Harrison

The moment Gabriella disappears around the corner, I know I’ve made a mistake.

I stand there for at least five minutes, fighting the urge to run after her, leap over the barriers, and risk being shot in order to reach her and beg her not to go.

After five minutes, I walk over to a chair by the window, and sit. Sliding down, I rest my head on the back, look up at the ceiling, and close my eyes.

We both knew it would end like this. Gaby has been fighting her feelings the same way I have. There was no point in either of us saying we didn’t want it to end, though, because our feet are walking down different paths now. We both have things we want to do, and it wouldn’t be fair for either of us to ask the other to give up their plans. The pain I’m feeling is fleeting, like ripping off a plaster. Of course I’m going to miss her. We’ve been practically inseparable for nearly three weeks, so I’m going to notice that she’s not around. But I’ll get over it. In a few weeks’ time, once I’m on the road, I’ll look back at the time I spent with her fondly, but I’ll be far too busy to dwell on what’s done and dusted.

I get to my feet, glance out at the planes waiting on the tarmac, and head for the exit.

*

It’s all bullshit, of course. It doesn’t get easier. It just gets harder. I miss her more and more with every minute that passes.

I make it until day three before Colette tells me, with a fair amount of impatience after spotting my grumpy face, “For fuck’s sake, Harry. I’ve never seen you so miserable. Look, I’m not supposed to tell you, but I’ve had twenty emails from her saying how much she misses you. She’s trying to let you go, but she can’t, any more than you can her. Send her an email or a text or call her, will you? You’ll make her day.”

My heart leaps onto the floor and does a tap dance. She’s missing me? She wants me to contact her?

“Might do,” I say nonchalantly, then walk out of the building and down to our local coffee shop where I order a latte and sit and stare at my phone. After a few minutes of sipping the foamy hot coffee, I give in and send her a text.

How are you? Hope all is well in London. Missing you. H x

I press send, and wait for a twinge of dismay, a conviction of shit, shouldn’t have done that. It doesn’t come. Instead, I feel a wave of hope, along with a frisson of anticipation. It’s late evening in London—she might have gone to bed already, so I might not hear back until tomorrow. If I hear back at all. Maybe Colette was wrong. Maybe she doesn’t—

My phone buzzes on the table.

Harry! My face breaks into a smile—I can almost hear her saying it. OMG I miss you so much! Lovely to hear from you. London’s so cool—I wish you were here!

And so it begins.

*

Late that evening, I FaceTime her, and we talk for an hour. She tells me everything that’s happened since the moment she left the airport. She’s excited and oh, so beautiful, her face glowing with enthusiasm—at least, I think it’s enthusiasm. But as we go to say goodbye, I can’t help but speak the truth.

“Love you.”

Her mouth opens, and then she gives me the most gorgeous smile. “I love you too.”

We hang up, but I glow inside for at least another hour.

*

After this, we’re constantly in contact. We text during the day, send emails with photos, and FaceTime in the morning and evening. We don’t make each other promises, and we don’t really talk about the future. Even though we both say the three little words all the time, we don’t press each other to explore what that means. I’ve never felt so free and yet so secure in a relationship before.

I love this woman!

What the hell am I going to do about it?

Still unsure, a week later I leave the city to embark on my own adventure, and for the next month, my feet barely touch the ground. I fly to Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Sydney, and finally to London, although by then Gaby’s left England and is somewhere in France. I work hard, and my days are mostly filled with meeting clients and holding presentations. It’s exhausting, but I love every minute.

But I don’t forget Gabriella. In fact, we continue to keep in touch as often as we can.

I wait for the passion between us to start fading, because that’s what has happened before with other women.

And I wait, and I wait.

Six weeks after Gabriella walked away from me in the airport, I finally realize the truth.

*

A few days later, I’m sitting in front of the Trevi Fountain in Rome when my gaze falls on her.

My heart lifts, but I don’t get up. Instead, I watch her for a moment. Her hair’s grown longer, and she’s braided it in a thick plait that hangs down her back. She’s wearing jeans and a big black jacket, and she’s carrying a rucksack. She’s staying at a hotel not far from here, and she told me she was going to visit the fountain after she’d had lunch.

She slows as she reaches it, and lifts her sunglasses onto the top of her head as she looks at the beautiful Baroque stonework.

And then her gaze falls on me.

She blinks a few times. I push myself to my feet and walk forward a few steps. Her jaw drops, and I watch her inhale deeply. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll be pleased to see me, but of course there’s always a small part of yourself that tries to tell you it’s all a big mistake, and I wait for dismay to spill onto her face.

It doesn’t.

Instead, she runs up to me, throws her arms around my neck, and buries her face in my shoulder.

“Mmm.” I wrap my arms around her, and we stand like that for at least five minutes, just drinking in the delight of being together again.

Finally, she pulls back. Her face is wet, and her bottom lip is trembling. “What are you doing here?” she whispers. “Are you here on business?”

I shake my head. “I missed you. I shouldn’t have let you walk away from me in the airport. I’ve missed you every day, and I love you, Gabriella Manners.” I take her face in my hands and give her a long, deep kiss. Then I lift my head again. “I don’t want to stop you from travelling. I don’t want to get in your way. But I miss you, and I thought maybe we could, you know, travel together.”

More tears run down her cheeks. “Oh, Harry…”

“If you’d like that.”

“I’d love that. I’ve missed you so much.”

Taking a deep breath, I put my hand in my pants pocket and pull out a small velvet box. Dropping down onto one knee, I pop the lid. “Ti amo, vuoi sposarmi? That means I love you. Will you marry me?”

She stares at me. “Si! Caro mio.” And she bursts into tears.