It was a bit of a shock to my system, suddenly becoming semi-famous. All my life I'd been able to walk around with no make-up on, or my hair in a ponytail. Overnight, I was thrust into a world where I was constantly judged. Henry was used to it and his extraordinary good looks were entirely natural. He woke up looking like a movie star. I woke up with mad hair and a face that resembled a ghost. It astonished me just how quickly his fans were able to find out my personal details. I cringed as they gleefully posted snippets online, broadcasting where I lived, worked and who some of my ex's were. Someone even discovered an old school photo and put it on instagram. I wasn't amused.

Everywhere we went together, paparazzi followed. I wondered aloud whether they'd get bored trailing around after the pair of us as we shopped for souvenirs before leaving Rome and moving on to the next location in Florence. "I doubt it," laughed Henry, "they're all set on getting pictures of you."

"God knows why," I muttered as we walked along the main shopping street. We stopped outside a jewellers, as Henry needed a new strap for his watch. They sold Omegas, so after perusing the new models in the window for a while, we went inside.

The interior was beautifully cool after the blazing sun outside. Henry's grasp of Italian was far better than mine, so he was able to ask for a new watch strap with only a minimum of sign language. They showed us into a private room and brought out a selection for him to look at. He chose a plain black leather one and slipped off his watch for them to change the strap over. It took a little while, but pleased to be in the cool, we sat and waited.

"Is there anything else you'd like to look at while you're waiting?" enquired the assistant, a small, wiry man who spoke pretty reasonable English.

I shook my head, but Henry had other ideas. "We need a souvenir for you," he said, "would you prefer a necklace or a watch?"

"I don't need anything," I protested. It was clearly an expensive place. To me, a suitable souvenir was a tea-towel. Henry wasn't having any of it.

"Could I see a selection of necklaces please? I think the lady prefers gold."

"I didn't expect anything," I spluttered.

"I know, its why I want to treat you,"he said, before leaning over to kiss the tip of my nose. "You deserve nice things, especially after going public for me. I know how much your privacy meant to you."

Before I could object, the assistant arrived carrying three trays containing various necklaces. I watched as Henry looked through them. "Which one do you like?" he asked. He followed my eyes to a cute little stylised heart pendant. "This one?" he asked, before pulling it gently from it's mount.

"It's beautiful," I murmured. He placed it around my neck and did up the little catch. The assistant brought over a mirror for me to look. The necklace caught the light, glimmering against my bare skin. It was subtle, yet incredibly stylish, which epitomised Henry.

"You look beautiful," he told me, unembarrassed by the presence of the assistant. "We'll take it please."

"Thank you. I love it," I said softly. It was the nicest gift I'd ever been given. I had no idea how much it cost and neither did Henry. I just hoped he wouldn't get a shock at the till and change his mind. The assistant unclipped my new pendant and took it to be boxed up. Henry trotted over to pay for it and pick up his watch. I nosed around the rest of the store, gazing in awe at the massive diamonds on display in a glass case.

"One day," said Henry, making me jump. I hadn't heard him approach.

"Not sure about that," I quipped, "I think they're too big. That bracelet would weigh a ton," I laughed, pointing at a heavily encrusted bangle. It had crossed the line from bling to gaudy.

"That's not what I meant," he said quietly, his voice was serious. My tummy flipped.

I still had a stupid, goofy grin on my face as we left the jewellers. We'd planned to visit the Trevi Fountain that afternoon as tourists, after a spot of lunch. As we walked out of the door, away from the air-conditioned quiet, we were besieged by photographers, yelling Henry's name. Even though we posed for a few minutes to allow them to get their shots, they wouldn't leave us alone, following us down the street as we headed for the fountain.

"Sod this," Henry barked as they jostled us along, yelling stuff in Italian that I didn't understand. "I think we may have to abandon and get back to the hotel. These idiots aren't gonna give up." By that time, a small crowd had grown, people wanting to see what all the fuss was about. Henry managed to flag down a taxi, and get us both in. People had been pulling us back, shoving cameras in my face. It was terrifying. Even as the cab pulled away, they were trying to open the doors. I prayed that he hadn't dropped my new necklace in the mêlée.

As soon as we were clear, I saw that he was still clutching the little bag. "Is my pendant safe?"

He turned to me, regret and fear clouding his lovely face. "Yes, but you aren't. You've got a cut above your eyebrow." I touched it, instantly feeling wetness. I swiped at it with my hand. It didn't feel as though I was bleeding heavily.

He examined the cut, wiping it with a tissue from my bag. "How did it happen?"

"It must have been when that Pap shoved his camera in my face," I replied. I was a bit shaken up, my hands were trembling and I was fighting the urge to cry.

"Hey now," said Henry, scooping me onto his lap, "c'mon tough girl. Don't let them get to you. We won't go out without security again, I promise."

"Sorry," I sniffed, "it was just a bit of a shock, that's all."

He held me tight all the way back to the hotel. I loved how protective he was. In his arms always felt like my safe place.

My poor, battered face looked puffy and bruised. I stared at it in the bathroom mirror, horrified at what they'd done. The cut was small and superficial. It wouldn't need stitches. The events of the afternoon had been a huge wake up call for both of us. Henry always said he was used to the attention. He saw no problem with posing for pictures or taking the time to chat to fans and sign autographs. I think he enjoyed the attention. I, on the other hand, wasn't famous and didn't want to be. I'd been terrified by the photographers grabbing at me and the people who just wanted to stare, as though I was some kind of freak. For the first time I understood why previous women had run for it.

Instead, I flexed my steel backbone, washed my face and set about organising some extra security. I was damned if I'd let anyone drive me from the man I loved. Henry was out on the terrace, brooding I suspected. He tended to internalise problems and had a bit of a habit of sulking.

With my face all cleaned up, I went to find him. He was seated at the little iron patio set, so I slid onto his lap and gave him a kiss. "You ok?" He asked when we came up for air.

"I'm fine. It'll take more than a few rabid photographers to upset me." I needed to reassure him, make him realise that I'd stick with him, no matter what. "I've upped our security detail though. We have budget for far more than we were using, so I've ordered the full whack."

"Good, well done." He seemed pre-occupied and a little distant. "Shall we test them out tonight? We could go out to dinner, celebrate our last night here."

I beamed at him. "I'd love that. I'll book us somewhere nice. Do you want to invite any of the others?"

He shook his head. "Armie and his wife left today. They're having a couple of days holiday before he's needed in Florence. Guy already has plans tonight, he was telling me about it earlier today."

Protected by security, we had a wonderful last night in Rome. I booked an upmarket, Michelin starred restaurant and we were pretty much left alone. Henry loved the food and ate with gusto, no doubt enjoying the last few weeks of freedom before he once again began his training for the next Superman role, which would entail a tightly controlled diet and exercise routine.

That night, after making love, Henry lay gazing at me. His face was so beautiful, so perfect that I was transfixed. "What?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Nothing, just looking," he replied. "You're just so perfect. Sometimes I can't believe you're real."

I laughed. "That? Coming from you? The man with the most perfect face in Hollywood."

"Not as perfect as yours. I couldn't love you anymore than I do already. I never thought I'd find you, find this," he gestured between us, "it just feels so right."

I knew what he meant. We had an intimacy between us. Before I'd met Henry, when friends described their boyfriends as their soulmate or their best friend, I'd been sceptical, dismissive even. I fully understood it after experiencing my relationship with Henry. We were two halves of the whole.

"It does," I agreed, "but I'm worried about you going back to the States. You'll get busy and forget me." It was my fear, that we'd try and keep a long distance relationship going, but it would just fizzle out.

"We'll work it out," he said, before nuzzling into me, his talented hands distracting me. Again.

I woke up to an empty bed. Glancing at the clock, I could see that Henry was probably at the gym. He'd left a little note by the bed, just saying 'I love you', which made me smile. I made a coffee, ordered some breakfast and opened my laptop to get on with some work.

My smile soon faded when I discovered I had four hundred emails waiting. I clicked on one from Clive that simply asked me to call him ASAP. Susie had sent me a link, followed by a load of ????, and a request that I call her too. I clicked on the link, which took me to a well known gossip site.

*Henry and his girlfriend Sarah go shopping for an engagement ring today*

The pictures showed us going into and leaving the jewellers. There was also a grainy shot of us both staring into the diamond cabinet in the shop. No wonder the Paps had gone mental at us.

Still smiling at the misunderstanding, I clicked through all my social pages. IMDB had gone into meltdown, while the Facebook pages were being more sensible, urging their readers to wait for an official announcement.

The smile was wiped off my face when I checked twitter. Someone with a new account calling themselves @Hat2465 had tweeted: I told you to leave him alone. Now you must die bitch. He's mine.