"She's compromising her own personal beliefs and morals, putting her heart on the line just because he asked her to. She feels slightly sick at her stomach when she thinks about it, so she takes a page from his book and tries not to.
But trying not...
"I'll have the Lombata di Vitello con Funghi Selvatici. Make sure the veal isn't dry, and instead of the wild mushrooms, I want the rice pilaf with broccoli, steamed. Not microwaved...steamed. With a real steamer, I know you have to have one back there. And bring another bottle of Perrier, I'm parched."
I silently groan to myself, doing the best I can to hide between the large pages of the menu. Unfortunately, it doesn't do much good since Eleanor's voice is extremely loud and we're sitting smack dab in the middle of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Beverly Hills, the type of restaurant that is known more for its A-list patrons and its exorbitant prices than the actual food they serve. All eyes are on us, because Eleanor always needs to be seen. And why else would we be here?
Oh, it's because as of this morning, Eleanor was sporting a short, angular bob in the vein of old school Victoria Beckham, making the attention for her even more extreme than usual. She's obviously an incredibly drop-dead gorgeous woman, and given how quickly this wedding is approaching wedding of the year status, it only makes sense to see the sneaking photos, lurking paparazzi, and strong gazes would mix with muffled whispers, making her the talk of socialite hour. But the hair? It was certainly an intentional centerpiece to this outing. Maybe it was even the point.
I remember when she walked into the office this morning, fresh from the salon with the angled bob that was certainly quite edgy for her. But my gasping reaction was nothing compared to Harry's, which I got to see when he stopped by the office this morning after his first meeting to take a look — purely at my suggestion. It wasn't because I wanted to see him.
Liar.
"So what's different about it?" he had asked cautiously, eyeing me with curiosity while he waited for her to finish a call in her closed office.
"Oh, you'll notice..." I smirk, continuing to scroll through Eleanor's emails to avoid my eyes taking in his legs in his gorgeous new Gucci suit.
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I noticed that suit, that's for damn sure.
"See, all of you women say that," he teased. I was about to respond, but her door flung open and his eyes had immediately caught the frame of her face, snapping to her hair in shock.
His mouth had fallen open, a strangled yelp fell aimlessly off of his lips. She stood in the doorway, a smug smile on her mouth.
"Amazing, isn't it?" she asked, shaking her head playfully as the angled, textured layers swiped against her cheek.
"Y-you cut your hair?" His voice was meek, thin, and laced with a disappointment I couldn't quite understand.
"Astute observation, Harold."
Silence.
"It looks good, right?" she asked.
He bit his bottom lip in thought before he nodded cautiously. "Y-yeah...I mean, of course. I just...you know I like your hair long."
