Catherine sits beside Francesca at the laboratory, smiling brightly with a very impressive engagement ring sitting prettily on her ring finger. Her boyfriend had just proposed a few nights ago, and they’re already planning the wedding with big venues and flowers and dozens and dozens of guests. Francesca can feel the pang of jealousy washing over her as she talks so intricately about the day.

“Have you decided if you’re going to walk, Gia?”

Francesca snaps out of her trance of jealousy and smiles politely, “I don’t think I am. I think Edward is going to take me away for the weekend instead.”

“Oh, that’s such a shame! Have you got an anniversary coming up or something?”

Momentarily, Francesca pauses, unsure whether or not Catherine is a safe person to share her secret with. Surely, they’ve grown close over the last three months, and Catherine has shared more personal details about her life than Francesca thinks she’s ever shared with anyone. Catherine is a bit of an open book in that regard, and Francesca admires that, because she certainly couldn’t be. Not with everything going on. That feeling does make her miss a normal life, though, a feeling of safety to share details about herself with friends that her parents hadn’t known, that her courters hadn’t ever heard of. Mary Scott was her best friend back in New York City, the one that knew everything about her, that knew she fancied Harry (even though she never said the words) and they hadn’t seen each other in months, now. Francesca misses her, misses having someone like her around. Maybe, Francesca is searching for that in Catherine. Maybe that’s why she decides to tell her about her life, in that very moment.

“It’s just, it’s not safe for me to be at a graduation, right now,” Francesca admits solemnly, hiding her face behind her hair and scanning her eyes around the room. It’s empty. They’re the only two in the laboratory, right now. “Can I tell you something, Catherine? And you have to promise me that you won’t say anything to anyone about it, though.”

Catherine takes Francesca’s hands softly and squeezes them together in hers. “Of course, Gia. Anything! That’s what friends are for.”

“This is more than a silly, little secret, Catherine. This is my life.”

“Of course, Giovanna.”

Heaving out a heavy breath, Francesca blinks away a tear and sputters out, “I’m on the run, Catherine. There are people out there, a lot of people, that want me dead, that want Edward dead for protecting me.” Catherine looks at Francesca with such shock and disbelief, that Francesca worries she won’t believe her. Catherine squeezes her hand encouragingly, and she continues. “Giovanna isn’t even my name; Edward isn’t his name. All of this is a lie. All my records with the school are real but they’re under strict order not to give or release any information if it’s not to me or Edward. My father, my father is the reason for all of this, and although I love him, I can’t believe this is my life. I’m so tired of running. I’m tired of hiding, Catherine. I want to be free. I want to go into town and not worry about who’s lurking around the corner or who potentially knows who I am. I want to get married, like you, and have a real wedding with my friends and family and I want to have children with the love of my life! I want to grow old somewhere and have roots and a family. I have none of that. I have lies and deception and a life on the run,” she blurts everything out in a hurry before anyone can hear her, tears falling out of her eyes without her allowance. “I can’t walk at graduation because it’s not safe for me to. I’m not even sure I can stay in Cape Cod for much longer. I have a feeling they’re coming on to us and they’ll find me soon.”

“Giovanna,” Catherine sighs, wrapping her arms tightly around her friend and hugging her tightly, embracing the girl she thought she once knew. “I’m so sorry, dear. I am. Is there anything I can do? Is there anything we can do to help you and Edward?”

“Keep this a secret? Don’t even tell your fiancé. Anyone that knows can put me in danger,” Francesca sighs, wiping her eyes and turning to face the front of the classroom. “It’s nice to finally tell someone that I can trust.” Catherine nods and squeezes Francesca’s hand comfortingly, assuring her in silence that her secret is safe between them.

Catherine and Francesca don’t talk the rest of the lecture, listening carefully to their professor speak about graduation and the ending of their semester and their completion of their degree. Outside of their classroom, Harry is waiting, leaning against the car with a smile on his face and a gun holstered in his pocket, his eyes wide as he notices Catherine nod solemnly towards him and hug Francesca a bit tighter before walking towards him. Harry knows in that instant. He knows by the look on her face, the look on Francesca’s face, and the unshared looks between the two that something was said that shouldn’t have been. His anger twists in his stomach, and he knows he needs to control himself until they get home, until their thirty-minute drive is over and they’re not in the car, but something about Francesca telling their secret to a stranger without talking to him about it first irks him – maybe it’s because he has no idea who she is and what she does and what she is capable of. He certainly doesn’t know who she knows.

“Catherine, hello,” Harry smiles, maintaining a straight face and kissing Francesca’s cheek as she walks towards the passenger side of the car and opens the door. “How are you?”

“I’m well! Thank you so much for asking,” Catherine smiles falsely, and Harry can tell she’s hiding something by the way she’s staring at Francesca and pursing her lips in a tight line. Harry could always tell when people were lying, it was one of his greatest strengths in the British Navy. His leaders and commanders trusted him because of that. “I have to go, I’ll see you at Graduation, Gia!”

Harry doesn’t say a word as he gets in the car. Harry looks at his companion, his partner in this version of their story, someone he thought was his friend, and shakes his head, turning the engine and starting the car, angry and frustrated at the situation. Over the entirety of the way to Cape Cod, she remains silent, unsure of what to say to him, uncertain of what is going to come when they walk in the door of their home. His hand doesn’t even brush against hers like it normally does when they’re driving home, the radio isn’t playing, the conversations about work and school aren’t had. All of it, everything that made their lives feel normal, feels so out of touch and out of reach in this moment. Francesca knows that Harry knows. It’s impossible not to. Catherine’s incessant lying and Francesca’s nervous stares gave everything away. Harry knows everything and he’s certainly going to be angry at her and yell. That’s what Francesca is dreading the most, perhaps. Hearing Harry yell at her might be worse than hearing Father yell.

Harry walks into the house first, his fingers running through his hair frustratedly. Francesca follows suit, shutting the door and leaving her notebooks on the table next to the front door. His lips purse together as he thinks, his hands rubbing over his face as he paces up and down the hallway, his feet marking the floorboards, his breath panting between his open mouth.

“Say something, Harry,” she says finally, crossing her arms in front of her chest and sighing into the vacant air, her head aching with the thoughts of what is to come of their conversation.

“Francesca Cartelli, are you serious?” he says incredulously, shaking his head and letting his hands fall to his side, smacking his thighs and feeling his voice begin to raise with every word. “Do you really want me say something? How about this? How could you have told someone?”

“Excuse me?” she gulps nervously, shaking her head as she takes a step towards him, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Harry, what are you talking about? I haven’t told anyone.”

Harry shrugs off her touch. “Cartelli, you told someone our secret. You told Catherine.”

“How do you know that?”

Harry exasperatedly puffs out his cheeks and lets his arms flail around his body, his eyebrows furrowed together as he spits out, “It was written all over your face, Francesca! I knew as soon as you stepped out of the lecture hall, and I saw the tears on your cheeks.”

“Catherine is my friend, Harry! She wouldn’t tell anyone!” she yells back, taking a step away and sinking into herself, feeling her emotions swell into her brain and the tears well in her eyes.

“You don’t know that, Francesca! You don’t know who she knows! You have no idea who she could tell and who could come after you!”

“I’m not stupid, Harry!” she cries, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks helplessly and her hands angrily wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

Harry’s heart sinks with the sight of her tears and he immediately softens his tone. “I am here,” he breathes, sighing into his hands and letting out a frustrated moan. “Francesca, you, are here to be protected. Have you forgotten that?”

“No. Of course I haven’t! I just wanted a friend, Harry. One friend that I could be honest with. I didn’t tell her our names. I just briefly explained what our situation was like. I didn’t give details.”

“Francesca, you’re acting like a naïve, little girl.” Harry turns around and walks into the kitchen, pouring himself a drink of the whiskey sitting on the counter and sipping it resentfully. Harry looks at Francesca with a straight face, saying harshly, “You’re making my job a living hell, here.”

“Ha,” she scoffs, flailing her arms, and smacking her hands against her thighs as she raises her voice to reach his tone, “I’m making your job a living hell? This is my life that we’re talking about, Harry. I haven’t seen my father, I haven’t mourned my mother at all, I haven’t seen my city. I’m lost in all this, Harry! I don’t know who I am without all those things! I have no idea who I am in all of this.”

For the first time in months, Francesca has said it out loud. Lost. Francesca is lost in all of this, unsure of where she’s going and what she wants, what she can have.

“Lost? You have me! I’ve been here the whole time!”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want other friends, Harry! That doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel normal.”

Harry looks at Francesca with a spiteful glare and says strictly, without any emotion working through his words, “Normal was never in your cards, Francesca.”

Rolling her eyes, Francesca wipes away a stray tear on her cheek and mumbles, “Thank you for that.”

Harry takes a moment to compose himself, taking a sip from his glass and wiping his hands on his knees. “Francesca, I am trying to protect you, and you’re making my job more difficult by sharing these things with other people that we don’t know.”

Tucking her lips between her teeth, Francesca sighs and lets out a heavy breath she’s been holding in since the beginning of their argument, “I need to go for a walk.” Her eyes are glossy, and the air is thick with tension as she speaks. “I need to leave.”

“Where will you be going?” he questions hurriedly, standing from his seat and walking closely behind her as she strides towards the front door. Outside, the sun is already beginning to set, and the townspeople are beginning to make their way home for the evening. Usually, everything is shut down by seven or eight in the evening, and everyone is at home for the night by then. “Town isn’t safe for you to walk around by yourself.”

“Nowhere is safe, Harry! Haven’t you realized that by now?” she cries, running her fingers through her hair and reaching for the doorknob, a sigh of frustration passing through her lips as his hand grips her wrist protectively. “Leave me alone, Harry. I’m serious.”

“Francesca,” Harry softens, his heart breaking at the sight of the tears that have stained her cheeks. “Let’s talk about this.”

“I said, leave me alone, or I’ll call my father to come get me.”

Harry drops his hand and takes a step away, the threat of Francesca calling Giuseppe much greater a threat than her walking around the town for merely an hour or two. Francesca leaves without saying another word, without blinking in Harry’s direction, and he can feel his heart shatter into splintering pieces as soon as she walks out the front door.

Honestly, it shouldn’t have been impossible to have known that he was in love with her before that point, before the moment she was two feet out the door and walking into town without so much as a sweater to keep her warm from the misty ocean breeze, because all the signs were there. To Francesca, though, it was like looking at him with blinders on. There wasn’t a way to tell outright that the person he was referencing months ago when he said he was in love was her, and it would be simply obnoxious to assume, downright unladylike. So, Francesca walks. Francesca walks along the shoreline and passes by the closing shops and stops at the pier, where there are fishermen packing their things for the day and their wives are calling them from the edge, ready to embrace them after a long day’s work and tell them they love them.

Francesca imagines a life where that would be her, where she could be the doting wife caring for the husband. Ever since being on the run, having children of her own has been out of the question, but she can envision herself caring for the children at her office like they’re her own, all the sickly children that come in wishing for a sucker and a sticker with their mothers. Harry would come home after a long day at the office, and she’d kiss him and ask him how his day went, even though he likely wouldn’t share the gory and boring details. Harry would kiss her sweetly, offer to assist her in making their supper, and they’d relax with the radio and dance around their quaint little home, or maybe they’d watch the box that everyone’s been talking about. Either way, their life would be peaceful and loving, everything she’s always wanted.

Thump.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” she instantly apologizes as she runs into a man walking in the opposite direction. Her head picks up slightly to make out the face of her neighbor, Antonio Enteralgia. Harry had introduced them to him on their second day in town when he was working on his car in the drive. “Antonio, hello.”

“Hi, dear,” he says, setting his fishing pole to the side of the pier and his tackle box on the ground. “Is Edward nearby? It’s a long way from where you should be this late.”

“I know. I needed some fresh air.” Francesca knew that Antonio was old-fashioned, and he certainly wouldn’t approve of her being out so late by herself. He reminded her of her father in a way, protective in nature, yet kind when approached by the right people. “I hadn’t realized I walked this far until I made it to the pier. I should be getting back, now. I’m sure Edward is worried sick. I’m sorry for running into you.”

“I can take you home, Giovanna. It’s no worry at all. Come with me.”

Nodding graciously towards Antonio, Francesca turns on her heel and begins to walk towards the edge of the pier alongside her neighbor. Over the next twenty or so minutes, their drive into town is silent, with the hum of the engine filling the car’s echo. Antonio talks about his wife and daughter, and Francesca stares solemnly out the window. Antonio’s analog clock reads, 7:45, meaning that she’s been away from Harry for nearly three hours.

Harry must be worried. Harry must be angry.

Getting out of the car with their neighbor’s assistance, she thanks him quietly, embarrassment on her cheeks, and walks the short distance to their house, knocking quietly on the front door. Immediately, Harry comes to the door, hesitantly reaching for the doorknob. “Harry, it’s me.”

Harry swings the door open, “Thank God.” Harry pulls Francesca inside, wrapping his arms around her tightly and kissing her hair instinctively, ignoring the guilty feeling in his chest when he does so. He grabs her face, cupping her cheeks roughly and says, “Don’t ever do that, again. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you. Okay?”

Harry lets go of her face and shuts the door behind her, pushing her inside and towards the kitchen, “Not okay! God, Francesca, if something happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Harry, why do you care so much? Especially since I make your job hell?”

Harry sighs, “I didn’t mean that, Francesca. I was angry.”

Francesca shakes her head, “That surely makes me feel better. Thank you.”

“Francesca,” he says slowly, walking towards her and taking her hands in his, “listen to me. I will do anything to protect you. That means laying my life on the line. I need you to help me, so that we both may live.”

“Why, Harry? Why do you want to protect me so badly?”

Harry lets her hands go and groans, running his hands over his face and turning on his heel as he walks away from her. He turns dramatically and shouts, “Because I love you! I’m in love with you, Francesca! I have been since the very first time I saw you in that bloody speakeasy!”

“You what?”

“God damnit! I love you,” Harry yells, shaking his head and letting his hands hit his thighs like earlier, a similar fashion to how he’s behaved when he’s upset and angry. Francesca has only seen this side of him a handful of times. “I love you and I want to see you alive. I want to see you happy. That’s my only motivation in this. I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about the protection. I don’t care about any of it. I only care about you, Francesca. And it would ruin my life, it would ruin everything about me if you weren’t around. I do this all for you!”

Francesca looks at Harry with astonishment, her eyes wide and her heart swelling so deeply in her chest that she’s unsure of how to feel, how to properly express how she’s feeling. Francesca has never felt a love like this before, has never felt love in a romantic way before. All that she feels is this epic version of a love story that she’s never experienced before. “You love me.”

“Yes. Yes, of course I love you. Haven’t I made that abundantly clear? You, you, Francesca Giovanna Cartelli are my epic love that I have so desperately wanted all my life, that I fought for in the war. That’s why I gave you my mother’s ring. That’s why I was the one to bring you out here. That’s why I’m risking my life for you. Because I love you!” Harry says dramatically, puffing out a breath when he’s finished with his speech and staring at her, waiting for her to respond with something, anything.

“I love you, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“Harry,” Francesca says softly, stepping forward and standing in front of Harry quietly, bravely grabbing his cheeks and pressing her lips to his. “I love you, too. I do.”

Harry leans his forehead against Francesca’s, running his hands along her sides and holding her tightly, his arms circling around her waist, “Don’t ever scare me like that, again. It will kill me, Francesca.”

“Promise.”

“You are my life, Francesca.” Harry blinks slowly and licks his lips, trying to emphasize what he’s saying to her, because he means it, wholeheartedly, “Understand that, please.”

Francesca nods, “I do, I understand.”

Harry sighs and takes a step back, running his hands over Francesca’s face and shoulders, “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I just went on a walk, Harry. I’m not hurt. I only saw Antonio. Antonio actually drove me home.”

“I’m making sure. That was kind of him. I’ll thank him tomorrow for making sure you found yourself home safely. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

“’Cause you love me,” she smiles, a blush finding a way onto her cheeks as she tucks her chin to her chest, a smile itching at the corners of her mouth as he tucks his finger under her chin and encourages her to look into his eyes. “More than I thought you loved me, if I might add.”

“More than I’ve ever loved another person, ever,” he swears to the highest power listening, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing her against his chest. “My epic love.”

“And you, mine.”

Harry sighs again, and Francesca looks at him inquisitively, cocking her head to the side, as he leans his head back against his neck with annoyance. “That wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“I don’t mind,” Francesca says to assure him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and running her fingers through his hair softly. “How did you want to tell me?”

“More romantic than that,” he admits, swaying their bodies quietly under the shining moonlight shining through the window. “Not by arguing with you.”

“Can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

“All right, all right, Francesca,” Harry chuckles, shaking his head and leaning in towards her, kissing her sweetly and soaking in the heavenly feeling of her mouth on his. “I love you, my darling Francesca. My epic love of all time.”

Francesca smiles widely, giggling happily in Harry’s arms as he twirls her around in the middle of their quaint, little house. Cape Cod feels safe, warm. It’s home, so to speak. For once in Francesca’s life, there is something that makes sense. Harry, Harry makes sense.

~

Francesca Cartelli celebrates her graduation from medical school on the beach, as opposed to inside the school where hundreds of people could hear her name be called across the stage. Harry decides it’s safest this way, and as asked, Francesca complies. Graduation gowns never suited her anyways, she says to him, and Harry laughs at that with a kiss to her cheek as they walk from the town square, but he knows, deep down, that she is disappointed. He does his very best to make up for the fact that she can’t have a normal life, a normal graduation, a normal friendship with anyone nowadays, even with Catherine, with whom she has still stayed in contact with post-graduation. Harry made her the singular exception after doing some digging around at work and coming to the realization that she, in fact, was an innocent girl in the mix of all this. Catherine Helms is simply a naïve friend to Francesca, also determined to keep her safe at all costs. And for that, Harry is grateful.

“Could I have another drink?” Francesca wonders from the beach blanket, her olive skin tanning nicely in the sun. “For the way to the ocean. The water is calling my name, I think.”

“You’ll get caught and get us all in trouble, Francesca,” Harry warns, shaking his head and keeping his flask hidden in pocket, away from prying eyes. He’s noticed that the neighbor, Antonio, has been a bit more watchful of them lately, and he’s certainly keeping his eyes on him. He doesn’t need anything getting back to Giuseppe. God forbid. It might end his whole life. “I’d rather not have a bullet in my brain because my girl is caught drinking on the beach.”

Lifting her head from her towel, Francesca smirks, “Your girl, huh?” Harry is lying face down on the towel beside her, his face turned towards her as he lays on his hands. His left hand adorns a wedding ring that she wishes she put there; instead, he delicately slides it on his finger every morning before giving her a kiss and leaving the house. Laying there with him, in the hum of the Saturday afternoon rush, everything feels eerily calm, like this is how it was always meant to be – just the two of them. Francesca leans over and kisses Harry’s arm, smiling brightly at him as he puckers his lips and waits for her to kiss him. She does so, happily.

“That’s what you are, my darling.” Harry smiles at her, a smile that, over the last few weeks, she’s become accustomed to seeing. His face is always hardened when he arrives home from work, Francesca’s come to notice, complaining that the cadets aren’t listening, the officers and lieutenants don’t know what they’re doing. His lips are pursed in a straight line and there are wrinkles lining his forehead, that is until he sees her. Until he sees Francesca waiting in the living room with a mug of tea, listening to the radio, humming along to everything he’s saying. He suddenly stops, smiling this undeniable grin, and walks towards her, kissing her mouth sweetly and mumbling that he’s happy to be home. Because that’s what she is. Home.

“Will you come in the water with me?” she wonders innocently, laughing quietly to herself when his arm slings over her waist and brings her into his chest, kissing her shoulder and neck. Her voice lowers to a whisper, ensuring that only he could hear her. “Harry, I’m talking to you.”

“As you can see, I’m a bit preoccupied, Francesca,” Harry laughs devilishly, pressing his lips along her skin and making his way towards her mouth. “I am simply enamored by you.”

“Anyone on the beach could tell,” Francesca smirks, turning her head slightly and capturing his lips by hers. “Come swimming with me.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry concedes, shoving the flask beneath his shirt and standing on his feet, holding out his hands for Francesca to grab and help her upright. “Let’s go, my love. The things I do for you.”

“Oh, I know.”

Harry and Francesca walk to the ocean together, the waves hitting against their legs as they walk into the water hand-in-hand. Francesca’s skin shivers with goosebumps, Harry laughing at her reaction and rubbing his hands along her arms to warm her. She looks at him affectionately, smiling brightly, and kisses his cheek as though to say ‘thank you’ without saying a word. He knows. Francesca immediately warms to the ocean, diving in and letting the water wet her hair and playfully pulling Harry in along with her, his body laying lightly on hers as she floats along the sea.

And for a while, Francesca and Harry say nothing, simply basking in the sunlight and the silence between them and the children laughing and the parents shouting and the couples kissing around them. Quiet is peaceful, and Harry likes it that way. Until, of course, Francesca starts thinking aloud.

“Do you want children?” she asks, very evidently asking him. Her fingers are brushing through his hair, his arms wrapping around her waist and holding her against his chest, her legs wrapped around his hips. “Like, in the future, I mean.”

“Honestly, I’ve never thought that far ahead, Francesca. Maybe I did when I was in love before you, but now my priority is to keep you safe, from everything. I don’t think children bode well in the mix of that. Especially when we won’t know if we must move or stay on the run for a while,” he says very seriously, as though he’s thought about it before. Francesca believes that he’s thought all his answers through before she’s even asked the question. “Do you?”

“Not particularly,” she admits, and for the first time, she feels as though the answer is taken for truth. “I’ve never seen myself quite fit to be a mother. I’m quite selfish in what I want. I want you to myself.”

“That’s quite all right. I like having you to myself, anyways,” Harry hums, smirking as Francesca slides his sunglasses onto his head, her eyes meeting his. “I just want you to have the life you want, Francesca. That’s what I’ll give you.” He can tell that she’s thinking carefully about what she wants to say. “Say what you’re thinking, my love.”

Hesitating for a moment, she takes his silence to be muster the bravery to say what she’s thinking, “I wish I was the one that put the wedding ring on your finger. I wish we were really married, not faking it with fake names and a fake house. I wish this was real. More permanent.”

He sighs and maneuvers one hand around her body and runs it through his hair, pushing a stray curl away from his forehead. He leans his forehead against hers and whispers, “This can be as real as we want it to be, darling.”

“It’ll never be real if we’re not really married, Harry. If we’re not really living. We’re hiding, right now. Hiding from the mafia and the people that want me dead and more importantly, we’re hiding us from my father.”

Harry sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “I’m only hiding us because I fear your father will have an adverse reaction to us announcing that we’re seeing each other, dear. I would hope that one day I may marry you really, and I can’t very well do that if I have a bullet in the brain.”

“I just want you,” Francesca sighs, sliding his sunglasses back to his eyes and leaning her forehead against his own, their lips barely brushing against each other. It’s dangerous, very dangerous for them to be this public about their affection, but in a moment like this, where everything else is uncertain, the certainty of their love feels securing and safe.

“You have me, my dear. I am telling you the utmost truth about that. You have me until the day I die. Whether that be tomorrow or fifty years from now.”

Francesca breathes in and impulsively presses her lips against Harry’s, kissing him deeply and passionately, forgetting everyone that is staring at them in the ocean, namely their intrusive neighbor who seems to want to know more and more about them than any normal neighbor would. Francesca kisses Harry and doesn’t care who’s watching, for once in her life, not caring about the consequences of her actions. All Francesca wants is to kiss Harry, the man of her dreams, and feel his body on hers.

“Francesca,” Harry breathes against her lips.

“I like it when you say my whole name,” she murmurs, smirking against his lips. “Have I ever said that before? I know I say I hate it, but it sounds so sweet coming from you.”

“Trust me, honey,” he mumbles, adjusting his swimming trunks with a grunt. “That’s nothing compared to what will be coming out of my mouth.”

“I want you to take me somewhere,” Francesca whispers seductively, smiling to herself as Harry shuts his eyes and swallows thickly. “I want you to do all the things you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”

“Only place I can take you is our house, darling, and that’s not nearly good enough for your first moment like this.”

“Anything we have is good enough for me, Harry. Anything you have is good enough for me.”

“Is that so, Miss Cartelli?”

“It is so, Mr. Styles.” Francesca leans in towards Harry’s ear and kisses his jaw teasingly, saying beneath her breath, “Take me home.”

Harry nearly rushes to carry her out of the water, his swimming trunks much too tight around his legs as he grows hard between his thighs. Francesca laughs loudly, drawing attention from onlookers and passerby, ignoring the harping stares of their neighbor from across the pathway. Harry hurriedly gathers their belongings into the bag they brought with them, not daring to leave behind the flask that was tucked between their clothes. Francesca dresses herself in a hurried fashion, meeting Harry’s speed, and grabs his hand before he can walk away without her. Harry looks back, and impulsively kisses her, not caring about what anyone has to say.

Francesca believes they could cut the tension between them with a knife on their walk home. Harry locks the gate behind him, setting their belongings on the outside dining table and unlocks the back door with a haste, laying his hand on her lower back and ushering her inside before anyone passing by could stop them from doing exactly what has been on their minds for weeks, since their confession of love and since they began sleeping between the same sheets.

Francesca turns around and immediately falls into Harry’s arms, his hands grabbing her cheeks and kissing her deeply, with the utmost passion, saying everything that he’s failed to say until then. Harry gently tugs at the end of Francesca’s shirt, daring to ask for permission to take it off. Francesca nods slowly, swallowing her words, and lifting her arms for him.

“Are you nervous?” he says softly, trying to read the expression on her face and make sure that she’s alright with what they’re about to be doing. “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Francesca.”

Her hand brushes through his hair and lays gently on his neck, her mouth pecking his cheek assuredly, “Harry, I know you’ll take care of me. I’m not nervous.”

“I love you,” Harry tells her firmly, as though she wouldn’t believe him if he said it any more softly than his usual tone. He nudges his finger under her chin and lifts it to make their eyes meet, saying, “More than anything. You know that, right?”

“I know, and I love you. I trust you.”

Harry takes Francesca’s hand softly, kissing her knuckles, leading her into the bedroom and shutting the door behind her. He walks towards the window to draw the curtains closed, and says, “I don’t want anyone to see you how I’m about to see you.”

“Could sound a bit selfish if you say that to the wrong people.”

Harry looks over his shoulder and draws the curtains shut, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips. “Call me selfish, then, because I’m not one to share.”

“Come here,” she says from behind him, delicately pulling her skirt from her waist and unfashioning her bathing suit from her torso.

He quickly stops her, “You’re not meant to undress yourself, my love. That’s for me to do.”

“You’re taking quite a while, Mr. Styles, and I’m beginning to grow impatient.”

Harry snorts a laugh and wraps his arms around her midsection, kissing her deeply and running his hands along her half naked body. He’s never touched her like this before, felt her skin so raw beneath his fingertips. Out of every sensation on their skin, each is new and unfiltered, going unscathed by any thoughts or fears. It feels so forbidden, so, unlike him. Even when Harry was in love before this, before Francesca, before the war, he never touched a woman like this, especially a woman that he was not betrothed to. He nearly stutters in his movements, the excitement beginning to get to his brain.

“I want to take you to bed, my dear.”

“No one is stopping you.”

Harry scoops his arms beneath Francesca’s knees and back, lifting her in his arms, smirking when she squeaks in reply. Instinctively, she hides her face in his neck, giggling loudly when he playfully tosses her onto the mattress, yanking his shirt off his torso and laying it in the middle of the floor with hers. He pauses for a moment, basking in the heavy breathing and the tension in the air. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do, Francesca.”

“More sure than anything else before.”

“I love you,” Harry says, walking towards the bed and climbing above her, his hands holding his weight on her body and his hair falling against her forehead, “so much.”

“I love you.”

Harry and Francesca kiss. Deeply and passionately. More than either of them has ever felt before. It’s like the world stops in that moment, and the only thing that matters is him and her and what they feel for each other and how it will be the most epic love story ever told.

Harry and Francesca make love. Slowly and lovingly. Easing into the motions and feeling everything that each other has to offer. It’s then, when Harry is at his deepest point inside of Francesca and her legs have fallen loosely around his waist and his face is tucked inside her neck, heavy pants breathing against her warm skin, that Harry and Francesca know there’s no going back to what was. Harry and Francesca have set their epic love story into motion.

Harry and Francesca have changed the trajectory of their lives forever.

~

Outrageous banging on the front door. That’s what wakes Harry from his peaceful slumber with Francesca tucked into his side. Francesca is still naked, having fallen asleep so peacefully after making love beneath the shining moonlight, Harry – who had slipped away for a glass of water throughout the night – adjusted his trousers and shirt and delicately closed the bedroom door, ensuring that she might stay asleep in the midst of the chaos that was about to ensue.

Only one person knew of their location. Only one person knew where they would be and who they were. Only one person could possibly be here.

Unless.

Giuseppe Cartelli is standing at the front door when Harry walks through the wooden hallway. Harry sighs of relief, only to suck in a harsh breath when he notices the artillery held at Giuseppe’s side. He calmly – although in sheer panic inside – opens the front door, gesturing for her father to step inside, his hand turning on the lights of the foyer to greet them.

“Giuseppe, what’s wrong? Have they found us?”

Giuseppe is fuming, foaming at the mouth when Harry says ‘us’ and immediately lifts the gun to his head. “I told you to look after her, to keep her safe! Not to have sex with her, Styles! Tell me, what’s stopping me from putting a bullet through your skull, right now? Hm? Anything?”

Harry swallows thickly, “I’ve kept my word, haven’t I? I’ve kept her safe. I’ve made sure no one came in contact with her, while also making sure she has a good life. That’s what you asked me to do.” Harry knows that he’s already made up his mind, shaking his head and falling to his knees. “It appears that you’ve already made up your mind. Fine. Put a bullet through my skull, Giuseppe, but I upheld my end of the deal.”

“My daughter sleeping with you wasn’t part of the deal, Harry. Last time I checked, the deal was, you keep Frankie out of harm’s way, I keep your family safe. That was our deal, Styles.”

“How did you even know, Giuseppe? It’s not like Francesca and I have it plastered everywhere! Who told you? Who saw us?” Giuseppe looks at Harry and looks to the neighbor’s house through the window. “Fuckin’ Antonio.”

“He kept his eye on you. Made sure you two were safe. There I am, in New York City, worried that my daughter is being chased, while I should’ve been worried that you’d be sleeping with her!”

Harry’s voice is raised, and he’s sure that he can hear Francesca rattling about in the bedroom in search of clothing. He hurriedly begins speaking, worried that she won’t have enough time. “Had Antonio not ratted us out and you barging in here, no one would know! Francesca is an adult, capable of making her own decisions. Francesca sleeping with me was of her own accord.”

“One more word out of your mouth and this bullet is going straight through your brain,” Giuseppe threatens, cocking the gun and loading a bullet into the weapon.

“I don’t care what you want to do to me.” Harry gulps, swallowing his nervousness. “I know you, Giuseppe. You made up your mind long before you came here to talk to me. You want me dead. I’m a threat to you and your family because I make your daughter have a voice in what matters. I’m done playing the part. I have lived my life; I have loved an epic love. One worthy of dying over. Just, let me tell Francesca that I love her. That’s all I ask of you.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut at the hushed sound of her voice, her feet bare and creaking against the wooden flooring. “Daddy, don’t do this.” Francesca’s voice is coming out hushed and soft. “Daddy, please.”

Giuseppe doesn’t turn away from Harry. “Frankie, there is a car outside. Get inside it.”

“No.”

His head immediately turns towards his daughter, “What?”

“I won’t. I won’t let you hurt Harry,” Francesca takes a step forward dangerously, ignoring Harry’s intense glare and warning blinks. “Harry’s been protecting me for months. He’s done everything you asked. Don’t hurt him. Don’t go back on your word.”

“My word means nothing, Frankie. Better you learn that now than later.”

One step forward. One step towards Harry. Francesca can barely make out the scratch that’s bleeding on his forehead. “Your word meant something to Mother. Don’t let that go in vain, Daddy.”

“Don’t bring your mother into this!”

“Mother has everything to do with this! You were her epic love, Daddy. You did no wrong in her eyes. You were everything to her, despite all the bad you did, all the bad you do. Can’t you see that’s how I feel about Harry? Daddy, I love him.” Harry suddenly looks at Francesca. Love is something they’ve felt, but never said to other people, only each other. Unspoken words that were left unsaid in the midst of the messy sheets and sloppy kisses. Francesca steps forward again. “Don’t take my epic love away from me.”

Giuseppe looks his daughter in the eyes, trying to gauge whether or not she’s trying to spare the man’s life for her sake or his. “Harry Styles is not your epic love, Francesca, you’re only twenty-six.”

“Mother met you at eighteen!”

“Mother and I were very different.”

“How so?”

“You’re not fit to be in love, Francesca.”

“You sent me to live with Harry because someone, somewhere has a death wish for me. Harry became my friend, and yes, I fell in love with him. Maybe that’s because he was protecting me, or maybe it’s because he was my only friend, or maybe it’s because there’s something between us that I very well can’t explain! Either way, how dare you take away my chance at a great love like what you had with Mother because you don’t see me fit to be in love. That’s cruel, Daddy, and Mother wouldn’t stand for it.”

Giuseppe nearly drops his gun at that, but quickly recovers. “Mother wouldn’t want to see you walking around sleeping with every man you’ve met, Francesca.”

Harry scoffs uncontrollably. Harry’s chuckle and smirk earns a smack to the lip with the heel of the gun.

“Happy to report it’s only been Harry, then, Daddy.” Francesca jumps forward, now, laying her hand on her father’s, trying desperately to break where the gun is sitting against Harry’s temple. “Harry’s good to me. He is. I love him and I love the little family that we have together, even though it’s a secret. I love him, Daddy. Don’t take this away from me.”

“Family?”

“Me and Harry and,” Francesca looks away from her father and looks down, her stomach laying flat as her hand cups the underside. Harry looks at her incredulously. He certainly hadn’t expected her to say that, and he certainly didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not.

Francesca couldn’t be pregnant. Logistically, she couldn’t be. For a multitude of reasons. Namely and primarily, because Harry hadn’t finished inside of her, to start with.

Harry keeps a straight face to maintain composure, to try and follow through with the lie. Giuseppe clearly believes her when he says, “Francesca Giovanna,” in his strictest tone yet.

“It just happened, Daddy. I love Harry. I do. Harry loves me, too. He does, and you must see that. Can’t, you can’t hurt him, or else you’re hurting me.”

“Get up,” Giuseppe breaks. “Get up, Styles.” He swallows thickly, “I’m not going to kill you, today. My daughter just spared your life.”

“Well, sir, I would, but I fear with a gun to my head that that may be a trap.”

Francesca looks Giuseppe in the eyes, her eyes a carbon copy of his own, and wishes one last time, “Daddy, put the gun away, please.”

“Fine.” Giuseppe Cartelli, for what very well could be the first time in his life, puts his gun away without firing. “Get up, Styles, before I really do something.”

“Are you okay?” Francesca says hurriedly, holding out her hand and gently tracing over Harry’s face, eyes the blood beginning to spread at the temple and slightly on his bottom lip. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt, Harry.”

Harry gently cups her cheeks and whispers, “My love, I’m fine.”

Everything is quiet for a moment, Francesca wrapping her arms tightly around Harry’s neck, repeatedly kissing his cheeks for comfort, his hands splayed across her lower back, holding her tightly to his chest and wishing now, more than ever, they were alone to simply rest.

Almost eerily, the telephone in the kitchen begins to ring. Giuseppe quickly recovers from his thoughts, “Stay here.” Harry and Francesca nod, trying to listen to the conversation from the room next door and barely making out the words, “Alright, okay. I hear you, Stefan. Goodbye.”

Francesca steps away from Harry and immediately rushes to her father’s side, “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

Giuseppe ignores Francesca’s hurried, fearful question, and looks to Harry, determination and maybe even the slightest bit of fear in his eyes and says, “Harry, you love my daughter?”

Harry steps forward. “More than anything. I would lay down my life for her, Giuseppe. She’s everything to me. You must know that.”

“I need you to take Francesca far away from here.” Giuseppe doesn’t dare to look at Francesca, if he does, he will crack. He looks Harry straight in the eyes and swallows thickly, using his most even tone to say, “You will take her far away; you will marry her. Change her last name. Change everything.”

Harry and Francesca both tilt their heads in confusion. “What?”

“If you love her and your child, you will do this for them, do you understand me?” Giuseppe takes a step forward, laying his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If you respect me, you will do this for me.”

“But Daddy!”

“No, Frankie! They’ve raided our house and killed everyone guarding your whereabouts in my office, in our home. They found out that you’ve been staying here with Harry. They know you’re here. They’re coming for you both. You don’t have much time.”

“Daddy, I don’t want to go. I love it here. I want to stay.”

“I know, I know,” Giuseppe says softly, turning around and kissing Francesca’s forehead softly. “I love you, Francesca. Love you more than anything, but you must go. Mother wouldn’t want you to get caught in all this.”

“Francesca,” Harry says daringly, reaching out and grabbing her hand gently, “darling, we must go. It’s not safe here, anymore. They’ll be here before we know it.”

“I can’t leave my father behind, Harry!”

“He’ll be okay. We’ll write and send photographs. Father will be okay. Get to the car. Let me grab some things you’ll need.”

“Daddy,” Francesca cries, wrapping her arms around her father’s midsection and hugging him tightly. She doesn’t know when she’ll see him again, and the thought of it terrifies her. Harry in her life or not, she needs her family.

“Go, Frankie! Listen to Harry.”

Harry pries Francesca from her father’s hold, grabbing her cheeks and whispering, “Through the back entrance, my love. Go straight to the car. Go.”

“Harry, don’t be long. They’ll come for you, too.”

“I’ll meet you; I promise. Francesca, you won’t be alone.”

Francesca runs outside and to the car, suddenly feeling very afraid and exposed to the world. Her clothing is modest, she dressed what felt to be appropriate for hearing her father booming at her lover in the corridor, and yet everything feels to be a bit too much for someone on the run. Hurriedly, she locks the doors, sinking into the seat and trying to breathe in and out as smoothly as possible. This all happened so quickly, so absurdly fast. There’s no way this is real.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Francesca nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound.

“Open the car, my love.” Harry is standing outside her window. Francesca opens the door and takes a breath for the first time in minutes. “Here, a sweater for you.”

Francesca looks down and notices the gun holstered to Harry’s hip, “You have my father’s gun.”

Harry sighs and brushes a stray hair away from her cheek reassuringly, “He’s okay, dear. Giuseppe has people on the way and is friends with the coppers here. They’re on their way, now. But they’ll try to take you if we don’t hurry soon.” He shuts her door quietly and hurries around to the driver’s seat. Getting in and starting the engine, the first thing he does is takes her hand in his, holding it tightly to comfort her. His left hand still adorns the faux wedding band, as does hers.

For some while, Francesca is silent, simply staring out the window with tears on her cheeks, her temple cold against the cool glass. Harry doesn’t say a word, simply letting her feel her emotions and bask in the silence until she’s ready.

“Harry, I have no one left.”

Harry sighs deeply, “I know it feels that way, but you have me, Francesca. You’ll always have me.”

“Mother is gone,” she whispers, barely above her breath, as though someone is listening to her unspoken truths. “Father can’t contact me.”

“Obviously the situation isn’t ideal, but you have me, and we’ll find a way to keep in contact with your father. I promise that we will.”

Francesca doesn’t say anything for a moment, gathering her courage. “Harry, I have to tell you something, before you think too much of it, and I feel horribly for lying to you as our world falls apart.”

“Darling, you don’t have to say anything. I know.”

“You know?” she says confusedly, finally turning her head to stare at him. “Harry, I’m not actually pregnant. There’s no baby. I just, I didn’t know how else to get my father to leave you alone.”

“I know, my dear. I know.” Harry squeezes her hand and kisses the back of it sweetly. “There’s no way you could be pregnant, I knew you were lying. I could tell.”

“I just, I had to say something to make my father lose his guard a bit, to get him to put the gun down.”

He sighs knowingly, licking at his bottom lip that has finally stopped bleeding. “That was wrong to tell him that, Francesca. Now, you and me, we have even bigger problems. We will solve them, though. Together.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” Harry breathes out, shaking his head and tightening his grip on her hand and the steering wheel. “He’s going to expect you to send photographs and things of a child that we don’t have. Family that we haven’t started yet. Although I know your intentions were pure, this may have caused more harm than good for us in the long run.”

“I, I didn’t think that far ahead. I just wanted the gun to be put down. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“I know, my love, I know.”

And the rest of the remaining day is driven in silence, as the sun rises over the mountains and the trees sway in the wind. Francesca looks behind her, noting the degree tucked between the suitcases that Harry always had packed away in their wardrobe as a “just in case” precaution. Francesca never believed him when he said they might need it one day.

Francesca never believed that things would get this bad, that she and Harry would have to run away again, and yet here they are, driving to an unknown destination on that dreaded day.

~

THREE MONTHS LATER

Harry and Francesca found themselves settling in a quaint, little town about ten minutes from Oregon’s center. It had everything they wanted – the police force for Harry, the pediatricians’ offices for Francesca, the flower fields and the large patches of land, the space to roam and grow and feel as though they weren’t stuck in hiding, rather, making a new life for themselves. Harry’s time in Germany with the British Mediterranean Fleet led him to good standing with the force and Francesca felt safe knowing that he was working to protect the city, and more importantly, to protect her. Francesca was graciously accepted into a new practice in town, her degree hanging proudly in her office with her name and shiny new nameplate. Francesca has yet to change her last name legally, but that isn’t to say that she’s not anticipating doing so. She knows her safety and her life rests in the hands of Harry protecting her, and the thought of marrying him is not so unappealing. After all, they’re madly and deeply in love.

Francesca and Harry’s routine is nearly the same every day, apart from the days they go into town and have dinner with their friends that they’ve made around the neighborhood. Harry, who still wears his wedding band, and Francesca, who still wears Harry’s mother’s engagement ring, have admittedly told people that they’re married simply to avoid the questioning of a young couple living together before they’ve properly dated, engaged, and married. Harry finds that he’s taken much more seriously as a married man. Francesca, who goes by Mrs. Styles, at the office, finds the same. Marriage, although something they’ve begun to talk about more seriously, has always seemed so farfetched from reality, that neither of them fully believe that this is a decision that is being made on their own, which may be the very reason Harry has waited three months since running from Cape Cod to properly propose.

Harry has a plan. Maybe that’s a bit of a gracious term to be saying, but he has an idea. An idea that he believes will work well.

Harry, upon entering the master bedroom while she bathes for the evening, takes the engagement ring from her nightstand, and tucks it away in his pocket for safekeeping. He knows that he wants to use it, again, to properly propose this time, but the only way he would be able to get without her knowing is if he’s made her think she’s lost it. Obviously, a terrible rouse, but it would have to do for this time, for this occasion. Francesca would forgive him in the long run – or so he wants to believe – and it would be worth it to see her smile knowing she’s a properly engaged woman. Harry knows that’s what she wants, and he is willing to do anything to give that to her. After all, Harry promised her that he would give her everything.

It doesn’t take more than twelve hours for Francesca to realize that ring is missing.

It’s early in the morning, after they’ve made love all night and rested very little, when Francesca wakes and turns to her bedside table to do her daily routine of sliding her ring on her finger and her medallions around her neck – the medallions that her father gave her at her christening when she was just an infant – and when she realizes the ring isn’t there, she begins to worry. Francesca checks the drawers, beneath the glass plate that typically holds her jewelry, beneath her bed, wondering if she and Harry had knocked it over when they were rolling beneath the sheets. Her heart sinks to her stomach when she realizes that it’s nowhere to be found, and she wonders if she left it at her office by accident, in the little plate by her notepad and nameplate where she usually tucks her ring to avoid it being snagged on her rubber gloves.

Francesca is nearly ready to burst into tears when she hears the door creak open and sees Harry’s face poke through the door, presumably to see if she’s awake.

Harry interrupts her thoughts with a cup of coffee and a bright smile, “Good morning, my love.” The sight of Harry alone comforts her enough to dry the tears that have welled in her eyes. Surely, she must’ve left the ring at the office. That’s the only other place she’d left it. She’ll retrieve it on Monday, and everything will be fine. “Coffee?”

“Good morning,” she hums, tucking the duvet around her naked chest and moving her legs beneath the sheets to allow him to sit beside her. Their Sundays are typically like this, calm and easy, and she prefers it that way. It reminds her that for once in her life, she, Francesca Cartelli is a normal person. “Thank you.”

“Is everything all right, dear?”

“It is, I’m fine, I just,” she sighs, taking a sip of her coffee and setting it on her bedside table. “I must’ve left my ring at the office. I don’t like leaving it there, and I swore I brought it home with me, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere, and that’s the last place it could be.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it at the office, my love. Not something to worry about today,” he assures her, smiling warmly and kissing her forehead. Her lips pucker at the sensation, waiting for the kiss that would jolt all her nerves and wake her up firmly for the day. Harry chuckles and happily obliges, kissing her sweetly and not once, but twice, before pulling away. “I’d like to go to one of those flower fields, today, if you’d like. We’ll have a picnic and spend the day there.”

“Ooh, that sounds lovely. What time did you want to leave?”

“Whenever you’re ready for the day, my dear. No rush. Have your coffee, steal your kisses, get yourself ready. I have some work to attend to in the office and then I’ll be ready.”

Francesca nods and takes another sip of her coffee, smiling at him from behind her mug. Harry knows they’ve been talking about going to the flower fields all summer, but have yet to go because of their busy schedules, so the thought of going isn’t drawing suspicion from his lover, more so, the distraction of not knowing that her ring is in his bedside table is eating away at her. “I love you,” she says suddenly, setting her coffee down and draping her arms over his shoulders.

“I love you more, Francesca,” Harry grins, maneuvering their bodies slightly so she’s laying back down on their pillows and he’s hovering above her. “Love you more than life itself.” He kisses her delicately, as though she may break if he kisses her too deeply, and he chuckles when she whines and kisses him harder. “Made me love life again.”

“I did?”

“Very much so.”

Francesca smiles and lightly kisses Harry once more, basking in the sunlight peeking through their curtains and the way his body feels on top of hers, her hands running through his hair. Her heart is pounding against his ear, and the rhythm makes his eyes flutter shut. He could fall asleep like this, in the comfort of her arms. He does, most nights, not caring what that would say about his masculinity or manliness. Harry didn’t mind what that would say about him, all that mattered was what Francesca thought and how she felt, and, in that moment, she felt more in love with him than ever before, in their tiny cottage in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, right along the beach, where their lives had only just begun with each other and for the rest of their days.

To love is to consume you, and by God, was Harry consumed by Francesca’s love.

~

Harry and Francesca walk hand in hand through the flower fields, admiring the tulips and the roses and the sunflowers blooming in the warm summer air. Francesca is wearing her favorite dress, the one with embroidered suns and moons on the skirt and the plain baby blue silk bodice that accentuates her chest and her olive skin. Harry is in his most famous Sunday Best, his leather shoes and khaki shorts and a neatly ironed shirt that Francesca insisted on re-ironing this morning to ensure that it matched her own outfit. Carrying the picnic basket (with the ring tucked inside), Harry leads Francesca through the fields, settling in the patch of the park that overlooks the flowers and the sunshine is beating down on the grass and the wind is brushing through their hair just right. Harry lays the blanket down gently, smiling brightly at his lover as she basks in the sunlight and the breeze and the way she feels with the love of her life by her side.

Harry knows he’s going to do it any minute, and so when Francesca turns around and Harry’s on one knee with the engagement ring held between his fingertips, the gasp that leaves her mouth makes him chuckle, and the “Harry, what are you doing?” makes him smile brightly.

“I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do since the day you turned eighteen, Francesca, since I saw you in Landmark’s Tavern, since we danced together and I knew it was love at first sight,” Harry says surely, as though nothing has been more certain for anything in his life. “I have never been so sure of anything in my life, nor have I have ever loved anyone as much as I love you. I’m not perfect with my words and I’m not sure where our lives are headed, but I want to do everything with you.” Francesca’s hand covers her mouth as Harry continues to speak, the excitement and love in her eyes enough to make him continue. “I’ve imagined this proposal a dozen times over the last ten years, and I would do anything for it to be perfect for you. I would do anything to make your life exactly what you want it to be.” Harry sighs happily and takes her left hand, lifting the ring to her finger, “Would you do me the absolute honor of marrying me?”

“I’m surprised you even have to ask,” Francesca grins, holding her hand out and excitedly waiting for Harry to slide the ring onto her finger. “It would be an absolute honor to be your wife.” Harry slides the ring onto her hand and stands on his feet, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips to hers, kissing her deeply. “I’m so excited to be your wife.”

“And I am just as excited to have you as my wife,” Harry smiles, kissing her cheeks and squeezing his arms around her midsection. “For real this time.”