think she is gorgeous! I’m am so beyond jealous, and did you see her hair? I wonder if it’s real?”

“All I can say is wow. And that’s not a good wow.”

“Isn’t this the girl who was caught ruining Chris Harmsworth marriage?”

I turned the TV off and grabbed my phone, opening the Twitter app I scanned everything, my eyes began to water. I know they don’t know me. I knew they don’t know this is all for show. Oh gosh, if they knew it was all a sham… they would eradicate me.

I didn’t want to call Harry, it was almost midnight, he may not be asleep but, I’m not his girlfriend. I can’t just call and complain for things like this.

I held my phone up to my ear, after scrolling through my contacts and finally finding the one person I knew would come to my rescue every time.

“Delilah, can you come over?” I cried into my phone.

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Fifteen minutes later there was a loud knock on my door. I leapt to my feet and jerked the door open, falling into my best friends arms.

“Shh, shh, shh.” She cooed, wobbling towards the couch. She sat us both down and pulled a box of tissues from her large, striped purse.

I pulled a tissue from my box and wiped my makeup free eyes. Delilah waited until I had calmed down before speaking.

“What’s wrong?”

I shoved my phone in her face. Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the various comments, trends, and statuses.

“Wow.” She mumbled. I let out a humorless laugh and stood up, pacing around the living room. I ran my hands through my long blonde hair.

“When I signed that contract they didn’t say anything about this.” I pointed franticly to the phone.

“Maybe its karma.” She shrugged

“What?”

“Well, the contract specifically said not to tell anyone about your fake relationship, and you told me… soo.” She trailed off, her brown eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Lilah! This is serious!” I whined.

“Okay, okay.” She stood, grabbing me by the shoulders.

“I’ll stay the night here, let’s put in a movie and go to bed; and then tomorrow we can figure out how to take care of this, sound good?”

I nodded, before Delilah practically pushed me to my room. I changed into a pair of pajamas, while Lilah searched my drawers for one of her pairs of clothes she had left here. After we were both situated we climbed into my bed, wrapped ourselves up in my duvet and let the movie Letters to Juliet lull me into a restless sleep.