Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 56

It's Red Carpet Hour in Los Angeles.

On Thursday and Friday nights between say -- seven and ten -- the most glamorous of the city's inhabitants don the latest pair of the hottest designer shoes (the ones they didn't get on sale) and the hottest accessories (that they tried to get from New York Fashion Week) that they bought specifically for tonight. They put on their newest dresses and hottest suits, get their hair and nails done until they look nothing like themselves in real life. And why? Because tonight is Red Carpet Hour in Los Angeles, and if they don't look good they don't get in.

For the ones that have that problem anyway.

Harry seriously wishes he had that problem. But when you're engaged to Eleanor Baker, doors open for you. Literally. He barely has time to reach for the handle, prepared to open the frosted glass door of Nobu for his fiancé before it swings open, seemingly of its own accord, and a small man in a heavy jacket ushers them inside.

Compared to the large breezy atrium they'd just come from, the lobby is fairly cozy, the small space holding little more than a host's podium before opening into a larger space where diners chat excitedly, the patrons eyes glancing around hungrily at the other clientele, hoping and praying they get to set sight on the latest celebrity gossip star.

Harry hates this sort of thing.

He's been stared at enough for one lifetime, let alone two. If he's being honest, that's the one thing he doesn't miss about entertainment — not being able to go anywhere in public for a singular second without being descended upon by screaming girls taking thousands of pictures that end up online for all to see. Even when he's having a bad day. Or when he's sick. Or when his dad just died. Or when he just doesn't want to take a picture. Or smile.

He had hated that the most, even though he never let the charade fall, always keeping an attempt at a smile for his fans, especially with a good attitude -- because let's face it. He wouldn't have ever been this successful without them. He just preferred life with less intrusions, now. At least, that's what he tells himself. Just because he hated never being able to be himself outside of the privacy of closed doors and vetted insiders, doesn't mean he wasn't grateful. He just wished he didn't have to be "on" all the time.

Which is why he much preferred the shadows, and in some ways, Eleanor begging him to stop performing and take a backstage role in his preferred industry was a blessing in disguise. As he's been battling himself over his emotions and what he wants out of life the past few weeks, he's been trying to remember that. Especially as it pertains to Eleanor and her debutante friends -- finding it ironic that their desire is to not just be known, but to be seen. If Eleanor really wanted that so badly, he would have thought she would want him performing. She used to love his celebrity.

Either way, her desire to be seen meant that she, of course, she had to pick the most popular, most hard-to-get-into restaurant possible.

So it's no surprise that the open mind he's been trying to keep all day about this stupid outing is wearing thin. He tries to console himself with the fact that at least he'll be getting a decent meal out of this charade. He's been suffering on a high protein low carb diet all week, courtesy of his new "wedding or bust" nutritionist, and he is ready to throw that out the window with some fine Mediterranean cuisine. He isn't sure if this is good on Eleanor's part, bribing him into not complaining by taking somewhere that will satisfy his stomach, or simply a coincidence.

"Reservation?"

Harry blinks slowly at the tall, sleek woman standing behind the large wooden podium. Her body is long and slender, beautiful in a way that is unobtrusive. He wouldn't have really noticed, except her eyes are green. "Oh...table for ten. Styles."