Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 78

Chapter 78

"Stop moving," I said softly, my free hand shooting out to clamp around Harry's wrist. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're gonna mess it up."

It was the morning of the gallery showing. I'd woken up early, a swirl of anxiety muddling my thoughts the very moment I'd opened my eyes. It was the date I'd been thinking about almost every single day since the one last year, amidst all of the other things that had popped up these past few months, of course.

Harry, as always when he could sense something was the matter with me, had been an angel. He'd woken up not too many moments later, collecting me in his arms, promising with a kiss against the shell of my ear and then down to the crook of my neck that it was all going to go great. All of my planning and hard work was going to pay off accordingly.

And to be fair, he usually hit the nail on the head with what was troubling me, but whether or not the gallery showing was going to run smoothly actually happened to be the least of my worries. Ever since the man working with Damien had shown up with my name on his hit list, I'd been overwhelmed with panic at the thought of any more of them following. Even after Morgan, Harry and Zayn had told me incessantly that there were multiple new cameras and higher security added to the studio, I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. With everyone I cared about all crowded into a single space for the span of a few hours, it almost felt like there was no way something wouldn't go wrong.

"My face is itchy," Harry muttered. I was sitting on his lap, his hand in my own, as I painted a fresh coat of blue polish onto the bed of his nails. His favourite colour and the shade that would be matching my dress tonight. His free hand, the one I'd already painted, slipped onto my waist beneath my shirt.

"Stop!" I hissed, urging him against the action, despite how cold my skin felt the moment the pads of his fingers withdrew back to his own lap. "You're going to smudge it. Where's your face itchy?"

"My nose," he said plainly.

With a small sigh, I reached up to itch his nose. He'd been like this since we sat down. Antsy, clingy, refusing to keep his hands to himself before his nails dried.

"'m, my cheek, too," he added, eyes closed the same way Loaf's were whenever I scratched her in just the right place. I rolled my eyes. "Lower," he said, voice rough.

"Better?" I asked, tipping my head to the side, assessing him with a teasing glare the moment his eyes flew back open.

He scrunched up his nose. "No. Kiss me." I made no move too. A short breath fell from the back of his throat, and he leaned forward anyway, eyes fluttering back shut.

"Ah–" I caught him by the neck. His eyes flew back open, surprised delight lingering within them. "No. No kisses until I'm done, you absolute menace. What should have taken ten minutes has taken over thirty. Be–have–" I drew the word out, giving him a short squeeze, "–and I will give you what you want."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked up. He licked his lower lip, looking very much amused, before sinking back against the couch. "Noted, baby."

He reached up to idly toy with the bottom of my hair as I hunched back over to resume my painting, my heart skipping a beat when he began to hum along to the song playing softly in the background. Hungry Heart by Bruce Springsteen.

"The River," he murmured softly. I could tell he was looking at me. Could tell that he was even smiling by the way his mouth curved around the words. "That's what this album's called. D'you know that?"

"I did know," I chorused back, working to suppress a smile of my own.

"Everybody's got a hungry heart," he sang softly, swaying his head to the tune. "Lay down your money and you play your part. I'd write an album for you. I'd dedicate everything to you if I could."