Drums Before Curls [Harry /Josh Devine Fanfic]

Aurora 'Rora' Natalia Reese is well renowned for her heartbreaking method all across New York. She could dump you so soon that you'd never had expected it.
She's unpredictable.
Harry Styles has been getting bad publicity for his constant toying with girls heart. Parents wouldn't want their kids to be idolizing a player and 1D is losing CD sales.
This two teenagers do not believe in love, they just do everything for the fun of it.
Management and the Reese interfere and issue an order for them to fake dating for 4 months in order to get rid of their former image.
There's a chink that they both didn't expect.
Rora fans The Wanted... and the guy that had caused her to go down the path of never falling in love is in Harry's band.
How can she tackle this? Will she give Harry a chance? Will she give love one more chance? What about her ex?
READ AND YOU WON'T REGRET IT... I PROMISE :)
<3

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9. A Bloody 'S'

Rora’s POV

 

“WHAT?” I asked, hoping she’d said, “I found you a best friend,” instead of the actuality.

“I. FOUND. YOU. A. BOYFRIEND,” she emphasized every single word.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. I found you a guy to date since you can’t do that yourself.”

“You… you… c-can’t.”

“I can and I did, Aurora,” she snapped. “All the one night stands business is gathering you bad publicity. Bad publicity for you means bad publicity for the family and that just won’t do.”

“It’s not that bad,” I argued.

She smiled at me coyly. “Do you know what Perez is calling you nowadays?”

I shook my head, since I tend to ignore that loud mouth’s blog.

“He’s calling you the ‘Whoress’ Rora. A ‘whoress’ that just sleeps around and dumps the guy the next day. I… I refuse to have my daughter called… that… that vicious, degrading name.”

“Whoress?” I asked, testing the term on my lips and truth be told, it tasted vile and disgusting.

Whoress… What the Eff?

“Yes,” mom nodded. “It’s a mixture of a whore and a-”

“I know what it’s a combination of mom. Whore and Heiress. I know.”

“Well then, we need to start cleaning up your image Stat.”

“By dating this guy?”

Mom nodded.

“No.”

The single word slipped out of my mouth like I hadn’t just refused my mother. It was like a knife through butter.

Easy.

Mom’s eyes darkened instantly.

“No?”

“No,” I agreed. “This is my life. I decide what to do with it. I decide who to date, who to be and what to be mother.”

“NATALIA!” she yelled and I bit back any retort I was planning to throw at her.

She used my middle name only when she was beyond anger. Beyond reasoning. Beyond anything basically. “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO ARGUE. NOTHING IS GOING TO GET YOU OUT OF THIS ARRANGEMENT AND THAT IS FINAL!”

“Oh is that what they call pimping your daughter out to the highest bidder this days?” I snarled at her, ignoring any reservations I had of arguing with her.

“NATALIA! That is definitely not what I’m doing.”

I continued, ignoring her tensed body’s warnings.

“Really?” I asked. “What do you call it then other than an ‘arrangement’? Huh? Prostitution? Slavery?”

Instantly as the last word escaped my mouth I heard a loud crash as her fingers hit my face. I didn’t feel a thing, but the act along made me flinch.

Mom… mom never, ever raised a hand against me. Never. Never in my life had she once slapped me.

Not when I threw her hairdryer into the toilet when I had one of my many childhood tantrums. Not when I burnt the neighbours tree house to the ground because their son called me a spoilt girl. Not even when I crashed my one day old Camaro into a nearby 7/11 store on my graduation night last year.

All she did was comfort me, whispering words of love and ‘its okay's’.

Now, well… it seemed like I’d hit a nerve.

“I am certainly not pimping you out or selling you out Rora,” she hissed. “I love you and that’s why I’m trying to fix you.”

“Fix me? Fix me?” I screamed. “Fix me from what? What, may I ask mother, am I damaged from?”

“Heartbreak,” she answered simply, her word a whisper against the pressing noise of the silence surrounding us.

“What?” I’m shocked she said that.

How could she know? How?

I never told her anything about Jay. Only Denver.

Denver… The explanation was clear.

“Heartbreak?” I asked. “What heartbreak?”

She sighed. “You must’ve gotten your heart broken in London, Rora. That would explain your… tactics.”

“Tactics?”

“Never allowing yourself to fall in love with anyone. That’s why you’re comfortable with one night stands. Isn’t it?”

Definitely Denver hadn’t betrayed me. Mom was also grasping at straws.

I refused to answer, averting my eyes to my manicured fingernails.

“Now about this arrangement?” she began.

“What arrangement?” I asked.

“This ‘boyfriend’ of yours also has the same… um… what should I call it?... a problem. So Simon and I arranged this match.”

“How long am I going to be stuck with him? You can’t possibly expect me to marry him.”

“Oh no darling,” she muttered. “Marriage isn’t in the contract. Only three or four months with each other and you’re done.”

“Three or four… Three or four months?” I choked out.

In three months a lot could happen. In one month, I’d fallen for Jay. In three, I… I was, well… I was screwed.

Mom nodded.

“For this time period, you are to act love struck and as adorable as ever. The paparazzi will be hounding both you and him.”

“You arranged this?”

“Yes, darling,” she nodded. “But not me alone. Simon helped.”

“Who’s this Simon character I keep hearing about?”

“Cowell. Simon Cowell.”

My heart  dropped.

“Cowell?” I asked. “The Simon Cowell?”

Mom nodded.

“How… How do you know him?”

“Old friend’s with Gramps Nick.”

Of course. Gramps Nick.

With the connections the man’s got, he could very well start World War III.

“So…”

“So?”

“Who’s my boyfriend gonna be?” I tried to say the last word with flinching but of course I failed.

My throat constricted and my mouth instantly dried as I tried to say it. It felt wrong.

All my life [okay, for the past 2 years] I had signed off on the idea of dying alone. Having no boyfriends, let alone a husband.

All hope had died along with Josh.

Mom smiled at my question, convinced that I was going along freely with no way out.

She was wrong. Dead wrong.

Okay, I saw no way out of this. But that didn’t necessarily mean I’m going along freely.

I would make whoever this son of a… well you know what comes after, pay for getting me into this mess. Even if he didn’t know either, he was still going to pay. BIG TIME!

“You know how I am with names darling,” mom apologized.

I nodded. Yes. She sucks at remembering names.

“Do you remember anything other than Simon Cowell?”

She nodded after a minute of brows scrunched together in deep concentration. “All I remember is that he’s in a band Simon’s company represents. I believe it was a British/Irish one?”

My heart rate increased. No, it can’t be.

NO WAY!

“The Wanted?” I asked.

Mom bit her bottom lip in frustration. “Darling, name,” she reminded me.

“Do you remember anything else?” I pestered.

ANYTHING! PLEASE REMEMBER SOMETHING! PLEASE REMEMBER SOMETHING! PLEASE REMEMBER SIMON SAYING ‘NATHAN!’ ‘NATHAN!’

NATHAN. NATHAN

“Oh!” mom exclaimed. “I do remember a detail. A minor detail.”

“Tell me,” I nearly shouted with glee. “What is it?”

“The boy’s last name starts with an ‘S’.”

An ‘S’? That’s all. I wanted to scream out with frustration. A bloody ‘S’. What am I supposed to with a freaking ‘S’.

At the back of my mind something clicked.

S,S,S,S,S,S.

SYKES, SYKES, SYKES, SYKES, SYKES, SYKES.

NATHAN SYKES STARTS WITH AN ‘S’.

“SYKES?” I yelled. “Does his name sound like ‘Sykes’?” I was pounding with desperation.

LET IT BE SYKES. LET IT BE SYKES. I’VE ALREADY GOT 2 OUT OF 3. LET IT BE NATHAN. HE’S IN A BRITISH/IRISH BAND AND MANAGED BY SIMON. LET IT BE SYKES.

“Yes, darling,” mom nodded, smiling. “I think it is.”

I leapt up with joy as I fit pumped the air.

“Mom, I love you,” I exclaimed as I pulled her out from the sofa and enveloped her in a tight hug. “THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!”

She chuckled.

“You’re welcome Rora,” she said. “You’re welcome.”

I squeezed her tightly again before letting go.

“So how exactly does this work? Lat time I checked they’re in the UK.”    

“Oh,” mom paused. “They arrived here last week.”

“How long are they here for?”

“Three months. Four tops.”

“Why are they here?”

“Working on their second album.”

 I ignore her mistake there. The Wanted was on their third album now. Not two.

“Oh,” I muttered.

I must really be missing their latest gos.

How can I not know they were here?

How? They’re my favourite band and I don’t even know they’re in my city, working on their album.

THIRD STRIKE. Set to be released on April 2013 and I’d already pre-ordered mine from both Target and iTunes.

Now that I really thought about it everything seemed to click into place.

There had been rumours of a collaboration between them, Chris Brown, Pitbull and LMFAO.

My phone rang, playing ‘Satellite’ by once again The Wanted.

I smile, knowing straight away who it is.

“Ma, can I talk to you later?” I asked. “Need to fill Den in on the 411.”

She smiled at me. This time really smile, unlike the fixed, forced one she’d been giving me for the past week.

“Sure darling,” she replied. “I’ll let myself out. Gotta let Simon know it’s a go.”

“Sure,” I smiled back at her. “Uh……… by the by, when do I meet Nathan?”

“Friday,” mom said after glancing at her schedule inputted into her small PDA device.

“Great,” I said before picking up my iPhone and pressing ANSWER.

              

A/N:

ENJOY :)

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