𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃! | harry styles

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

I was already dressed in an orange summer maxi dress and a golden belt to accentuate my waist when Harry stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. I sat on the chair in front of my vanity, putting on make-up, but froze with the mascara brush inches from my eye when I saw Harry. He walked toward the wardrobe and picked out black pants and a white shirt before he dropped his towel without shame. I didn't look away fast enough and was rewarded with his firm backside. I lowered my eyes and busied myself with checking my nails until I dared to face the mirror again and put on mascara.

Harry buttoned his shirt, except for the upper two. He strapped a knife to his forearm and rolled the sleeve over it, then put a gun holster around his calf. I turned around. "Do you ever go anywhere without guns?" No chest holster today because it couldn't be hidden well with only a white shirt.

"Not if I can avoid it." He considered me. "Do you know how to shoot a gun or use a knife?"

"No. My father doesn't think women should get involved in fights."

"Sometimes fights come to you. The Bratva and the Triad don't make a difference between men and women."

"So you've never killed a woman?"

His expression tightened. "I didn't say that." I waited for him to elaborate but he didn't. Maybe it was for the best.

I stood, smoothing out my dress, nervous about meeting my father and Desmond Styles after the wedding night. "Good choice," Harry said. "The dress covers your legs."

"Someone could lift the skirt and inspect my thighs."

It was meant as a joke but Harry's lips pulled into a snarl. "Someone tries to touch you, they lose their hand."

I didn't say anything. His protectiveness thrilled and scared me in equal parts. He waited for me at the door and I approached him uncertainly. His words from the bathroom still rang in my ears. Writhe in pleasure. I wasn't sure I was even close to being relaxed enough around him for anything coming close to pleasure. Gianna was right. I couldn't allow myself to trust him that easily. He could be manipulating me.

He rested his hand on my lower back as we walked out. When we reached the top of the stairs, I could already hear conversation and a few scattered guests were talking in small groups in the huge entrance hall.

I froze. "Are they all waiting to see a bloody sheet?" I whispered, appalled.

Harry peered down at me, smirking. "Many of them, especially the women. The men might hope for dirty details, others might hope to talk about business, ask a favor, get on my good side." He gently pressed me forward and we walked down the steps.

Romero was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his brown hair in disarray. He tilted his head toward Harry, then gave me a brief smile. "How are you?" he asked me, then grimaced, the tips of his ears actually turning red.

Harry chuckled. I didn't know any of the other men in the hall, but they all gave Harry winks or broad grins. Embarrassment crept up my neck. I knew what they were all thinking, could practically feel them undressing me with their eyes. I shifted closer to Harry and he curled his fingers around my waist.

"James and the rest of your family are in the dining room."

"Poring over the sheets?"

"As if they could read them like tea leaves," Romero confirmed, then gave me an apologetic look. He didn't seem to suspect anything.

"Come," Harry said, nudging me toward the double doors. The moment we stepped into the dining room, every pair of eyes was on us. The women of the family were gathered on one side of the room, divided into small clusters, while the men were sitting around the long dining table, which was piled with Ciabatta, grapes, ham, mortadella, cheese, fruit platters, and biscotti. I realized I was actually quite hungry. It was already almost lunch time. James snuck up beside Harry and me, an espresso in his hand.