Everywhere: Book 3 of the Nowhere Trilogy

44. Make You Feel

You've gotta crave it and chase it - Alina Baraz

5:03 PM, Friday, March 18, 2022

This stolen time with Chele has been what he needed to prepare for the next leg of tour. The physical exertion of climbing the mountain is combined with the pleasure of gazing upon the glorious, ancient Machu Picchu from on high. Neither experience tops the fact that his girl is by his side.

Just as they finish their visit to the historical site, the skies open and rain pours down from the heavens. Shivering, Harry yanks their hoodies from his backpack, passing one to Chele. Pulling the hood over his head, he plants his hands in the front pockets of the lightweight sweatshirt which features Rock En Seine, one of Paris' best music festivals.

Perhaps it's time to put aside his ban on sex? After all, they've mostly declared their love for each other. Isn't that enough? Following her as they walk the trail back towards the Belmond Sanctuary Lodge, Harry contemplates what it would be like to finally make love to her. His hands slipping the clothing from her body while his mouth follows. His cock embedded deep in her. To be as close as he's always pictured them being. It feels right under these circumstances. Certainly not during tour. Something about the work atmosphere of buses and planes and band members deflates his desire and ability to picture the future.

But here -- in Machu Picchu where they've experienced life simply as a couple without the trappings of his celebrity -- it seems like the time. His cock begins to stir at the thought. They're both grimy; the shower with its non-drinkable water doesn't seem to be the place to start the proceedings. Perhaps once she's dry, he'll offer to rub lotion on her to keep her skin soft? His lip quirks upwards on the side in a smirk as he pictures exactly how it will go.

As the voices of two women reach his ears ("And then I said, 'If Liam and Harry can climb to Machu Picchu, then so can I.'") he registers the words. Shit. Fans. Hiding his head, he attempts to avoid them, but one of them is already gaping at him.

"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit." A short Asian woman wearing glasses mutters repeatedly. Her open palm hits the other woman's arm.

"Ow. What the fuck, Lane?" The second woman asks, rubbing at the spot that's starting to turn red.

Lane is pointing at Harry, her finger shaking. Fuck.

He affects a scared look, hoping he's able to pull it off. "You're him!" Lane screams. "I mean, I'm not a fan of boy bands, but your solo work rocks, and you know Stevie Nicks and Elton John and Chris Martin and holy shit! Rory, it's Harry Styles!"

Tilting his head, he examines her, drawing on all of his acting skills to pretend to be confused. "Bonsoir. Je m'appelle Henri et je viens de Paris. Voici ma femme, Michele."

Praying Chele catches on, he glances nervously at her, hoping the fear on his face registers with the two women as his brain rushes to ensure that all of his tattoos are covered. Thanks to the hoodie and his hands in his pocket, he believes they are. Well, except for the ones on his knees, but there's nothing he can do about those. Can he pass for a Frenchman? What if they know French? He should have picked a different language. Merde.

"Salut," Chele says, and he breathes more easily. They're not out of the woods yet. "Où sont les toilette?"

"Lane, I don't think that's him," Rory whispers, tapping her friend on the shoulder. "They're a nice French couple looking for a bathroom. Um...Les toilettes are, um, in the interior of the, um, de hôtel." She points towards the lodge, and Harry nods.

"Merci!" He keeps his head away from them in fear they'll see his dimple. Grabbing Chele's hand, he hauls her behind him into the building, listening to the conversation between the two women as both couples walk away in different directions.