Prologue

I was sitting on a bench outside a church in Ireland when I first met him.

It was a dreary day, the charcoal-coloured clouds in the sky on the brink of releasing raindrops from their airborne stomachs. An eerie chill had settled over my body during the service, and the insistent wind constantly gnawing at my body didn't help any.

When I lifted my head from my hands, I glanced around at my current surroundings. It really wasn't a particularly nice day, but the setting was still appropriate and beautiful.

Lush green oak trees crowded around the bench like gossiping old women, their thick leaves providing a sort of shelter for me if it happened to start raining, because there was no doubt in my mind that it would. I was grateful for this makeshift umbrella, as I had no desire to sit on an old rusting iron bench in my current attire during a storm; which, I might add, was of unnecessarily expensive black clothes that I was never going to wear again. In fact, if I had my way, I'd burn them.

I couldn't see further than the trees they were that thick, so I wouldn't be disturbed by anyone from the service. This place was hard enough for me to find - after about two hours of aimlessly stumbling around in the undergrowth I came across it. Whilst everyone else had been pigging out on the free buffet I'd slipped out of the gazebo and ran off down the woodland path.

I looked down at my feet. The water from puddles and wet grass had seeped through the soft fabric of my black ballet flats and my feet were that freezing cold that I might as well have been barefoot. I kicked off the shoes and wiggled my black nail-varnished toes in the soft damp ground. It felt nice... comforting. Relaxing. I shouldn't be happy. But what I was feeling was complete bliss. From the recent turn of events, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I reached for my iPod and plugged the earphones in. I immediately selected my favourite song on repeat, and listened to my favourite band telling me I didn't know I was beautiful. It was such a heart-warming song that although I didn't believe the lyrics, they were sweet and loving. The lads had truly magical voices.

When I heard a twig snap to the left I was instantly on my guard. Maybe Dad hadn't died? Maybe it was some cruel joke? His twisted sense of humour had meant lots of those. Most involved luring me into a false sense of security so that he could strike when I least expected it; both figuratively and literally.

Slowly, as if I was in the presence of a scared animal, I turned my head to look at the cause of the sound. I was surprised, to say the least. Then I almost hyperventilated and fainted. Almost. I kept the shock off my face expertly – in a world of not knowing if I was going to get punished for the slightest mistake or not I had managed to train my emotions and keep them in check so that the outside world were kept in ignorance of the true me.

Standing between two trees, was the cutest guy I had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He had gorgeous blonde hair that made me want to run my fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked, and he was tall, but not too tall; taller than me, anyway. He was wearing a purple Jack Wills hoodie, dark wash jeans and high-tops.

I met his familiar-looking sapphire blue eyes, and his soft lips pulled up into a cute smile. I'd recognise that face anywhere. His poster was plastered multiple times around my bedroom, how could I forget?

I didn't question his presence; I didn't want to jinx it. So I simply stared at him with wide eyes.

I knew I wasn't things. He was... there. I wasn't so delusional that I couldn't tell reality from my imagination, and no matter how much I despised myself sometimes, I would never lie to my own mind as a serpent would play games with his prey. That's actually quite ironic, knowing how I always used to compare my dad to a snake. They shared many likenesses, such as their slimy personalities and ability to strike when least expected.

He walked slowly towards me, as if I would break if he got too close. I could only imagine what expression coloured my face; my stance was rigid and I wasn't exactly welcoming.

"Hey," he said, his Irish accented voice trickling into my airs like golden honey. Instantly, I relaxed.

What was I doing? This was Niall Horan – my idol.

Why the hell he was here with me, however, was a whole different matter. Not that I didn't want him to be – the shock was just overwhelming.

I shot him a nervous smile. "Um... hi," I replied shyly.

In the past I had been afraid of being too close to anyone of the male species, but as he walked closer, the spongy wet ground squelching slightly underfoot, I found that with Niall it was not so. If anything, his proximity was reassuring.

He pointed to the spare spot beside me. "Can I sit here?"

I smiled in response. "Sure." Anything for you, I added silently.

He sat down with a relieved sigh and turned to look at me, smiling – enquiring.

"I'm Sophie," I told him, holding my hand out for him to shake.

He took it in his big soft one and instead of shaking, he lifted my hand up to his mouth and a gazillion lightning bolts shot through my body as he placed a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

I thought that would be the last day I ever saw Niall Horan from One Direction. Turns out I was wrong.