I Do

Chapter 22

Dedication for @CastlesMadeOfSand because she's just a sweetheart and left a super nice comment <3 

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Chapter 22 *Wedding in: 7m 21d*

-Hallie-

   "Yes, I'd like to book it." I heave a sigh, tapping my foot impatiently as I await the response on the other line. "Yes, the seventeenth of April," I repeat, wincing slightly at the thought of it. The wedding date is rapidly approaching, and I'm completely unprepared.

   Not planning-wise, of course. In the past month I've developed a guest list, designed invitations, even decided on the after-party menu, which, according to Ar, must be extremely classy. At the moment, I'm in the process of reserving a gorgeous, black-marble floored, high-ceilinged, and marvelously elegant hall for the ceremony. It's exactly as Ara is anticipating and precisely what Harry will dislike. Things are running quite smoothly as far as that goes.

   No, I'm not ready emotionally. Or in the case of sabotage, considering the last time we set up a scheme was in Florida for The Picture, which failed miserably. I can't blame the boys, of course, as they earnestly want to help. But with recording their new album and signings and preparing for tours, it's all but impossible to invent brilliant plans. Even with Louis, easily one of the most mischievous people I've ever met, and Eleanor involved, we haven't done a thing.

   It's altogether depressing, and after hanging up the telephone, I slump into the plush office chair and prop my elbow on the solid wooden desk, which is scattered with papers. The fact is, I'm beginning to doubt that stopping the wedding can even be done. Although Harry and I have grown closer, spending countless hours chatting and shooting each other during intense Black-Ops sessions, that alone isn't going to persuade him to end things with Ara. And whether the wedding is a disaster or not, it won't do much good if he's already said, "I do."

   A squeal bursts from behind Arabella and Harry's closed bedroom door, which is just down the hall. I groan, burying my face in my arms and clapping my hands over my ears. What am I still doing here?

  I'm entirely exhausted of watching Harry and Ar do adorable little couple things, like peck one another on the nose, or share secretive smiles over the dinner table. It splinters my heart when Harry saunters through the door with an armload of fresh roses or greets Arabella with a charming bow. I'm sick of tears welling in my eyes, of being the third wheel, of watching Harry continue to fall head over heels.

   Because that's the thing about 'falling in love', something I've learned painstakingly well. It's a magical sensation, exhilarating, swooping, rushing. A sappy smile that can't be erased is glued on your face and life seems sweet as chocolate. Every waking thought is full of him and just that simple thing makes life a million times better. But when you've fallen, when you've face-planted hard into the cement, it hurts.

   I can't bear to see Harry suffer through the same thing I have. I can't bear to see the boy who brought me slamming into the ground feel that way. I might never get over the hurt in my heart, yet it's impossible to stop loving him. And if I don't take action, I'll have to endure more heartbreak than I can handle.

   With that brutal thought in mind, I dial each one of the boys' numbers and calmly wait for the incessant ringing to stop. Oh, wonderful. A five-way call with the most noisy, stubborn, hyperactive, and still so lovable people I've ever met. This should be fun.

  "Hello?" Liam answers warmly, his voice warm and professional.

  "Hallie!" Louis hollers next, and I cringe, shifting the speaker to avoid hearing damage.