The Husband Games

Every girl has dreamed of someday meeting One Direction, and having at least one of the band members fall in love with them. In all reality, it'll probably never happen.
One Direction's management has created a competition in hopes of making up for all of the 'wrongdoings' they have done in the boys' careers, and gaining support from Directioners everywhere.
It's called the Husband Games.
Ever since all of the boys have broken up with their girlfriends, they've been increasingly lonely, and it's taking its toll on their performances. Modest will accept twenty female applicants to attend a two month program that will shape them into ideal girlfriends-- and possible wives-- for the boys.
It all comes down to a final elimination at the end of the two month period, where the guys will select the girls of their dreams.
Who will it be?
And may the odds be ever in your favour.


4. Welcome

Annalie's POV

"What else do you need?" My mom asked me, eyes wide at my overflowing duffle bag. "What, did you pack your whole wardrobe?"

"Kind of," I shrugged, stuffing a bunch of bras into one of the open spaces. "But it's just the necessities."

"How long are you staying, again?" she leaned against the doorframe, watching my antics.

"Two months," I replied, grabbing a fistfull of clean socks. 

"I still can't believe I'm letting you do this," she sighed. "You will be safe, right?"

"Don't worry, Mom," I hugged her briefly. "I'll be fine. I'm eighteen now. I'm responsible."

"Alright," she cleared her throat. "But you better not come home pregnant--"


"I'm being serious, Anna!" she sat down on the bed. "It just has me worried. What if one of the boys manipulates you?"

"I won't let him," I said simply, making her stand. "Now please leave. I've got more packing to do."

"At least use protection, okay?" she added in before I shut the door. It took me a few seconds to understand what she said, but when I did, I rolled my eyes.

"No promises," I chuckled quietly. 


I called Britta after I'd packed everything necessary. We'd be leaving early the next morning; the excitement was already building up inside me. We talked for about an hour about how excited we were-- well, mostly her. 



The next morning, I changed into comfortable clothes for the plane ride and simply tied my hair up in a ponytail before grabbing my bags and walking out the door. My mom waved at me nervously from the front door, staring me down as I drove off. 

Once I escaped her sight, I blasted on my radio, making the windows of my junky, old car rattle. It took me about thirty minutes to get to the airport, and once I got there, I noticed a body guard holding my name up at my terminal.

"You Annalie?" he asked me in a deep, cool voice.

"Yes," I nodded. "My friend Britta should be c---"

"Follow me," he pressed a firm hand into my back, guiding me through the ignorant people of the airport. I did as he asked, allowing the pressure of him to push me through the compact crowds until we reached a private sector of the airport.

"You're jet will be ready soon," he told me. I noticed his slight English accent when he said 'ready' and smiled to myself. He must be working for Modest. "Wait here."

I waited for about five minutes; then Britta arrived in the same sector. She smiled brightly and eyed the passageway down to the jet.

"Excited yet?" she chirped.

"A bit," I admitted. The ticket-checker gestured us down the passage, smiling at us warmly as we walked by. I'd never ridden in a private jet before... 

It was everything I had imagined and more: reddish-brown leather seats and sofas lining the walls; a single table placed between two of the facing chairs. There were glasses of seltzer water set out, and next to it a dressy-looking flight attendant who had a sophisticated look about her. We took a seat in the chairs facing each other, giggling like little kids.

"Welcome aboard," the captain said over the intercom. "Flight to London taking off shortly."

"Here we go," Britta squealed as the plane began to move. I shut my eyes tightly-- this was always my least favorite part of the flight. The ignored the thunderous roar of the wheels as they picked up speed, but once we lifted off, I could finally breath. 

"I'm going to try to sleep," I told Britta, leaning back in my chair. "Wake me up when we get there."



"Anna!" Britta's voice squealed in her usual high tone. "We've landed! We're in London!"

I jolted upright, giving me whiplash for a moment as I tried to crane my neck to the window. The lush green grass lining the runway caught my eye. I noticed a few dark SUVs waiting on the private sector of the runway, and immediately I thought of the vehicles that most celebrities would be driven off in-- the ones with the two-inch thick, bulletproof windows tinted so dark that you couldn't even see their outline.

When we landed, I could see a small crowd of fans restrained by a few security guards off to the side. My stomach knotted for a moment: what if they sent us hate or something? I was just afraid of what they would yell horrible things at us. 

We grabbed our bags and got off the plane; immediately the shouting began. 

"They're in the Husband Games?" one shouted.

"I can't believe Modest chose them and not us!" another yelled.

[ Play the link while reading]

I simply put my earbuds in and turned up 'Blurred Lines' by Robin Thicke. I could no longer hear their screams, and could only laugh at their gaping mouths as they screamed when I only heard the tune.

We were directed into the dark SUVs, taking our seats on the soft leather seats. I decided not to ask any questions when they began driving. Britta kept on squirming in her seat with excitement. 



It took awhile to get to our destination, and I was awestruck.

I had to take out  my earbuds to completely focus on its beauty. [stop music]

"Oh. My..." Britta began. "Kevin."

"For once, I have to agree with you," I said quietly as I followed Britta out of the car. 

One of the security guards got our bags for us, setting them on the ground. Other SUVs brought two girls per car, all seeming to  be about the same age as us. After all of the cars stopped arriving, I counted twenty girls in all. 

A tall, pretty blonde woman with a tight bun and a sophisticated look emerged from the front door of the building in front of us. 

"Well, ladies," she began, a heavy British accent accompanying her voice. "Welcome to the Husband Games."

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