A Dreamers Dream

A Prince, A Popstar and me. Windsor, England.

Maddie's perspective.

I cannot believe that I let him talk me into this. What the fuck was I thinking? I told him on the phone that people like me do not attend Royal weddings and the closer the car he sent for me gets to Windsor, the more truthful that statement feels. True to his word, Harry sent a sleek silver Mercedes and driver to collect me at eight o'clock this morning from my tiny little flat. I swear even the smartly dressed chauffeur in his top hat was confused as hell when I stepped out of the front door with my tiny battered pink suitcase in hand, hair all over the place and huge bags under my eyes which prove once again that this is a bad idea. I barely slept a wink last night.

It seems I am utterly incapable of refusing Harry just about anything though, I swear that boy could ask me to jump off a cliff and I'd do it. Jeez, I've got it bad. As the car zooms past the lush green countryside west of London, I swallow heavily and search around in the mini-fridge for a bottle of water. A fucking fridge. In a car. This isn't my life.

Under strict instructions from Harry I have barely bought any luggage with me to attend the most prestigious event of the year, I haven't even got a dress. He assured me that he would take care of it and that everything I could possibly require would be waiting for me once I reached the hotel. Good job really because there is no way on earth I was gonna be able to find anything in my wardrobe even remotely suitable to wear to something like this. Fairly sure the spaghetti strap vest top with a picture of a butterfly adorning it and the artfully ripped skinny jeans I am wearing would not meet the dress code.

"Good afternoon, checking in?" A polite gentleman with laughter lines crinkling his eyes asks me as I approach the desk of the hotel that Harry and I will be staying in tonight. Whilst we've been touring I've at least gotten used to flitting in and out of places like this so I feel like I can finally breathe a little easier as I pull my suitcase up to the desk and set it to one side.

"I'm meant to be meeting someone who's already checked in actually, erm, Mick Greenberg?" I mutter self consciously, using the nom de plume that Harry text me earlier.

"Ahh yes, Mr Greenberg is expecting you. He's in suite three-oh-two. Take the lift to the third floor, second door on the right. Can I have someone assist you with your luggage?" He offers with a kind smile.

"That's OK I can manage to thank you," I reply and grasping the handle of my suitcase firmly in my hand, make my way over to the lifts, I wonder if it's too late to turn back?

"There's my girl." Harry drawls, in his deep sultry voice as he swings open the door, takes the handle of my suitcase from me and brushes his lips lightly across mine in greeting in one simple movement.

"Don't get too used to me, I've not decided if I'm staying yet." I tease him as I enter his suite.

Harry places my suitcase over to one side and gently eases my handbag from my shoulder and lowering it to the floor before slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me tightly against his firm chest.

"No chance I'm letting you leave. I've missed you too much." He whispers as he leans down to kiss me when his lips find mine a storm of fireworks explode somewhere deep inside me. I honestly thought I was doing alright not having seen him for twenty-four hours or so, but the moment our lips touch, I realise I've been kidding myself and only now that I'm in his arms do I feel whole again.

"Dammit Styles, you're going to be the death of me I swear," I mumble as our kiss ends and he stands up straight, the sight of him almost takes my breath away, even in just a T-shirt and jeans he looks good enough to eat.

"Ahh, but I'll make it worth your while, I promise." He smirks, and I know that any thoughts I had of pulling out of tonight are futile, if I can't say no to him on the phone, I don't stand a chance with those piercing eyes of his boring into me.