Nola, and her three beautiful girls, are looking for a fresh start. When they take up temporary residence in her grandparents home in London, she is told the musician living next door is rarely home. To Nola, he sounds like the perfect neighbor.
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Today we are driving to Geneva. Our time in France, though brief, was absolutely magical. The days in France also felt a lot like the first few days after you move in with someone. Whether it was moving in with a roommate at boarding school, or university, or a house full of contestants on the X Factor, or moving in with someone you love, it was all the same. You spend the first few days walking on eggshells and living in a strange alternate universe created by trying to hide your bad habits while pretending to be someone you are not because you worry that who you are isn't good enough. Eventually, though, that false perfection fades and what you are left with is the true human at the core of all that mask wearing.
For me, I found that window of time I was willing to pretend for in that alternate universe got smaller as I age. I also just don't have the time to pretend to be someone that I am not, and I'd hope by now that Harry knows that. That doesn't change the fact that I essentially moved in with Harry Styles, and there were some growing pains over the last few days. The biggest of those pains coming from the fact that it wasn't just me and Harry shacking up, but my three little ladies, too.
The first day we were tired after the long drive. So, we unpacked, ate dinner, did baths and all fell asleep early.
•••••
The second day we went shopping all day. Then, Hattie had a rough time falling asleep, so I told Harry I'd sit with her until she fell asleep which ended up being me falling asleep in the chair in her bedroom holding her. I know that Harry came up at some point to check on me, because when I woke up at 3am, my bare legs were covered in a blanket from the living room and there was a water on the table next to my chair.
•••••
The third day, I apologized for falling asleep on Harry for the last two nights and promised to not have a repeat of that happen for our third night in France. We stayed around the house in Meudon to let the girls play with all their new toys. In the afternoon, I had the girls model their favorite clothes from the day before and I even let Harry post photos of the girls wearing the Gucci shoes he picked out for them to his private Instagram account.
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That evening, Harry and I held fashion shows of our own for each other after the girls went to bed.
>>>>>>>>>> Flashback to the Fashion Show
"So, Miss Nola, what kind of music would you fancy for your runway walk?" Harry asks me, after completing his little fashion show strip tease to old One Direction songs.
"Well, obviously I think I am going to need some Harry Styles. Do you know his music?" I tease. "I mean, I think he played a fashion show of some sort, or something?" I joke, flitting around in my underwear, damn well knowing that he not only played the Victoria's Secret show, but was linked to a half dozen of the models walking in it. Speaking of which, I should probably add his STD status to the list of pre-coital questions.
