Drowning

Seven;

"I'm on my way," I say down the phone.

"How far are you?"

"Zahara, I'll be ten minutes, okay?" I chuckle. "Stop being so nervous."

"It's kind of impossible when your whole family are asking where your supposed boyfriend is," she sighs. "God, they have not stopped asking about you. It's disgusting."

"Alright," I say, amusedly. "As I say, I'm ten minutes away, baby." I tease.

"Fine. See you soon." she says, the smile audible in her voice.

I continued to drive down the roads, until I was just outside of the hotel. I parked up, and stepped out of my car and into the blustery September evening.

Zahara was waiting outside for me, arms hugged around her small frame in an attempt to keep herself warm. She looked lovely, admittedly; high waisted mom jeans with a white silk cami top, plus some open toe black heels. Her lips were painted red, too, which was definitely a plus. I just wore some black skinny jeans with a black button down shirt to match.

"Hey," I smile as I approached her.

"Finally." she pouts.

"I'm right on time," I chuckle.

"But I was here early." she huffs.

"Sounds like a you problem," I joke, placing my hand on the small of her back as I kissed her cheek.

"Save that for inside, big boy." she says, taking ahold of my hand and dragging me inside of the hotel. I laughed a little, but went along with her.

We walked into a large room, being greeted by loud music and plenty of people.

"Wow," I chuckle. "This is quite the party,"

"We don't do things small around here," she winks. I laugh.

Almost immediately, a woman and a man ran up to us.

"Zahara!"

"Hey, mum." she smiles. "This is Harry."

"Harry?" the man, who I assumed was her dad, says.

"Yes. My boyfriend, Harry." Zahara says, so naturally, effortlessly. It made me wonder how often she lied to her parents about things.

"So lovely to meet you, Harry." her mother says.

"So pleased to finally meet you guys," I smile, shaking her father's hand and kissing her mother upon the cheek.

"How old?" her dad asks.

"He's twenty-six, daddy." Zahara says. My eyes went a little wide when she called him 'daddy'.

"Too old." her dad huffs.

"Omar, don't be so rude." her mother sighs.

"Occupation?" her dad asks.

"He's a boxer, darling." her mother says.

"What? A boxer? Zahara-"

"World Champion, too, papa." Zahara says, looking up at me with a smile of, what appeared to be, pride. I smiled softly back at her and took her hand back into my own.

"Hm." her father says, skeptically. "Fine."

A waiter came over to us, holding a tray of full champagne glasses.

"Champagne?" he asks.

"Thank you," Zahara smiles, taking one from the tray.

"Cheers," I smile, taking one for myself.