Yours: a short story [harry styles] ✓

6

25th November 2017 - Part One

"Thank fuck you've not ballooned yet," Elenore grunted from somewhere behind me; her platinum blonde hair only just visible in the floor length mirror looming ahead. The satin tie at my waist pulled taut; suddenly forcing my posture upright and sending my already nauseous stomach into a spin. "This thing only just about holds your dress together!"

Harry had called in a favour where my wedding dress was concerned. One minute I'd been trawling the internet for something simple that also wouldn't break the bank, and the next I'd been wrapped in a tape measure being fitted for Gucci. I'd ended up with a gorgeous satin ivory bardot gown, held together at the back with a large satin tied bow. The final fitting had only been a few days ago in order to accommodate for my growing bump. 

"As long it actually does up, that's the main thing." I released the breath I'd been holding and turned to face my best friend. Ele's dress was also satin, but in a deep emerald colour that looked ridiculously good with her bright hair. 

"We look so hot right now." She beamed at me; the small emerald studs I'd gifted her glinting under the overhead light. "Niall is going to lose his shit when he sees me in this." She smoothed her hands over the soft fabric that finished just above her matching pumps. I'd said a big fat no to heels for myself and had instead opted for a pair of flat ivory sandals that could barely be seen under the hem of my dress anyway. 

"You're not wrong there." I agreed, and checked the clock on the far wall. It was nearly time. Everyone would be seated now and waiting for my arrival—just the thought of being centre of attention made me want to vomit. Elenore hadn't been nervous at all on the morning of her wedding, whereas I was fairly confident that the contents of my stomach was going to make it down the aisle before I did. 

"You need to chill out, Marn. You're sweating and I'd hate to see your make up get ruined." She faffed around me; waving a random sheet of paper in front of my face like some sort of DIY fan. 

All I really wanted was to see Harry and Nola, but it had been agreed from day one that she and Harry would walk down the aisle together before my arrival and then she'd sit with Anne during the ceremony. If I'd had it my way, we'd have gone off somewhere—with Nola in tow—and eloped. But Harry had been adamant that we were doing this properly, even if it did mean that all our family and friends would have to watch me waddling my bump down the aisle. 

"How long until someone comes and gets us, do you think?" I asked at the exact moment the door to our suite clicked open; revealing not the wedding planner, but a sour faced Preston Owens instead. 

"Oh, shit." Elenore squeaked, and the DIY fan fell from her grasp and fluttered onto the carpeted floor beneath our feet. 

"You always did have a knack for colourful language, Miss Jones." My father stated as if he knew anything about Elenore at all. Neither of my parents had approved of my best friend and they'd certainly never hidden that fact either. Ele's eyebrows raised and the blood drained from my face.

Evidently, whilst caught up with preparing for the wedding and a new baby, I had completely overlooked the fact that my father had RSVP'd to the invitation Harry had sent him. 

"How did you get in here?" I asked shakily; not recognising my own voice. Preston brushed off his olive tweet suit jacket and placed his hands in his pockets. 

"I told them I was father of the bride." He shrugged. "Who else is going to walk you down the aisle?" 

"How dare you." I snapped before Elenore had an opportunity to lunge at him. Her fists sat balled up at her sides and her neck and collarbones were flushed scarlet. "You have no right to be here at all, let alone expect to walk me down the aisle. Harry sending you an invitation was a mistake—please don't think for a second that I actually want you here."

Preston's nostrils flared. "I am your father, Marnie. It's my right to walk you down the aisle today."

I wanted to scream, and I probably would have if there wasn't a whole room of people seated only a few feet away. Harry sending my father an invitation was one thing, but the fact he'd actually had the nerve to show up and make demands was another entirely. I fanned my eyes, willing myself not to cry—not today. Not on my wedding day. "No." I said. "You lost that right the minute you stopped being anything remotely parental, which was pretty early on if I'm honest."

My father's eyes widened but his expression remained sour. In all the years I'd lived with him and my mother, I'd never once seem him look anything other than uptight and miserable. "Now, that's hardly fair."

"It is fair!" I yelled—the room full of guests forgotten. My hands fell to my bump, where I cradled it like it was some sort of life support. "And don't even get me started on that shit you pulled with Mum. A letter, Dad. A letter to tell me she'd died. And a late one at that too. Did you think you could make it all better with that cheque—the one addressed to the granddaughter you've only ever met once? Even that was only because I'd showed up uninvited."

At the mention of my mother, Preston's face twitched, but not long enough to suggest he actually felt even an ounce of emotion. I turned to Elenore—who looked about as stunned as I felt—and beckoned her with my hand. "Come on, Ele, we better go before Harry thinks I've changed my mind."

My best friend didn't need to be told twice; she grabbed our bouquets—a beautiful combination of eucalyptus leaves and Leucanthemums—and together we took a step towards the door, only to have our path blocked by my father. "Marnie." He snapped; desperation lacing his icy tone. "Please. Please let me do this one thing for you. I'm not getting any younger myself, so just let me do this today."

Out the corner of my eye, Elenore nearly dropped the flowers. "What?" She exclaimed. "You've invited yourself back here to make a request, just so that you'll feel better about yourself when you're on your deathbed!?"

As Preston's face turned puce and I choked on a sob—the door was thrown open. Harry. My father jumped as the door handle rebounded off the lavishly wallpapered wall and whirled around to meet the furious expression of my fiancé.

"What the hell is going on in here?" He demanded; eyes jumping from my face to my father's. He took in Elenore's flushed face and my watery eyes and scowled. "Preston, if I find out that you've upset Marnie on our wedding day, you are going to have one seriously pissed off son-in-law."

I would have cried then, if it wasn't for the fact that I'd had a moment to appreciate what Harry was wearing. Tight black trousers embroidered in a charcoal floral print, matching suit jacket and a loose, silk ivory blouse—not too dissimilar to my dress—with the top two buttons left undone. Lord, help me. "I'm pretty keen to marry her today if someone wouldn't mind filling me in on whatever I've missed." He added, running a ring-clad hand through his tousled hair.

Elenore pursed her lips. "I think I better let everyone know that we're a tad delayed and leave you guys to it." She abandoned the bouquets on a side table and hurried towards the door. "Don't you let that piece of shit anywhere near the ceremony." I heard her hiss at Harry as she passed, before slowing down for a moment to give him a once-over. "Looking good though, Styles."

She blew me a kiss and then she was gone.