This Love

Chapter 80

Sidenote: I've never been to court in the US, let alone in the UK, so this whole scene is completely based on the murder documentaries and fictional TV shows I've watched LOL. I did the most research I could but this is still how it's working out in my imagination so I'm sorry if it's completely inaccurate!

SCARLETT STYLES

"Scar?" Harry raps his knuckles on the back of the bathroom door. "Are you alright?"

"Uh-huh," I keep my eyes closed and suppress another gag, holding my hair back in a low ponytail with one hand while the other holds the side of the porcelain tub to my left to keep me steady.

After taking a few seconds to know that I'm finished throwing up, I flush the toilet and grab the marble vanity to help me up. Without looking at myself in the mirror just yet, I wash my hands and brush my teeth for the second time this morning before reapplying my lipstick. It's not the usual shade of red or any other bold color for that matter. It's neutral just like the rest of my makeup.

As for my outfit, I look like I could be one of the lawyers fighting this case. I'm wearing a conservative long sleeve black cashmere dress with a hem that falls just a couple of inches above my knees, black sheer tights, and tall black boots over those. The only skin I have showing is on my neck, face, and hands.

"Are you alright?" Harry asks as I swing the door open, waiting for me on the edge of the bed.

"I'm fine, yeah," I clear my throat and cross the room to spritz my perfume all over my outfit.

"Are you sure? Because it sounded like you were throwing up," he points out the obvious. I didn't have time to try to cover up the sound when the urge to vomit came on so suddenly, but he was supposed to be downstairs.

"I'm just nervous, but I'm fine," I insist. "I need water and a cigarette, and I'm good to go."

He doesn't say anything else about it as he follows me downstairs and I know that's because the last thing he wants to do right now is start an argument with me. Instead, he gets me a bottle of water and holds my winter coat up for me to slip my arms through before we head out to pick up Seth together. I smoke my cigarette on the way, though it does absolutely nothing to help my nerves.

And Seth doesn't say much once he's in the car with us either. The only sound between the three of us is the wind whistling from the cracked-open window so that the two of them don't have to breathe in the secondhand smoke. I'm sure we're all just in our heads thinking about how this whole thing is going to play out.

Just before we arrive at the courthouse, I toss my cigarette out the window and can't help but notice the amount of paparazzi and media outlets presenting outside the front steps. Michal mentioned something about the media frenzy that this case has become because of how influential Frank is in the business world, but I haven't read a single thing about it and that's not an accident. I don't want to know what anyone is saying at all. That's what makes this next part so frustrating.

As Harry parks on the street and we start making our way up the dirty white stone steps, both men and women are shouting at me and Seth while they stick their microphones in our faces. They're asking us questions about how it feels to be in the position we're in and whether or not we think our father is innocent. At one point, I opened my mouth to correct the bitch and tell her that he's not my real father, but then I stayed quiet like I knew I should.

"Jesus," Harry breathes as we enter the building safe and sound where it's much quieter–like a church or a school. I feel like we need to whisper, and the heels of my boots seem to sound louder with every step I take until we see Michal in the wide and spacious hallway.