(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 44 - You Might Have Moved On, second part)

The kiss deepens as Georgia slips her tongue into my mouth and her fingers caress my collarbone. I can't deny it's having the effect she is aiming for. I can feel myself hardening at her touch, goosebumps dancing over my skin and a gentle flush igniting in my loins. I allow her hands to slip inside my dressing gown and stroke my chest, trailing slowly further down towards my waist. My heart is pounding, but not from excitement.

It is guilt. Guilt for letting someone touch me in this way when she is not the person I want her to be.

"Georgia..."

I break the kiss and close my fingers gently around her wrist, halting her attempt to undo the belt of my dressing gown.

"Don't tell me you're shy," she breathes softly, her lips less than an inch from mine.

"No, I..." I lick my lips nervously. I don't want to go into details. "Let's just take things slowly, OK? Get to know each other a bit first."

Her gaze drops to my mouth momentarily, and then back to my eyes. "OK," she says casually, but I can detect a hint of uncertainty in her tone that she has tried to disguise, and instantly I feel bad for making her feel unsure of herself. My hesitation is nothing to do with her: it is solely down to my own unwavering loyalty to a relationship that has long since died. I'm the one with the issues, not Georgia.

"Shall we just order some dinner and hang out?" I suggest lamely, fully aware of how pathetic I sound.

"Sure," she nods, and she stands up a little awkwardly from my lap, straightening her own dressing gown.

For the rest of the evening I try to keep things lighthearted, but since my rebuffal I can't help noticing the atmosphere feels a little strained, and Georgia seems guarded. Maybe she isn't used to being turned down. I can't say I'm surprised - she's absolutely stunning. I stare at her face as we chat, and find myself taking in every detail of her features, analysing in her mannerisms, and ultimately comparing her to Jess.

Jess, who never truly leaves my thoughts, no matter how hard I try.

By the time we have finished dinner, worked our way through a second bottle of wine and the conversation has come to a natural close, it is almost midnight. I am feeling more relaxed now, and as I walk her to the door of my suite to say goodnight I wonder if perhaps something good can come out of this, and Georgia and I can be friends, if nothing else. After all, she is a nice girl with a good sense of humour. I have nothing against her. She just isn't Jess.

"Thanks for a lovely evening," she says as she pauses at the door. "I had a really great time."

"Me too," I reply, honestly. "It's been nice getting to know you."

"I'll meet you in the spa tomorrow morning," she says, flashing me a dazzling smile and leaning towards me to give me a kiss on the cheek.

At least, that's what I assume she is going to do, and hopefully I hide my surprise when she plants a soft kiss fully on my lips, and manage to avoid recoiling in horror. She lingers for a second; long enough to let me know that this isn't a friendly, platonic kiss, and that she is hoping for more. I keep my mouth closed, and try to keep the kiss as unsexy as possible, and keep my expression neutral as she pulls away.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispers, and turns away before I can answer.

"Goodnight," I call after her a few moments later, and she throws me a seductive glance over her shoulder.

I retreat back into my room, shutting the door behind me, and let out a large breath. I know I'm not being presumptuous or arrogant when I say I know she wants me, and only eight months ago I probably would have jumped at the chance to have her in my bed. But everything has changed now. I have fallen in love with someone and my life has been irrevocably altered. I'm not sure where that leaves me for the future, but for now it certainly leaves me alone (and frustrated), and still unable to move on.

---

I meet Georgia in the spa the following morning and we spend an hour in the jacuzzi chatting. Things feel less strained, possibly because I know she can't make a move on me in public, and she seems more relaxed around me, too. We indulge in another massage each, followed by a facial, and then head back to my suite again for lunch. Immediately I regret this, as the second we are through the door her body language changes, and she becomes more tactile with me. At first I put it down to friendliness, but when she sits next to me to read the lunch menu and rests her hand on my thigh I realise that she is still hoping for more than friendship from me, and I feel uneasiness settling in the pit of my stomach as I anticipate the awkward conversation that must follow, to set her straight.

"I think I'll have the Caesar salad," she muses. "Shall we get some wine too?"

"If you like," I reply, turning my head to meet her gaze, only to discover her face is inches from mine and she is regarding me with intensity again. I pull back as casually as I can, searching my mind for something to say to break the tension. "Fancy a game of Scrabble?" I blurt.

Seriously, what the fuck was that? I can see the headline tomorrow - Harry Styles' idea of a hot date - playing Scrabble in his hotel dressing gown. I almost laugh out loud.

"Scrabble?" Georgia echoes, looking a little confused. "Um, OK, if you want to..."

I can tell she's wondering if this is a euphemism for something, like Netflix and chill. She's going to be massively disappointed.

"Um, yeah," I nod, standing up and walking over to the bookcase to retrieve the Scrabble board. "It'll be fun."

"OK..," she says slowly, as I open the box, pull the board out and lay it on the table in front of us.

This is good - we have to sit opposite each other which puts a bit of distance between us, and I instantly relax. She seems to relax too, and snaps a few pictures of the Scrabble board, which I take to mean she is actually enjoying this.

Lunch arrives, and we eat it out on the terrace. It is a beautiful, mild October day, and the sun is warm in the grounds. After we've eaten, Georgia wanders around the private gardens for a few minutes with her phone while I hover by the door of my suite.

"It's so beautiful here," she calls. "Did you say you have membership?"

"Yeah, with the chain," I reply. "The one in Chicago makes a nice stop gap between shows if I can't make it back to LA."

"I'll have to remember that," she muses, and then skips back inside, swinging her arms exaggeratedly, which makes me laugh out loud.

We set the board up again for another game, and just as I'm playing zaps for fifty six points on a triple word score, my phone rings in the bedroom. I ignore it at first, choosing to suffer Georgia's playful scolding at my excellent score and obvious impending victory instead. But after the fourth call in two minutes, I excuse myself and head into the bedroom to answer it, wondering what on earth could be so important that someone would call repeatedly like this. I pick my phone up to see four missed calls from Karen. My heart sinks. This is never good.

I quickly call her back, and she answers immediately.

"I presume you didn't authorise Georgia Fowler to post videos of you on Snapchat?" is her greeting.

I am momentarily thrown. "What?!"

"I'll take that as a no," she says, dryly.

"What?!" I repeat, stupidly. I haven't a clue what's going on.

"Do you follow Georgia on Snapchat?"

"Um, no, why?" I ask, yet as I am speaking my heart is sinking into my damn hospital boot as Karen's words slowly fall into place.

"She's posted two videos of you in your dressing gown," Karen elaborates, with an air of disgust that she has perfected so well over the five years I have known her.

"What?" I ask, for the third time.

"For Christ's sake Harry, is that all you can say?" she snaps.

"Sorry," I mutter. "She's put me on Snapchat?"

"Yes, on her story," Karen says briskly. "Privacy was discussed with her management before your meeting. It should have been clearly communicated to her that you don't tolerate this sort of thing."

"How bad is it?" I ask, my heart beginning to pound sickeningly.

"Well, you're in a dressing gown and it's clear it's just the two of you," Karen replies.

"Fuck," I breathe miserably.

"It's already been picked up by the fans, so of course it's all over Twitter."

My heart comes to a complete stop.

Jess will see this. Jess will know where I've been, and who with, and undoubtedly will assume the worst. Not that this matters as we're not together, I quickly remind myself. But even so, I don't want her to see this. I still feel like I am being unfaithful, and I don't want to deal with her knowing on top of everything else.

"The ball's in your court, Harry," Karen is saying. "But I would advise you to steer clear of anyone who is prepared to flaunt their connection to you quite so early in the relationship. I can only assume her motive is her own profile within the industry."

I feel sick. And above all, I feel embarrassed and stupid. Not to mention used. What a fucking idiot I am, to think for one moment that I could trust someone other than my family and close friends. And Jess.

A sharp pain stabs through my heart. Jess would never do anything like this in a million years. She's too discreet, too considerate towards my feelings. Too classy.

I end the call to Karen and take a couple of deep breaths. I shrug my dressing gown off and pull on some clothes, before opening the door to the living area. Georgia looks up and beams at me.

"Hey! I was starting to wonder what was going on...." She trails off as she sees my face. "Is everything OK?"

"Not really," I answer shortly. "That was Karen from Modest, our management company. She's just informed me there is a video of me in my dressing gown currently circulating Twitter. Apparently it came from your Snapchat?"

Her face drops and she swallows. "I mean... I post everything on Snapchat..."

"Including me playing Scrabble in next to nothing."

"Harry... I didn't mean to upset you," she begins.

"Didn't you think to ask me before you put a private video of me into the public domain?" I ask, curtly. "See, the thing is, I like to keep my whereabouts under wraps when I'm not working, to give myself a break from the media storm."

"I'm really sorry," she says, her eyes darting around my face. "I'll delete it right now."

"The damage is already done," I reply, shaking my head. "It won't be long before the fans figure out where I am and set up camp at the gates. Not to mention the speculation that has already started about my relationship to you."

"Oh God, I didn't think," she says, looking away from me and reaching for her phone.

"You've worked in the showbiz industry for a while now," I declare, bluntly. "I'm sure you know exactly the consequences of us being linked to each other."

"Harry -" she begins, but I turn away.

"I have to get back to London," I tell her, picking up the Scrabble board and tipping the tiles back into the bag unceremoniously. "Sorry."

There is an awkward silence behind me, and then I hear her standing up from the sofa. "OK, well, um, I'll head back to my room."

"OK," I answer, without turning round.

I know I'm being downright rude to her, but I am in no doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing with that video, and therefore I feel only slightly guilty for the way I am behaving.

I hear her picking up her bag and phone, and reluctantly I look round to see her tightening the belt on her dressing gown and tucking her hair behind her ear as she slips gracefully round the table towards the door. She looks up and catches my eye.

"Maybe we could do this again..?" she suggests tentatively, and it takes all my resolve not to snort.

"I don't think that's going to happen," I reply, as politely and delicately as I can. "But it was really nice meeting you. Thanks for your company over the last twenty four hours."

She blushes pink, and puts her head down as she reaches the door. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Georgia."

She slips through the door and closes it behind her, and I sink down onto the sofa and run my hands through my hair. My heart is thumping in my chest and my palms are clammy. I feel physically sick at this blatant violation of my privacy, and fearful of facing Jess once she finds out, as she undoubtedly will. My phone rings again, and it is Paul this time.

"I'm waiting outside for you," he tells me.

"I'll be about fifteen minutes," I reply.

It takes me less than five minutes to retrieve my belongings from around the suite and shove them into my holdall, before heading to Reception to check out. I half expect to bump into Georgia on the way out but thankfully the coast is clear, and I throw my bag onto the backseat of the car with me and hastily shut the door.

"Wasn't expecting to see you quite so soon," Paul teases.

"Yeah, it didn't work out," I mutter.

"Sorry to hear that, H."

"Don't be," I sigh. "It was a stupid idea. I don't know what I was thinking. I should have listened to my mum - she was right, as always."

Paul eyes me with concern in the rearview mirror, but says nothing, and as we make our way down the country lanes towards the motorway I spin my phone repeatedly in my palm, unable to push Jess from my thoughts, and obsessing over whether or not she has seen the videos of me and Georgia yet. I want to text her. I want to ring her. I want to fucking hold her in my arms and for everything to go back to how it was.

My phone lights up in my hand, making me jump. I quickly unlock it, only to see Callie's name on my screen. Why on earth is she texting me? My heart misses a beat as I open the message.

It is a screen shot of a picture of me in my dressing gown reaching towards a Scrabble board, and it looks like it has been taken from a Snapchat story. Underneath is a message from her: Didn't take you long to move on.

Fuck. If Callie knows, Jess will surely know. I feel sick at the thought.

It isn't what it looks like, I reply.

It never is with you, is it? Stay away from Jess. You've hurt her enough.

I throw my phone onto the seat next to me without replying. It is pointless trying to defend myself, and completely unnecessary anyway. Any chances I may have had with Jess (which were minimal) are definitely nonexistent now.

Even so, the desire to make some form of contact with her grows stronger. I miss her, and the comfort that she brings me. She is the closest thing to home that I have in London. I would even go so far as to say she is an extension of home, or at least she was before it all went wrong.

My thoughts whirl in my mind all the way back to London, and as I open my front door only to be greeted by a wall of silence, I am struck with the sudden impulse to throw caution to the wind and call her, if only to hear her voice. It is just past five o'clock, and she will surely have finished work by now. Before I can think it through, I swipe her name. I lift my phone to my ear and feel a pinch of nerves as it rings, at the idea of speaking to her.

My heart thumps harder as it rings once, twice, three times. She's not going to answer is she? What an anti climax.

"Hello?"

My heart misses another beat.

"Hey," I murmur softly. God, I miss her. My heart actually aches.

"Hi," she says, a little abruptly. She sounds pissed off. Oh God.

"How are you?" I ask, tentatively.

"Fine. You?"

"You don't sound fine," I say gently. She sounds like I feel.

"Well, I am," she says, irritably. "What is it?"

She's never used this tone with me before. This angry, impatient, dismissive tone.

"Um, I was just checking in," I fumble miserably. "Wanted to say hi."

"Well, you've said it," she says forcefully. "Was there anything else?"

My heart drops. She knows. She knows about Georgia, and she's finally had enough of me.

"What's up?" I ask, as casually as I can.

"Nothing," she snaps. "I've just had a fucking shit day, that's all, and to top it all off I am on my period. I just want to go home and put my jogging bottoms and a hoodie on, and eat chocolate and ice cream until I'm sick."

She sounds so cross, yet the image of her creased brow, her frown, and her stamping around makes me smile. "Sounds like a plan," I grin.

"Well, it would be, except my favourite hoodie is in the wash and I haven't got any ice cream," she rants. "And I am really not in the mood to be doing any washing or traipsing round Tesco, so I suppose I'll just have to go home and have a bath and watch TV instead."

First world problems.

"It's a hard life," I tease. She doesn't even acknowledge me.

"I have to go, I'm just getting on the tube."

"OK... well... have a fun evening," I mutter, feeling completely crushed at this blatant dismissal. "I'll call you tomorrow, or something."

"Whatever."

I'm not sure how to respond to this, but I needn't worry because a second later I hear the disconnect tone and realise she has already hung up on me. I pull my phone away from my ear and swallow hard.

Now what? Do I call her back and try and get her to tell me what's wrong? Do I text her and explain about Georgia? Does she even care?

I sit down at the breakfast bar and try to organise my thoughts. I fucked up by even considering meeting up with Georgia. I should have known it would end in disaster. I should have listened to everyone else. I had all but given up on Jess, believing she didn't care about me anymore. But if the last twenty four hours have proved anything, it is that the only people I can trust are my family and friends, and the love of my life. Jess wouldn't use my fame for her own gain. Jess wouldn't let me down. Jess has stuck by me through thick and thin. Yet here I am, messing everything up again.

She's just told me she's feeling down in the dumps and wants some home comforts. Well, if that's what she wants then I'm going to be the one to bring it to her. Starting with my Green Bay hoodie.

No - fuck - that's with Callie. Sore point.

OK, so let's come up with a Plan B.

I jump up and take the stairs two at a time to my bedroom on the top floor, and head into the walk-in closet. I peruse my hoodie selection, before reaching to the back and pulling out my old purple Jack Wills, that I haven't worn in years because I have either outgrown it or it has shrunk. Jess would look adorable in it, because it would still be big on her. She could pull her hands up inside the sleeves and tuck her chin into the neck and we could cuddle up on the sofa together... no, wait. We're not together. Focus.

I run downstairs with the hoodie, grab my keys and jump in the car. I head straight to Tesco and make a beeline for the frozen aisle. My luck must be in because they have one tub of cherry ice cream left, and with this tucked under my arm I take a detour past the confectionery to grab a double decker, and then approach the women's section. I have no idea if she needs any hygiene products, but I need to cover all bases just in case. I grab box of tampons and a packet of towels, and as I'm making my way to the checkout I am struck by sudden inspiration, and grab a fluffy pink hot water bottle.

I throw them all through the self-scan, cursing the automated voice telling me there is an unexpected item in the bagging area (there isn't) and dart back to my car before anyone notices me. I hear clicking behind me that can only be the sound of a paparazzo's camera, but I ignore it, shut the car door and roar off down the road in the direction of Belsize Park with a newfound determination.