Yesterday's update ran a little short. So I decided not to keep you waiting and post the next update right away.

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Thirty-Six

"Well Bliss, it's done," I told myself once I had sent my let's-keep-things-professional- between-us e-mail to Harry, "there's no need to think about it anymore."

It has been known I excel at giving myself great, sensible, wise advice. Sadly, it has also been known that I'm rubbish when it comes to taking said self-inflicted advice.

That's the reason why after having sent the e-mail to my ex-boyfriend -and let's not forget- still my current boss, I remained fixed on the bus seat, frozen, staring at my laptop screen.

Let's get one thing out of the way. I feel like I have to let you in on a little secret about me. In this day and age, I don't use my mobile phone for e-mail.

There I said it.

Of course, I go through my e-mail on my phone. Is fast and efficient.

But when it comes to composing and reading important e-mails, which require careful consideration, I find I think better when facing the computer screen. The feel of the keyboards under my fingers has a calming effect on me.

And since we are in a sharing secrets mood, I might as well tell you here, I was starting to feel a tiny bit of regret. Maybe I had been too harsh. Maybe I shouldn't have cut things off with Harry in the romantic department so quickly. There was always the possibility that a perfectly reasonable explanation for the kiss I had witnessed existed.

I knew the woman Harry had kissed in his dressing room, back in LA was Camille Rowe. If you believed the tabloids, they were supposed to be dating. Some had gone so far as to say she was his girlfriend. I knew this because of course after the story of Harry and Camille broke out, I had carefully studied every photo they had printed, and committed the details to memory (Not that I am a stalker kind of fan, mind you.) That was before Harry had hired me, so it's not as weird as it sounds.

Besides my keen sense of observation, I had also identified the blonde because whilst I was trying to close the door to Harry's dressing room in The Greek Theater, I heard him whisper "Oh, Camille."

I'm not really able to tell you how long I sat there, waiting for something to happen. I really have not gotten around to timing my freak out moments, as tempting as that sounds.

I just remained on my allotted bus space waiting for something. I cannot tell you exactly what I was expecting. My life had gotten so strange ever since The Duck ran away on our wedding day. The phone call from Jeff's assistant; my meeting with Harry at his London house; being hired to blog his tour; traveling to Manchester, meeting some of his close friends and his family; staying in Harry's London house; nursing him through a surgery (a minor medical procedure, granted. But it still counts); going to America; touring with him. And certainly, there was also that moment of him getting cozy with a supermodel backstage.

I felt both utterly tired and on edge. I wanted to sleep forever, but I knew the minute I got into bed the adrenaline of the past day's events would keep me awake.

Up to this moment, things had always been very harmonious between Harry and me. We seemed to be always on the same page. We had never fought or had a disagreement. The uncertainty of this new situation was taking its toll on me.

"Maybe he'll fire us," Fear said, raising its anxiety-ridden voice.

I'm not sure at all about what I was hoping for when I set my e-mail.

All right! All right! I'm lying here, and I did promise you total honesty.

I knew precisely what I was expecting. I had envisaged an avalanche of phone calls. I had presumed, my phone would be inundated with text messages. All from Harry.

None of that happened. My phone remained unnervingly silent.

Maybe he had not read my e-mail yet? Yes, that was probably it. Harry was obsessive-compulsive about his e-mails, he read every single one of them as soon as he got them and unfailingly answered right away. Still, I figured that his schedule was surely out of whack today. What, with touring and everything.

In all likelihood, he'd catch up with his e-mail later on the day, and then I'd be getting a tumultuous amount of phone calls and text messages. I wasn't planning on answering any of them.

Just to prove me wrong, my computer screen began bleeping with an incoming message. Harry had just confirmed he had read my e-mail.

I braced myself for Harry's reaction after he had read my words.

I needn't have bothered.

There was no barrage of phone calls, no deluge of text messages. Nothing. Not a thing. My mobile remained silent.

I refreshed my laptop on the hope I'd missed something. I checked and rechecked. I even looked through some messages I had gotten from Jeff earlier, regarding some tour stuff, reasoning that maybe I was fired after all and that Jeff would be the one contacting me, but he had not done so.

I decided to go for a bathroom break. I'd started to feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. It wouldn't do to cry on the bus, in front of Sid and his mate. They'd be sympathetic, no doubt. They also might be curious as to the reason behind my tears. I wasn't about to start explaining how I shagged our boss and then he had gone on his merry way to kiss a supermodel, who might or might not be his real girlfriend.

By going to the loo, I was following my father's wisdom. He always sustains in restaurants that "If you want your food to arrive, go to the bathroom. Waiters always serve you whilst you are on the lavatory." I figured the same applied to my situation.

I'm happy to report that Daddy Clarke was proven right. When I resumed my bus seat Harry had answered my e-mail, with one of his own.

"Dearest, darling Bliss:

I'm afraid there's been a horrible misunderstanding, that's led you to ask for a strictly professional relationship. It pains me not to know what 's gone wrong because I don't know how to make it right.

I believe we need to have a talk. But at the moment I am a bit. It seems our midnight motorcycle ride has taken its toll on me and I have been prescribed a three-day voice rest, in spite of it all the night you hoped in the back of my bike is one of the best ones of my life, surpassed only by the night in my bedroom.

I'm allowed to talk only for a few interviews during the iHeart Music Festival, and of course to sing a few songs (I've had to cut my set short). Then I'll have to remain silent until soundcheck in Nashville.

So, I'm proposing a compromise for the time being. We'll keep a professional, and hopefully friendly, relationship until Nashville. By then I hope you'll trust me enough to tell me how to make things good between us again.

Our next work meeting will be tomorrow at 5 p.m., backstage in Las Vegas. Please forward the blogs on the previous concerts, I'll enjoy reading them very much. I'm a massive fan of your writing.

I'm going to avail myself of every ounce of willpower I possess to keep from texting you every five seconds whilst our truce is in place. But I'm willing to give you the space you so clearly need right now, in the hope that I'll be able to kiss you again very soon. However, if that is not the case, and the only relationship you are willing to have with me is a professional one, I'll take it. I'll take anything that means having you in my life Bliss.

All the love H,

P.S. I would have addressed you as "My darling, sexy Bliss" at the beginning but, I didn't want to risk making you angry and then not reading this.

I read and reread Harry's e-mail several times. In fact, I could recite it word by word. It was a lovely, beautiful note he had sent me. It did tug at my heartstrings; I grabbed my mobile and started to write to him several times, but refrained from sending the messages. It was the same as the flowers he had sent to my hotel room. A sweet but empty gesture. How could he remain so oblivious about what he had done?

As a matter of fact, I was beginning to get annoyed with Harry's attitude about the whole thing. He was attempting to come across as this caring, nice person who'd do anything for the sake of our relationship and that made me look like the bad guy when I was clearly the victim here.

The way he had ended his e-mail also upset me. "All the love" he had said. There was nothing special about that. It was a generic farewell for him since he signed all his autographs and messages to his fans that way. That's probably what inspired him to write "A Little Bit of Your Heart" the song wasn't about him and unrequited love, in reality, it was about him giving little pieces of his heart to every woman he fancied. I had been so naive. Trusting him had been a massive error of judgment of mine.

Other than the e-mail Harry sent, the road trip was uneventful. We had an amazing lunch of fried chicken and grits, as Sid has promised. We arrived at LA on time. Sid went out of his way to drive me to the Late, Late show studios. I assured him that it wasn't necessary, that I was a big girl and could grab a taxi, but he was having none of it.

"Harry will kill us when he finds out we let you on a cab on your own," Sid told me.

"And exactly how will Harry find out about me taking a cab?" I asked.

"Our tour buses have tracking devices for security reasons," Sid explained, sheepishly. "So do our work mobiles."

I should have known. Harry had top-notch security around him. Everybody was accounted for every second of every day. I didn't know whether to feel flattered about all his concern for me; or, furious about him spying on me. I opted for the true and tried option of "I'm not going to think about this at the moment."

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Hope Bliss comes to her senses soon and talks to Harry.

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Loads of love!

E, xoxo