Roses [h.s]

Chapter 18

"That was nice of your cousin to have me in the photo."

We're sitting in the back of the same sleek black car that had driven us to the church, and when Harry had led me to it after we had taken photos with the newlyweds, I had found myself sincerely hoping that the driver hadn't been waiting for us the whole time. After we had thrown the confetti, and Harry and I had very quickly used up the rest of the bubble mixture, we were roped into taking photos with the wedding party. Harry had tried to refuse, to sit out of the photos, saying that he didn't want to ruin the photos – which is impossible for him – but my cousin had insisted. So, he had jumped into the photo with us, and even now, ten minutes later, I can still feel the fading imprint of his hand where he had placed it on my lower back as the photographer asked us to smile.

"It wasn't that nice, she just wanted to have a celebrity in her photos. Just you wait, that will be one of the first pics she posts." I snort, only half-joking and Harry laughs along with me. "I don't know if you've realised this, but you're kind of famous, Harry."

I'm half serious when I say this to him. When he first came back, I was convinced that he would be a completely different person, that the fame and the money or whatever would've changed him. The fact that he missed mum's funeral and had stopped talking to me was solid proof of that. But since he's been back, everything he does reminds me of the little kid that I had known years ago. He planned snowball fights, trips to the bakery, a videogame night; even now he's been talking about coming over to play boardgames in a few nights. Nothing he does even hints to the fact that he's famous and rich, he's just ... normal.

"Really?" He replies mockingly, and I just smile in reply.

The drive to the reception hall isn't long, and we spend the rest of the ride organising what boardgames we'll play, and which night works for both of us. I'm too busy thinking about how fun the night will be that I forget about the promise I had made myself to take a break from Harry. It seems that sentiment is easier said than done, because when I finally remember it, I convince myself that it's too late to back out of anything now. A flimsy excuse, especially when I know that the only reason I won't cancel is just because I want to see him again.

This time when the car pulls up out the front of our destination, I'm quicker, and I get out before Harry can open my door for me. He pouts at me but still holds out his hand for me to grab. The racing of my heart is familiar now, no longer surprising me as it did before, but that doesn't mean that I can ignore it any better. Suddenly I feel like I'm stuck now, halfway between keeping things inside and just blurting them out to him. It doesn't help when Harry smiles at me the way he does, or now when he slowly reaches toward me with his free hand. I can feel myself stop breathing when he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear tenderly. Or at least I imagine it that way.

"Thanks." I say, hoping he doesn't notice how breathy and high my voice is, though it seems embarrassingly obvious to me. So much so that my cheeks begin to blush again. Harry nods quietly, and then he guides me inside the hall.

Once we find our seats, we head straight to them, claiming our spots as if they were priceless. There's a few more relatives that come up for a chat, and I'm grateful for the fact that Harry is with me because they're all too busy staring at him and waiting for their introductions that they don't lament on and on about my bother. If it bothers Harry that guests are staring at him and shaking his hand over enthusiastically when they do get introduced, he doesn't show it. He's nothing but kind and polite. Even the few that have the courage to ask for a photo, Harry always smiles at them and agrees. I find myself watching him as he holds these brief conversations, even when I'm in the middle of my own. I need a break.

When I finish up a conversation with another one of my mum's cousins, I ask Harry if he wants a drink before excusing myself to go to the bar. I order a glass of champagne and take such a large gulp that the glass is almost empty when I pull it away from myself. The bubbles tickle my throat as they flow down, and I hope that the alcohol will keep my mind off my feelings about Harry, and not just make me blurt it out to him. I sigh heavily, wishing that things were simpler before I finish my drink and then order another.