"Everyone else in the room can see it" - One Direction

• • • • •

I could not be happier that this week is over. Miraculously, I'm still awake, dragging myself from my last class to the subway station. My vicious studying proved its worth this week and I'm finally starting to relax, feeling the weight slowly lift from my shoulders. After my last final, all I want to do is go home and sleep for centuries.

And that's exactly what I did. At least it felt that way when I woke up the next morning, or rather, afternoon.

Effy is rummaging through the fridge when I walk into the kitchen. "Ahh! She's alive!" she yells when she sees me.

"Ha-ha," I deadpan.

"What time did you crash last night?"

"I don't remember," I say, rubbing my eyes. "It was right after class so maybe nine or ten?"

"Christ, how does someone sleep for so long?"

"I don't know, but I'm still tired," I answer with a yawn.

"Turkey or ham?" Effy asks as I watch her assemble a sandwich.

"Turkey," I reply, pulling out a chair. "What are you doing today?"

"Ansel and I are going to his parents' for an early Christmas dinner."

"Meeting the parents, huh?" I comment. "Seems like you're getting pretty serious."

"I think we are. I really like him, Jules," she says, beaming with a grin. "And what about you? Have you finished packing yet?"

I let out a heavy groan. "I haven't even started."

After lunch, I get working on that right away. It takes a bit of tetris skill to fit my two-week supply of clothes and shoes into one small suitcase but I manage it and flop onto my bed in accomplishment. My elbow hits something hard and dig under my covers to retrieve my phone. It occurs to me that I haven't checked it since yesterday morning, before school. A box on the screen tells me I have three new texts, all from Harry, so I scroll through them.

Last day of exams. Good luck .xx

How did it go?

Hope you didn't die from your exams. Text me back when you can.

I decide to give him a call instead to tell him the good news.

"That's great, Jules! I knew you could do it," he responds. "You know what this calls for?"

"What?"

"A celebration dinner."

"You mean a date?"

"No, of course not!" he says, his voice flooded with cheekiness. "I'm just asking you to put on your prettiest dress and have dinner at a restaurant with me, not a date at all."

"Dress? How fancy is this restaurant?"

"You'll like it, I promise. Me and the lads are at a photoshoot right now but I'll come round as soon as it's finished, okay?"

"Okay."

When we get off the phone, I'm still laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

I don't own a dress.

But I know where I can find one.

Effy already left with Ansel so I shoot her a text asking if I could raid her closet. After gaining her approval, along with a few style suggestions, I begin my hunt.

There's just one small problem. Effy is petite and short and a couple sizes smaller than me. I don't have too much trouble fitting into any of her dresses, but they hug and over-accentuate the few curves that I have and squeeze on my cleavage a tad too much. Sure, they're perfectly acceptable for a night out at a dance club, but I'm not going to a dance club, and I don't want Harry to think I'm trying too hard to impress him.

By the time I settle on a dress, there's a mountain of them on her bed, waiting to topple over any second. I stand in the mirror, straightening out the champagne colored ensemble. It has short sleeves and a sheer window over top, making my chest look the least distracting of all the dresses. The skirt stops halfway up my thigh and is slightly pleated which gives it a delicate flounce when I walk. Pulling everything together is a thin, gold belt.

Luckily, Effy shares my shoe size, so I pair the outfit with her basic black heels. I leave my hair in its naturally wavy state and secure two small sections in the back with bobby pins. After I top off the look with two more coats of mascara than usual and even a swipe of cherry lipstick, I take a step back in the mirror. It takes me a few seconds to recognize the reflection. I hardly ever dress up. I don't think I've even worn a dress since my brother's funeral.

There's a knock at the door and behind it is stunningly handsome boy in a black button-up, dark gray suit, and a skinny, crisp-white tie. His smooth, brown curls are styled into layered quiffs atop his head and his emerald eyes glow as they slowly register me up and down.

"For you, Miss Finley." He produces a rose from behind his back, as daintily pink as the one he found in that rainy beach town. "I felt like it wouldn't be a proper dinner without it."

The velvety petals tickle my nose when I smell it. After looping my arm into his, I say, "Thank you, Mr. Styles."

"By the way," he says with a broad, dimpled smile, "you look absolutely beautiful."

Once we travel downstairs, there's a black car with tinted windows waiting for us along the curb. After sensing my hesitation, he laughs and says, "I'm not kidnapping you, I promise."

It takes us to an upscale neighborhood in London, lined with snow-covered, manicured plants, radiant with Christmas lights. We arrive at a restaurant I've never seen or heard of before but is bustling with patrons. A man in a burgundy suit takes our coats right away, something I'm not accustomed to, which already makes me feel out of place. It's a good thing Harry advised me to wear a dress because I would've felt even more awkward among these luxurious gowns and tuxes.

Harry apparently made reservations because we skip the line of people overflowing out the door and are led to a table right away. The waiter notices the rose I'm carrying and immediately brings us a narrow vase filled with water.

All the tables are packed with guests. Replicas of famous sculptures are placed in corners and a spewing, granite fountain sits in the middle. The ceiling is painted to resemble the sky with intricate crystal chandeliers that softly illuminate the enormous room. There's even a live band, performing classical renditions of holiday songs from the balcony.

"What do you think?" Harry asks, watching me.

"I do not belong here," I laugh.

"Sure you do. You look ravishing."

"I meant, I would never be in a place like this unless I was waiting tables or cleaning them up."

"Or on a date with me."

I don't even correct him this time. I kind of like the ring of that word. Date. Harry. Boyfriend. I like the ring of all those words.

"This is one of those anti-paparazzi restaurants," Harry tells me.

"What do you mean?"

"A lot of really well-known people come here and they don't want their customers to be bothered. So they established a policy that bans paparazzi."

"Really?" I ask, thoroughly intrigued.

"They'll arrest you just for taking a picture anywhere within fifty feet of the property."

I put on the best fake pout I can manage. "So I can't Instagram my food?"

"Unfortunately not," he chuckles.

A sleek, tuxedo-wearing waiter stops at our table. Harry orders something that sounds really Italian while I opt for a pasta in a large photograph on the menu.

"What are your plans for Christmas?" I ask after the waiter leaves.

"Spending time with my family just like every year," he responds. "What about you?"

"I'm going to see my family too."

"Oh, that's good. They must miss you. Have you told your parents about the internship?"

"Not yet, I've been waiting to tell them in person."

"I bet they'll be thrilled."

"I hope you're right."

Our hands lay on the table, meeting halfway. He quietly fiddles with my fingertips for a moment. "How long will you be gone?"

"Probably for the whole two weeks of winter break," I answer, "why?"

"That's too bad. I mean, I'm sure your folks will love having you, but I was hoping maybe I could show you around my hometown. My parents have been wanting to meet you."

I tilt my head, casting him an amused grin. "Do you---you talk to them about me, don't you?"

He stares at his lap, pulling his lips inward.

"What did you say?"

He peeks up with a broadly cheeky smile on his lips. "That you're an amazing kisser and your bed is quite comfy."

"Uh-huh, I bet you did," I say flatly.

He chuckles. "Okay, fine. But I tell them just about everything else."

Harry glances at the flower sitting between us and tilts it toward him. "Like the fact that roses smell like you."

"Don't you mean I smell like roses?"

"No, because you smell better, but it's the closest thing to compare you to."

He fiddles with it before leaning forward, shutting his eyes to hone in on the scent. When he reopens them, I notice that in the restaurant's soft lighting, they're so green, they're actually kind of blue. It reminds me of a lagoon by the ocean, the kind you would dip your legs in to keep cool on a humid summer day. The only word to describe them is simply mesmerizing, and for a brief moment I lose myself swimming in them.

Thankfully, Harry doesn't notice. He's busy ordering two glasses of red wine from a passing waiter. I don't even drink but accept it anyway. How often do I get to wear a designer dress (whose name I can't pronounce), listen to a live band play "Jingle Bell Rock," and eat terrific food with the most excruciatingly handsome boy on the planet?

He raises his glass and announces, "To Jules, for surviving her exams and becoming an intern."

"Hopefully becoming an intern," I correct, colliding our glasses with a gentle clink.

Notes

If you're going to listen to any song that I link to at the top of the chapters in this story, I highly, highly, highly recommend you listen to this one. It's the best and most beautiful cover of WMYB in my opinion.