Chapter 3

"He is good…" said Haruhi, perusing Kyoya's plans as she and Tamaki sat side by side on an elegant, uncomfortable chaise in the Hitachin studio waiting for the twins to arrive. "You'd think he'd been planning fake events his whole life—wait a minute, he has!" she laughed, bumping Tamaki with her shoulder.

Tamaki nodded his head. "I know, I know. But he was merely execution—I was always the vision," he said vainly, gesticulating gracefully in his best host persona.

There was a pause. "Senpai, will you drop it already?" Haruhi asked crossly.

"Drop what?" he said, his violet eyes widening at her in the most innocent and charming manner.

"Drop the host act—you've been hosting me ever since you agreed to this crazy scheme. There's no need for it. I am truly grateful and I want you to behave like you always have—as my friend. This is going to be a bit of a slog and I don't think I can stomach the romance novel paramour routine for all that time."

Haruhi expected a fit or tears—instead he was quiet and simply stared at his lap. "I guess, I can't help it sometimes," he said lamely at last. "But I'll do my best from now on."

Just then the twins swept in with two garment bags. "I can't believe you managed to put together a dress in one week!" Haruhi exclaimed as they handed her and Tamaki their respective outfits.

"Haruhi—you head into the dressing room," ordered Hikaru. "Boss, you take the bathroom."

Ten minutes later, Tamaki emerged in an impeccably fitting tux, complete with violet-gray brocade waistcoat that complemented his eyes. The twins looked him over.

"We are …" Hikaru started, "Good …" Kauru finished. "It's perfect."

"I guess it is…" said Tamaki looking down, smoothing out his jacket. Just then Haruhi emerged from the dressing room. Tamaki gasped and slapped his hand over his eyes. "No! Wait, Haruhi—let me leave, it's bad luck!"

"Give me a break, Tamaki-Senpai," Haruhi sighed exasperated. "It's not like it's real!" Then she stopped short when she looked over at Tamaki standing there in the tux. He looked amazing.

Sometimes she'd forget how incredibly handsome he was, with all his silly antics. She remembered when she first encountered the host club and had been secretly awed by how good-looking they all were. But he was in a different class even from them. She recalled the first few times she saw him siting relaxed on his couch, a king holding court. He had positively shone, how every eye naturally went to him. She had had a hard time breathing when he stood too close to her in those early days, those violet eyes hypnotic, his warmth and charm magnetic.

Then she got to know him. At first his childish, obnoxious behavior took the bloom right off the rose. Who cared that he was beautiful? He was a narcissistic idiot who knew all too well the power his looks and charm had over others and wasn't afraid to use it.

But then she really came to know him—his compassion, his optimism, his spontaneity and joy. And gradually he became beautiful in a different way. He had shown her kindness right from the start—wading in a murky pool to find her wallet, defending her to catty host club girls, fighting to keep a supposed perverted doctor away from her. When she was thrown off the cliff at the beach. When he held her in his arms during the thunderstorm.

And here he was still protecting her. A question that had been niggling at the back of her mind ever since he'd held her a few days ago was now finding an answer. The way he held her was like the way he had held her during that storm. It had been tender and gentle—and, at the time, all those years' ago, she had thought maybe something more. Loving. She had looked at him differently for a while after that time at the beach. Maybe there was something more than friendship there? She had thought. She did often catch him staring at her.

But as time went on and he continued to flirt with beautiful women—far more beautiful than she was—she pushed the feeling down. She had been mistaken. He would have held anyone like that. That was who he was—kind and gentle. And besides. Look at me, she'd think. Really? The most handsome, most popular boy in the school? Interested in me? It was laughable. Haruhi was not insecure and usually couldn't care less about someone's looks, hers included. But she wasn't a fool either. She knew how the world worked and boys that looked like him didn't end up with girls that looked like her.

They still didn't. And yet, when Tamaki finally lowered his hand and looked at her in the wedding dress, she could see the same flare in his eyes that felt like something more to her. He was looking at her like—she suddenly realized—like she was beautiful. It couldn't be, right? She thought. Because I'm not beautiful.

But then she slowly turned around and looked at herself in the mirror. And there she was. A beauty. The dress was a simple white sheer crepe, with a ruched bodice that enhanced her curves, a square neckline emphasizing her bust in a tasteful way. The sheer sleeves and flowing layers of the lightly volumed skirt elongated her limbs making her look graceful and elegant as she moved. She had pushed her hair out of her face with a delicate crystal-twined headband Hikaru had placed in the bag, the rest pulled into a knot at the back of her head, revealing her creamy smooth neck and showing off her dainty features and large eyes. Kauru came forward and tucked a diaphanous veil in her chignon and the look was complete.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

"You look …" started Kauru.

"…stunning," finished Hikaru.

Tamaki was speechless. He couldn't help but stare over her shoulder at her image in the mirror. And then he felt the tears starting to rise.

Haruhi caught his reflection and quickly turned around. "Senpai, are you okay?"

Tamaki swallowed and put on his host hat even though he had promised not to. "Oh, daddy's little girl just looks so pretty! It's getting me all worked up," he said waving his hand in front of his face.

Haruhi looked at him curiously but turned back to the twins as they smoothed their hands over the dress looking for any flaws. After a few minor adjustments, Haruhi retreated to the dressing room. Before he knew it, Tamaki had sat down hard on the chaise, his head in his hands.

"You good, boss?" asked Hikaru.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Tamaki said sitting up and taking a deep breath. "Just tired—can't wait until all this 'faux' wedding stuff is over…"

"Really?" teased Hikaru. "I thought you'd be in heaven? It's the ultimate cosplay!"

Tamaki chuckled unconvincingly as Hikaru disappeared into the dressing room and a protesting Haruhi could be heard. Kauru looked at Tamaki, picking up on his anxiety. He couldn't understand why the host king seemed so put out.

"You're doing a good thing, boss," Kauru said. "You shouldn't stress about it. I'm sure Ayame has it all under control. Just tell yourself it's a big party and enjoy getting dressed up and have some fun."

"Yeah, you're right…" Tamaki sighed and smiled, trying to perk up. "It's just a big party."