Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

A Christmas Wedding

                Everything had been set perfect for the wedding— the garland had been fluffed countless times, sparkling lights traced the outline of nearly every structure taller than little Lux, even the poinsettias were looking especially elegant in the light of the chandeliers. Everything seemed perfect, picturesque, pristine.

                You sighed as your eyes found their way down the heavily decorated aisle—sprays of balsam and cranberries attached to each pew held down the silky bolts draped between them. Gold filigree laced the ends of the fabric and drew your eyes even further down with its swirling patterns. They landed just beyond the last row on a gold-painted brass vase that sat on a distinguished pedestal and boasted charming, soaring sprouts of eucalyptus, firs, holly, and three brilliantly red poinsettias. What a gorgeous setting, right down to the last ruffle of silk and taffeta.

But, despite it all, you hadn’t been able to shake that dull pang somewhere deep inside—long forgotten until you’d really given yourself time to think about what was about to happen. A few shivers ran up your bare arms, making you involuntarily cross them over each other and fold in on yourself. Maybe it was the memory. Maybe it was the draft. Either way you wished for it to leave.

Things had started simply with Harry—childish love, perhaps, but love nonetheless. He’d teased you incessantly, you’d sassed him back. It’d confused him tremendously at first, but then after months of time spent together he’d realized it was all a front.. perhaps sooner than you had. You’d confused even yourself with your sarcastic walls, wondering if you really did like him or if he was really as annoying as you pretended he was. Everyone else saw right through it and looking back you’d realized you’d only succeeded in fooling yourself. Fortunately Harry was as tenacious as he was teasing, so the memories were built regardless—summers with his family, winter breaks with yours, beach trips that you claimed were “purely platonic,” dinners out that he knew were not.

But, all of that was behind you. That day all of those memories seemed very far off—hazy even, as if they’d been put to bed for a very long time and were just staring to blink their eyes in the dim light of a midnight candle, awakened too soon, no matter how long they’d been left to sleep.

“Do you take Harry Edward Styles to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Fantastic. Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And oh the kiss—simple, perhaps, but sweet and passionate and lovely all the same, no doubt with the press photographers in mind. But the look in his eyes—that look—it was undeniable. He was totally, completely in love. Totally completely thrilled and excited to spend the rest of his life serving, loving, and laughing. With her.

Anne had leaned over—surely innocent in her comment as everyone, including yourself, thought anything between you and Harry had been long gone, despite your continued friendship over the years. “Honestly, love,” she whispered, a happy tear still in her eyes, “I always thought it’d be you.”

And then, before you could stop yourself, your mind answered for you. “Me too,” you’d whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure you’d said it aloud. “Me too.”

An unexpected tear pricked uncomfortably at your eyes. Her words stung, but not because of any malice. The sting was deeply rooted underneath layers of “okay,” because you really had been and you really would be. But somewhere inside you knew there was a part of you that sort of wished things would one day work out, that by some miracle even after all those years of wishy-washy non-commitment on your part that he’d still tough it out and pursue you. That maybe somehow everything would just fall into place and you’d have your happily ever after with him. There was always this little glimmer of hope, even as you both dated other people and moved on and created separate lives. Perhaps it was silly, but you couldn’t help it. There’d always be something about Harry.

“And now, for the first time ever, I present to you—Mr. and Mrs. Harry Styles.”

But just like that, all hope was gone. And just in time for Christmas.