All I Want For Christmas Is You
“Soph! Can you come down for a moment, please? Your father is calling you!”
“Down in a sec!” I yelled back, closing my bedroom door again, so I could say my goodbyes to Rose. “Okay, drive safe and text me, alright? I want to know how everything goes. I’ve got to go, my parents want me.”
“Alright. I’ll talk to you later, bye!”
I hung up and head downstairs, throwing my phone onto the bed before I did.
“What’s up?” I asked, walking into the dining room. Mum and Dad were sitting at the end of the table, a cup of tea each and a packet of biscuits between them.
“Sit down.” Dad told me, a small, smug smile on his face. Oh dear God, this wasn’t going to be good. Not for me, anyway. “Don’t look so worried, Soph, relax.”
More reason for me to be worried.
I sat down on the other end of our table, opposite my dad, at the head. Bring it. This was bad. Either Dad was having another mid-life crisis and had decided to moan about his life more publicly than usual, or they were adding to my weekly quota of family time again.
“Soph, Zayn’s parents just rang.” Mum told me calmly. Dad watched me carefully beside her and I felt my stomach flip at his name. Okay, I was definitely not ever going to get used to that. His name, I mean. Even from my mother’s mouth it sounded ridiculously appealing to me and that in itself was so dysfunctional beyond words, I almost shuddered in disgust.
“Oh, did they?” I tried to sound neutral. It kind of worked. “What did they say?”
Dad took a sip of tea and looked over at me.
“They’re inviting us to their Christmas party.” He said the last two words with contempt and I tried not to wince and roll my eyes at the same time. Dad was still having... Issues about that. “It’s next week on Christmas Eve and then they invited us to spend Christmas Day with them, too, to have... Lunch.”
“That was nice.” I opted for saying, going with the neutral answer. “A bit short notice, isn’t it?”
“Well, apparently, Zayn was meant to mention it to you.” Mum turned to me and I felt my body tense slightly at the icy look in her eye. “You see, this is why we don’t like our young, Muslim daughter working in journalism and finding her own husband, because we can’t control your exposure to him and find everything out last.”
I couldn’t help but feel my anger rise slightly, even though I knew I was rising to the bait.
“Well, not really, you know exactly what happens and when I see Zayn.” I frowned, irritation seeping into my voice.
“Yes, darling.” Mum said patronizingly, in that way that made my skin itch. “But if we had from the beginning, you wouldn’t be engaged right now, would you? You didn’t tell us when you met Zayn before, because you knew we’d disapprove.”
I scowled, even though I’d heard that wasn’t a great look for somebody who had graduated.
“I think what your mother is trying to say,” Dad interrupted coolly. “Is that it would be nice if you didn’t withhold information from us, sweetie.”
He called me sweetie.
Yeah, I wanted to kill them both.
“So either Zayn’s parents are lying, which I don’t see any reason for them to do.” Dad continued. “Or Zayn didn’t tell you. Or you didn’t tell us.”
“And if Zayn didn’t tell you, that’s not a very trusting relationship, is it, darling?” If my darling mother patronized me one more time, I was going to jump across our stupid glass dining table and rugby tackle her to the floor.
“He did tell me, I just didn’t think it’d be your thing.” I said defensively, not liking the way my parents automatically wanted to blame Zayn. It wasn’t because they even wanted to think their daughter perfect; no, it was because the more dirt they had on Zayn, the more they could rub it in my face.
“Leave it to us to decide whether it’s our thing or not.” Dad said, sounding slightly menacing now. I clenched my jaw and tried to envision happy thoughts. See? I couldn’t win. If I didn’t back up Zayn, I was marrying a total loser and my parents would be on my back about it. If I took his side, they felt all pissy because I wasn’t a part of their crappy little gang. Urgh, I hated them both. “Now-”
“I just thought you guys wouldn’t want to go and anyway, you wouldn’t unless they called to invite you.” I frowned.
“See, there, it wasn’t so hard to tell the truth, was it?” Dad smiled patronizingly and again, the urge to rugby tackle somebody took me over. I shook my head to protest, but Dad just shook his head at me. “Now, now, Soph, we’re just trying to help, we’re not throwing accusations, are we, Ruby?”
Mum just raised an eyebrow at me.
“So, what did you say to them?” I sighed in defeat, clenching my fists under the table. “Do you want to go, then?”
“Well, I was going to tell them we’d think about it, but your father thought that would be too abrupt.”
I decided to not look in my mother’s direction. When she was like this, I only wanted to gauge her eyes out with a plastic fork.
“Do you want to go?” Dad asked me carefully.
Oh, God, I knew this was a trick question.
“Are you here that weekend?” I asked, proud of the neutrality in my voice. “And doesn’t that mean we’d have to stay in Bradford for a few days or something?”
“You leave that to me.” Dad told me calmly. “Do you want to go, Soph?”
I was tempted to tear my hair out. I mean, what a stupid question. Did I want to spend Christmas with Zayn? As opposed to staying, okay, yes, in London, but with my family, awkwardly fighting for volume control as I tried to watch the Doctor Who special?
Then again... Even if Matt Smith was no David Tennant... There was still the Doctor Who special.
“I think it’d be nice.” I said carefully, ignoring the triumphant looks on my parent’s faces. You’d think they’d be a bit more mature. I mean, for goodness sake, Zayn was my goddamn fiance, the least they could do was understand that that meant something.
“You won’t just be seeing Zayn, his entire family will be there.” Mum told me coldly and even though I knew she was only playing Bad Cop so Dad wouldn’t, she was still seriously pushing it. Whether she admitted it or not, she liked Zayn, so I didn’t see what the goddamn fuss was. “I hope you’re not just doing it to please him. I mean, God forbid you should try and please your parents, but this boy comes along and oh, you’ll do anything for him-”
“Alright, Robina, do you want to have this conversation with her when I’m not here?” Dad snapped. Ah, there it was. Dad’s false sense of manliness. What difference did it make if we spoke about feelings? Not that I did that anyway, but I did simply loved the way my Dad acted like we were talking about periods or something whenever my feelings for Zayn came up. Not that I really... Had anyway. I mean, a second ago I’d referred to him as my fiance and no matter how true that was, IT CREEPED ME OUT TO SAY IT. “Soph, if you want to go, we’ll go, okay? Do you want to go?”
I nodded reluctantly. Hadn’t somebody once warned me that love was all about sacrifices? Well, I was screwed. I refused to admit I had any type of positive feelings for Zayn and I was still sacrificing the years of teenage rebellion I’d built against my parents for him. What even.
“Right, then your mother can call them back now and we’ll tell them we’ll see them next week. It’s not a problem.” Dad smiled at me and it was one of those rare moments that I didn’t know whether to accept his sudden niceness and forgot he was mostly a prick, or be suspicious. Mum opened her mouth to complain, but Dad just glared at her. “Oh, for God’s sake, Robina, she’s already marrying the damn boy, what more embarrassment can she cause us?”
Yeah... Prick it was.
“Hey, Adam!” I yelled over the din of surround-sound Power Rangers. “Do you want to go to a Christmas party next week?”
“No.” Adam shouted back, before shuffling in, in all of his eleven-year-old glory. “No, wait, whose party is it?”
“Zayn’s parents.” I told him calmly, feeling slightly better as our parents watched us, confused. “I think it’s in Bradford, though.”
Adam thought for a minute.
“Is Zayn going to be there?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, that’d be cool, we’ll go.” Adam told us importantly, before going back into the lounge and watching whatever crap it was he was watching.
“Adam, why should we go and see Zayn?” Mum shouted out, teasing. I heard Adam grunt at the interruption. He’d finished his studying for the day, I knew what that meant; his brain was officially dead until he had to wake up for school tomorrow. “Don’t you think it’d be more fun to stay at home, just us four?”
“No.” Adam said back, snorting from the other room. Mum could see him from where she was sitting, but I didn’t need to watch him to know what face he was giving her; the look that clearly meant she was crazy. “Zayn’s cool, he said he’d play COD with me.”
“When did you meet Zayn?” Dad asked sharply.
Adam was so good, I didn’t even bat an eyelid.
“I didn’t, but he follows me on Twitter.” Adam said. “I’m watching TV now.” Translation; shut up and leave me alone.
So we did.
. . .
1 WEEK LATER
“Make sure Zayn knows the boundaries.” Mum was telling me quietly as Dad parked the Range Rover somewhere we wouldn’t get blocked in. “If your father sees him touching you, he’ll kill him.”
“I know!” I sighed, rolling my eyes as we waited for someone to open the door. The driveway to the new house was packed with cars. I knew the boys would be here. Rose was going to be late – Harry was picking her up from the station, he’d been running late anyway – but the others should be here.
Including Zayn.
I’d gone for the natural look today, not that I’d had much choice, what with the whole no-red-lipstick-until-the-wedding-day thing. I was still wearing more make-up than usual, though. Black eyeliner, mascara, tinted moisturizer, fairly natural looking pink lip-gloss. The clothes I had chosen myself, for fear my mother would make me so feminine, Zayn wouldn’t recognize me. I was wearing skinny black jeans, a stripy jumper that screamed “festive season” and some navy high-top Converses to match the stripes.
Adam clearly looked the smartest out of all of us. He also looked way too much like a rockstar for my liking. Skinny black jeans, a white shirt and a black blazer, with his own black Converses. He and Mum had argued over the shoes, but Adam had argued that if I was the only reason we were all going and I wasn’t being forced to glam up, he shouldn’t be either. And Dad had just agreed because we’d been running late.
I rang the doorbell, chewing on the inside of my lip nervously.
“Soph, don’t be nervous.” Mum told me quietly, squeezing my hand. “You look hot, Zayn must be bloody blind if he doesn’t see that.”
That made me snort, especially as I saw Adam shoot Mum the most freaked out look ever.
And then the door opened.
“Louis, you wan-” Niall’s eyes widened as he saw me, eyebrows raised, standing with Mum and Adam. “Soph! You made it!” Niall shrieked, before grabbing me in a great bear hug.
Now, I love Niall’s hugs, I do. But my mother isn’t such a fan.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He was so... Enthusiastic. I hadn’t seen any of the boys for the past few weeks, what with the second leg of the tour and everything. I’d spoken to Harry a few times about the whole thing he was going through and the other guys had emailed a couple of times... I hadn’t really spoken to Zayn much. Sure, he’d called and text, but I’d always found a reason to cut it short.
Don’t judge me, okay? The whole... Getting married thing was scary. Especially considering... Well, everything we had gone through to get here. But it all seemed so much more real now. I mean, I was getting married. To Zayn. Of all people in the world.
“Soph’s mum, nice to meet you.” Niall grinned, letting me go to hug Mum instead. Adam and I glanced at each other, trying not to laugh, as Mum politely hugged him back, looking confused.
“Hi.” Dad nodded to Niall as he let go, appearing out of nowhere. He had his polite voice on. “Shall we come in?”
“And you must be Soph’s Dad!” Niall yelled happily, shaking Dad’s hand enthusiastically. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Lovely to meet you all, truly. And you must be Adam!”
“Hi.” Adam said politely.
“Welcome to the brotherhood, man, we’re all playing video games in the other room, so stick around.” Niall told him sincerely and I felt my shoulders relax as Adam smiled broadly up at him. It was one thing for Adam to approve of Zayn, but it was another for him to approve of the other boys. “I’m Niall, by the way.” Niall said to Mum and Dad, smiling. “I’m the token Irish one in the band, I work with Zayn.”
I knew Mum recognized him from my hardcore One Direction days, back when they’d just released the first album. Dad nodded and smiled like he knew what was going on and Mum brightened a little. I knew what she was remembering; me and her cheering Niall on as he Irish-danced on Alan Carr.
Niall hustled us in and I stared at how... Busy everything was. There were people everywhere, to start with. Drinking, laughing, talking – yelling at kids.
“I’d avoid her if I were you.” Niall told us cheerfully. “One of Zayn’s relatives friends or something, all I know is that she likes shouting a lot, she hasn’t made many friends.”
I shook my head at Niall, smiling, as he took our coats.
“Soph, I’ll go and find the rest of the boys, they’ll be so glad you’re here, we didn’t know if you were coming or not.” Niall grinned. “I mean, Zayn told us you were coming with family, but we didn’t know if you’d actually be able to make it or not, coming in from London and all.”
“Nice save.” I mouthed as soon as my parents back were turned and Niall shook his head at me, Adam giggling beside us. The boys knew about the constant battle Zayn and I were having against my family.
“Adam, come with me, you can join our little tournament.” Niall clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Soph, I’ll-”
“Oh, you’ve arrived!” I heard somebody gasp and I turned, with a smile, to my future mother-in-law. God, that term was dysfunctional. “Niall, why didn’t you tell me? Honestly, you boys are useless – Robina, you look lovely!”
I let Patricia do the whole happy-hostess thing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her to pieces, but I knew she had to play it up for my Dad. Which she did. She looked stunning, as always. Yaser – sorry, Uncle Yaser (future father-in-law, oh God) came out and he and Dad seemed to be getting along.
It was surreal, I’m not going to lie. Not the party; the 1D Mums loved me. Why wouldn’t they? I kept Harry in check, pushed Liam to get a love life, ate relatively healthily with Niall, made sure Louis didn’t let anybody use his minutes so he had enough to stay on the phone with his Mum and... And, yeah, okay, Zayn was my future husband. But still. The girls came over and said hi. The usual; hugs, kisses, “Oh my God, you look great!” being passed around.
“Oh, there you are!” Aunt Patricia – you see, I had no problem calling her Aunt, I mean, c’mon, I’m Asian, I’d been doing it for years, but it was weird, because the boys instantly thought it made Zayn sound like my cousin, which, just, ew, no – looked behind me, rolling her eyes. I felt my shoulders tense. She only reserved that equally loving and irritated tone for one person. “Look who’s arrived.”
I knew I shouldn’t have tied my hair away from my face, what shield did I have now?
I turned and saw Zayn standing behind me, his hands shoved into his pockets. I’ll admit it; my heart stuttered a little bit. He’d let his hair grown out even more than from the last time I’d seen him; it wasn’t gelled up, so was a thick, wavy mess. Black trousers, a black V-neck jumper. Of course, his black and purple Air Max trainers.
He didn’t have his studs in, because he knew it irritated my parents. He’d shaved properly, so there was no end-of-day stubble. He was standing slightly awkwardly and I quickly looked away, as I saw his head begin to turn in my direction.
This was utterly pathetic. He was putting the ring on my finger and making our engagement fully public in a couple of weeks. God, when I’d hated him I’d been way more confident, how was it that, having one of the hottest guys on the planet want to marry me made me feel all... Gushy?
Easy. Because I was still trying to pretend that it didn’t bother me that he’d made the first move, how much I truly cared for him and Hell, how I fully planned on jumping him repeatedly on our wedding night.
Ahh, wedding night. How about I didn’t think about that right now??
“Hi Uncle.” Zayn said with a small smile on his face, shaking Dad’s hand. He kissed Mum on the cheek. “Aunty Ruby, you look stunning-” I blocked out, wincing as I heard him high-five Adam. It was so wrong. Zayn and Adam getting along was just so wrong. I mean, Adam felt protective over me when Dad complained about his tea, but the guy I was marrying? No, Adam was cool with that.
This is what I got for brainwashing Adam into a Directioner in my teenage years.
I chewed on my lip, arms folded over my chest as I looked up, feeling Zayn turn to me.
I looked into his stupid, stupid, stupid brown eyes. They looked green in this light.
“Hey.” He said softly, smiling that stupid, horrible, cute, brilliant, sexy little smile he saved just me.
“Hi.” I managed to say, just as quietly, chewing on my bottom lip with a small, forced smile. Oh, God, I felt sick. Oh, God, Zayn was making me feel sick. See, this was a problem. Why couldn’t it be the way it had been when we’d hated each other? I’d had way more confidence then!
There was a flurry of instructions then. Uncle Yaser (FATHER-IN-LAW, SO VERY DYSFUNCTIONAL, PEOPLE) took Dad to sit with the other men, Aunt Patricia took Mum off with a wink, Niall whisked off Adam and then... It was me and Zayn.
“Why are you staring at me like you would the penguin enclosure?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him and feeling slightly more comfortable at how confident I sounded. Not felt, but sounded.
“You look beautiful.” Zayn told me, allowing himself to grin at me goofily. “I think someone made the effort for me.”
“Oh yeah, Mum was out to impress.” I nodded, knowing that was exactly what he hadn’t meant. I went to walk away, agonizing over the fact I’d have to walk past him.
I didn’t get far.
As I went by, Zayn subtly placed his hand over my wrist, our shoulders touching.
Ah, ah, ah, help, help, help, close proximity!
“I think you made an effort.” Zayn murmured to me quietly, looking into my eyes. Oh, God, it was really hard to be in denial when he was pulling out the eyes. I mean, that was unfair. I didn’t have eyes like his. I mean, they were brown, but they didn’t have freaking superpowers like his. “I appreciate it.”
“You know if my parents see you touching me before the wedding, they’re going to butcher you, right?” I managed to ask, my voice sounding slightly shaky, even to my own ears. I could smell his aftershave. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek as he spoke and dear God, I wanted to run away screaming. And not because I hated it. The opposite.
“I don’t see you complaining.” Zayn smirked at me. He shuffled slightly closer, so he was standing half in front of me, obscuring everybody else’s view, his chest not too far away from being pressed against mine. Help. Have mercy. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Not... Not avoiding.” I managed to stammer. Oh, God, oh GOD, his lips were RIGHT THERE... This had been a bad idea. “Just creating suitable distance.”
Zayn’s smirk widened.
“You’re going to be my wife in a couple of weeks, Soph, we’re going to be close.” Zayn’s eyes fell from mine and travelled slowly up and down my body, giving me tingles. “... Very close.” Okay, that was it. I was going to cry out of pure sexual frustration.
Yes, I said it. Sexual frustration.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I was glad (sort of) that it’d be... Special, when the time came.
But, in case nobody else had noticed, my fiance was ZAYN MALIK, okay? It was torture. Especially when he did... This. I mean, I hadn’t even kissed the guy. Not that I didn’t already know about the absolutely epic sexual chemistry we already had. I mean, come on, last week had been practically nothing to what was going to happen on D-Day (aka, Wedding Night, aka When Soph Stops Being Virginal).
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.” I cleared my throat first, sounding nonchalant. I tried to tell myself I just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting me flustered... But I knew that was a lie.
A LIE.
Because I knew the more I acted like he wasn’t bothering me, the more Zayn would try. And honestly, I didn’t want him to stop talking.
“Oh, yeah.” Zayn nodded neutrally, before smirking at me, his eyes smoldering from underneath those killer long eyelashes. Arrgh. I was going to throttle him, I swear to God. I was going to pull a total Lady Macbeth and stab him in his sleep. Was that Macbeth? See?! Zayn was messing with my brain so much, I was getting my literature mixed up! ME! “I should probably warn you, actually, so you’re prepared. I’m going to start with your-”
“Soph!”
I almost passed out with relief as Liam popped his head around the door, beaming at me. Zayn stepped back smoothly, letting go of my wrist, his head down as he hid his giant, triumphant grin. Smug bastard.
“Hey!” I forced a smile and stepped away from Zayn, feeling giddy. Arrgghh, Zayn was making me swoon. How pathetic. Hey, would he catch me? OH GOD, SOPH, NOT HELPING. “Sorry, I was, uh,-”
“Are your parents around? Or can I hug you?” Liam whispered, looking around.
I laughed and hugged him quickly, making sure to inhale deeply. Liam smell. Not Zayn smell. Zayn smell made me feel giddy, Liam smell just smelt good.
“Zayn messing with your head?” Liam asked me quietly, sounding amused.
“Aha, you have no idea.” I whispered back, before pulling away.
. . .
The party was... Great.
The food was great (though I didn’t say it in front of Zayn, because I knew he’d helped and he was charming my parents too much for my liking already), everybody was really friendly (except that one lady who we’d seen when we’d walked in, but Adam and I had mostly avoided her) and even my Dad was having a relatively good time. I mean, I’d seen him laughing.
Shock, horror.
“He’s fitting in well.” Zayn nodded towards where Adam and Louis were battling each other on the X-box, sidling up behind me.
“Too well. He’s adapting better than I am.” I smiled, shaking my head and turning to face Zayn – freezing as I saw how close he was. His face was inches away from mine and the way I could see the teeniest of smirks on his lips – on the lips I was very, very close to – instantly made me know that it was deliberate. “The party’s going well.”
“Yeah, you’ve gone down a hit.” Zayn murmured, smirking again. I stared at him for a moment, about to say something – but unsure of what – before I turned away. “Everybody’s going to be leaving soon.”
“So early?” I asked in surprise, turning back to him, but making sure there was more distance between our faces this time.
Zayn gave me a funny look.
“Soph, it’s nearly midnight.” Zayn blinked. “Countdown to Christmas starts in a couple of minutes and then people will be leaving. Including you. Are you coming to lunch tomorrow?”
“No idea.” I shrugged, stiffening and wincing as, by shrugging, my arm grazed Zayn’s stomach. Okay, so he was wearing a jumper, but still. WHAT IF HE HADN’T BEEN? Oh my God. I was going to find that out soon enough, wasn’t I? What it was like to brush against Zayn, in general, when he wasn’t wearing ANYTHING? Argh.
You see, this was why I had been “avoiding” Zayn. It wasn’t avoiding him as such; it was more the fact that I was kicking myself. I mean, I’d been this super-confident, borderline-cocky, perfect flirt before. Not before, before, I mean between before before and now before and URGH – you get the point. And with the wedding approaching (by wedding I mean D-DAY), I was expected to still be that sexy motherfucker (if I do say so myself). And I wasn’t. I was petrified. Not in THAT way, but just, generally...
Argh.
“Oh, God.” I muttered, seeing couples standing up and slow dancing, as a cover of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Michael Buble began to play. Mum was shifting next to Dad, who was probably playing a game, on his iPhone. Zayn followed my eyes. “Way to make her feel like shit, Dad.”
“What’s the matter?” Zayn frowned, looking at them. “Your parents?”
“He’s not dancing with her.” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “It’s something small, but it’ll hurt her. And even if she says it – which she probably already has – he’ll brush her off.”
“Does that bother you?” Zayn turned to me, his eyebrows furrowed. Argh. Perfect eyebrows. NO SOPH, STOP IT. “That she’s not dancing, I mean. Do you want her to?”
I snorted.
“Yeah, watching my mother slow-dancing has always been on my bucket-list.” I snorted, before sighing. “But... I don’t know, she doesn’t have memories like that with my Dad. Romantic ones, I mean. That makes me sad, not the fact she’s not dancing.”
Zayn folded his arms across his chest, watching Mum, and I could see the shape of his arms.
I’m going to go and kill myself now.
“I’ll be back in a sec, alright?” Zayn told me, walking off before I could answer.
“Yeah, that’s-” I stopped muttering and felt my eyes widen as I saw him walk over to my parents. OH DEAR GOD, NO. “Zayn!” I hissed, even though he couldn’t hear me. Which was weird, because I saw him incline his head slightly, from the other side of the room. “No, no, no, Zayn, no, you stupid-”
“What’re you spazzing about?” Adam asked, appearing of out nowhere, looking at Zayn. Adam frowned. “Why’s he over there?”
“Come on.” I muttered, edging closer to them with Adam, trying to make it look natural.
“... Married first.” Dad was saying, glowering at Zayn’s head. I winced. Not good. “Then she’ll be your mother-in-law, ask me if you can dance with her then.”
I can safely say both Adam and I gaped at Zayn after hearing that.
“Well, Uncle, I was going to ask you, but it didn’t seem your thing.” Zayn told Dad sweetly, smirking a little. I stifled a gasp over my mouth. Oh my God.
“Nooo.” Adam muttered. “Dude, no way.”
“Shut up, Adam, it’s not funny.” I muttered, trying not to laugh. No. Not funny. “He’s challenging Dad’s authority, that’s not nice, that’s not, uh, what’s that word? Oh yeah, respectful...”
“He’s also standing up to the grumpy old man, I don’t know what planet you’re living on, but I find this bloody hilarious.” Adam snorted.
“Shut up, Adam!” I shoved him gently, covering my mouth as I laughed. Okay, so it was a little funny. Very funny. “Oh my God, look.”
Dad had waved his hand dismissively, standing up and already calling somebody, Zayn taking Mum’s hand, her face full of a mixture of surprise and a blush at what I guessed was Zayn’s flattery.
I smiled to myself, without meaning to. Yeah, Zayn was good at stuff like that.
I watched as Zayn said something to Mum, making her laugh and slap him on the shoulder, telling him to shut up. Zayn was grinning as he danced with her, slowly, to the music.
As the song began to finish, Zayn caught my eye over Mum’s shoulder (not that that’s particularly hard, at exactly five feet, Mum was the family midget) and smiled at me.
I mouthed a thank you, trying not to smile too much. Stupid charmer.
. . .
Ten minutes to midnight.
Dad had to disappear to the hotel; something about an emergency meeting with Pakistan about the new school or something. Mum was having a great time with Aunt Patricia somewhere – she’d cheered up considerably since Zayn’s efforts – and Adam was inside, playing with the boys.
Zayn had asked if he could talk to me in the garden.
It was cold and I was ill-equipped without my coat, so Zayn gave me the jacket he’d (cleverly) brought with him into the garden. It was snowing in Bradford. A real white Christmas. Maybe it was worth missing the Doctor Who special, not that I hadn’t recorded it. In London, all we wouldn’t gotten was slush.
Kudos, Maliks.
“Well, this is cliché.” I said suddenly, laughing. Zayn looked at me. “You know, the whole... Thing. Me and you originally hating each other, becoming friends and now we’re getting married... Cliché, don’t you think?”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” Zayn asked with a confused smile.
“Definitely.” I nodded. “Rose and I sob like babies every time we see The Notebook, cliché works.”
Zayn didn’t say anything, walking to the end of the garden. He brushed some snow off the small back wall and sat down, motioning for me to do the same.
“Nu-uh.” I shook my head. “I’ll get your coat wet.”
It was weird. Zayn gave me a strange, small little smile.
“It’s fine, Soph.” He said gently, freaking me out even more. “C’mon, sit down.”
I went to argue again, but – realizing that it sounded like I cared – I shrugged quickly instead and sat down, going to brush away the snow. Zayn got there first, shrugging when I looked at him questioningly.
“What do you want for Christmas?” I asked suddenly, looking at him. It was starry tonight. “I never really thought about it before, what do you want?”
“What?” Zayn laughed in disbelief and I shrugged at him, grinning for some strange, strange reason that was unbeknownst to me. “Bit late, isn’t it?”
“Tell me.” I commanded, grinning still.
“Well, good thing you don’t need to go looking for it.” Zayn smiled at me sweetly and I watched him, questioning. “I just want you.”
Oh.
“Well, I, you, I mean, uh, we, um-”
“I mean, all of you.” Zayn said quickly and I stopped stammering to stare at him in surprise. “I know you’re holding back, Soph. I just don’t know why. If you really don’t want to do this, we don’t have to get married, I-”
“No!” I burst out, feeling my cheeks turn red as Zayn raised his eyebrows at me. Awkward. “I... I mean...” Damn it. I took a deep breath. Man up, Soph, where’s your metaphorical penis now? “I do... Want to... Get married.” I said awkwardly. “To you.” I added quickly, watching Zayn’s mouth twitch. “”Oh, get lost!” I muttered, laughing as Zayn burst into laughter. “I was clarifying!”
“I noticed.” Zayn grinned, before becoming more subdued. I watched him, feeling... Weird. Happy weird. GOOD weird. “And you’re sure?” I nodded. Stupid question. I wasn’t exactly one to go gushing my feelings but... I... Liked Zayn. A... A lot. “Well, in that case...”
“In that case what?” I smiled, watching him take a nervous breath. “Zayn?”
“Well, my Malikah-”
“Oh, you Asian.” I snorted loudly. “Princess in Arabic? Next you’re going to start praying aloud on a bus.” I pretended to tut at him, watching Zayn’s incredulous expression. “Bloody terrorist.”
Zayn fought it. I watched him. His mouth was twitching and he was biting his lower lip to not laugh, but his shoulders were shaking and before I could even fully start grinning at him, he’d let out a large hoot of laughter and was trying not to fall over.
In fact, he nearly fell face-forward into the snow, so put a hand on my knee to steady himself, still choking.
For a moment, I froze. Anybody could be watching, aka, my parents.
But... I realized I didn’t mind.
So I laughed too.
“That... Is not the point.” Zayn laughed, shaking his head. “Look, I know we’re not meant to do this until February-”
“If you try and rape me, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” I said automatically. Not that it mattered. I mean, what could any guy say to that?
“Yeah, it’s not rape if you like it.” Zayn smirked and I felt myself blush. Yeah. He could say that. I watched as Zayn went into his trouser pocket, pulling out a –
I covered my mouth with my hand, refusing to gasp. A turquoise box with a white ribbon.
A Tiffany’s box.
“Zayn...” I managed to whisper.
“Your favourite movie is Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I thought it gave me a bit of a clue.” Zayn smiled at me. “Hand?”
Wordlessly, I let him take my hand as he opened the box.
“I know I can’t give it to you now, but I wanted to see if it fit.” Zayn told me quietly, not looking at me properly. I didn’t see the ring as he took it out of the box and put the box away in his pocket. Silently, he slid it onto my wedding finger and tilted my hand in the light, showing me.
I gasped.
It was stunning.
It was simple. A shining, beautiful plain silver ring, a circular, beautifully cut diamond nested in the middle. As it caught the light from the house, it sparkled brilliantly, making me stare at it, speechless.
It was amazing.
“Soph...” Zayn seemed to struggle with his words. Not that I was listening. Oh my God, this ring was stunning. OH DEAR GOD, THIS WAS MY ENGAGEMENT RING. “I l- I really like you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I love you too.” I murmured, staring at my ring. Oh my God. This must’ve cost a bomb. I couldn’t let him buy me this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was so pretty and it fit perfectly and everything and OH MY GOD, I’D JUST TOLD ZAYN I LOVED HIM.
My words died on my tongue, but I kept my face on the ring. Oh God. I’d just told Zayn how I felt...
... And it hadn’t killed me.
And it felt good to finally say it.
I loved Zayn.
I could feel him staring at me. Slowly, I brought my eyes up to meet his.
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.” Zayn was fighting a smirk, but he lost; he broke into a smirk, then a smile and then such a big grin, he looked at the ground sheepishly and laughed self-consciously.
And instead of pretending I rolled my eyes in my head and thought he was being a girl, I did the same thing. I laughed.
I’d finally admitted my feelings for Zayn. I mean, it was no secret why I hadn’t in the first place; my horrendous commitment issues, maybe, or the fact that we were so different, we were bound to fail?
But... Well, we hadn’t.
Because, yes, we were different and yes, I’d seen people just like us – so opposite – who’d tried and failed to have relationships, even marriages. And I’d seen my own parents stuck in their own, unhappy marriage, despite how crazy they’d been for one another and I’d gone through so much of my life not believing in love, even when it – he, Zayn – had been on my doorstep.
It felt good to allow myself to be happy for once.
And in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of D-Day, or the wedding, or what it would mean to be Mrs Soph Malik after it. The pandemonium that would ensue once we released to the press, the constant battle it was going to be to maintain a relationship when Zayn was away; not that we’d discussed that yet.
The idea of us being and making a family.
I’d always told myself I never wanted kids. Cars were better than kids was what I’d snorted at any girl who told me about their plans for a family in high school (you’d be surprised at how low aspirations were for girls with IQs over 100). But, I had secretly admitted to Rose and a few scarce others, that I didn’t want any children because it was likely that, even if I did end up loving my partner, it wouldn’t be the kind of love that could sustain a child. I wanted to be so happy, so in love, so perfect in my life and the man I was spending it with, that having a baby and sharing that love with him or her was the most brilliant idea in the world. I didn’t want to just have a baby for collateral, or because at four years of marriage, that was what I was supposed to do, before my ovaries got dusty and fell out.
Who would’ve thought that guy would be Zayn? If anybody had told me that, I would have punched them in the face.
I still might.
We heard fireworks go off and a loud cheer from inside the house. It was midnight.
“Merry Christmas, Soph.” Zayn told me quietly.
I didn’t think about what I did next, or who might be watching, or whatever other crap. I just did it. I tangled my hand with Zayn’s, my engagement ring sparkling under the sky.
I turned to him and smiled. I loved Zayn. I was in love... With ZAYN.
“Merry Christmas, Zayn.”
