I lay my head against his shoulder. He runs his fingers through my hair, his nails just scratching the skin. "Eight weeks. Crazy. It's strange. It doesn't seem like it's been that long, but at the same time, I feel like I've known you my whole life. Like I've always known you," he says.

"Well, you sort of have..."

"Not the real you, not like I do now."

"That night you first kissed me--"

"Or rudely pushed you up against a wall in a bar, as you put it," he cuts back in.

I laugh. "Right, well, you said you didn't really think I was fake. That you were pissed about other stuff. We've been dealing with so much shit in my life, I never got to ask you what that other stuff was."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I had two phone calls from England that day. One from Fern, which we've already discussed." Oh. "And one from my mum telling me she was going to be married on New Year's Eve."

"Do you not like the guy?"

"No! Robin's great. I mean, I already refer to him as my stepdad and have for years."

"So why would that upset you?"

He sighs. "One, the cost of getting back there. I couldn't afford the ticket, and I knew my mum really couldn't either. But she scraped it together. Two, the idea of going back to England after Fern was just too hard."

"She really hurt you," I say sadly, but really I want to rip her fucking face off.

"Yeah, she did. I thought I loved her. And Abby. I really did."

"What changed your mind?"

"Falling in love with you." He runs his fingers over my face. "Loving you showed me what love really is."

I don't even know what to say to that, so I just kiss him.

The next morning, I rise with the sun and swim for an hour, shower, and catch up with some writing at the breakfast bar. I am singing along to the Fall Out Boy song blasting in my headphones, when one of my ear buds is pulled away. "You get up too early," Harry mutters into my wet hair.

I close my MacBook and spin the barstool around. "I'm sorry, love." He's already dressed for work. "Was I really loud? I'm still getting accustomed to someone else being here. I'm so used to being alone."

"You sounded good." He kisses me softly. "And you're not alone anymore, baby. You have me." He keeps telling me this. I like hearing it.

"I know," I kiss him softly. "And not just you. I have my friends from the show. And your friends. They're my friends, too, right?"

He nods. "And your mum." I frown. "Yes, your mum." I nod, relaxing my face. "And soon, you'll have my mum. She's so excited you're coming to England."

"Oh, yeah, about that. You already have your ticket?"

He nods. "I have the confirmation in my email."

"Can you forward it to me that so I can try to get a seat on the same flight?"

"You'll need to get a train ticket, too, but you can buy it on the train, I suppose." He pulls out his phone. "I don't actually know your email."

I laugh. "It's MadelynTurningPages, all one word. At gmail."

"All right, done," he pets my wet hair. "Did you swim?"

"And shower." I nod.

"Do you still run?" There is a flicker of mischief in his eyes. Oh, if I hadn't been running down that hill that day...if he hadn't thrown that beanbag chair instead of carrying it out carefully...where would we be right now? Would we even know each other? Would I feel like myself? "Or was that a one time thing?"

"Hmmm," I think over his question. "I used to run when my stress was overwhelming me. My stress hasn't affected me in the same way since we got together, so I guess, my answer is no."

"I love you, baby." He kisses me again. "I'm gonna be late."

"I love you, baby." He laughs as he heads out the door. I put my headphones back in and continue my journaling. Then I clean up around the house. Harry really is a slob. Even I've become more of a slob with him around. I find a tangled wad of hair from a hairbrush on the floor in the hallway, my bra under the couch, pizza crust on the counter in the guest bathroom. Like, why? And when? And why?

The house phone rings as I'm wiping down the kitchen counters.

"Hello?"

"Hi, may I speak to Harry?" The girl's British accent is deep, thick. Fuck, what if it's, like, Fern. But how would she get my number? How did anyone get this number?

"Um, he's at work right now. Can I take a message?"

"Yeah, can you tell him Gemma called?"

"Oh, hi, Gemma. Harry's told me so much about you."

"Oh, he's told me about you, too." She has this sort of snotty sarcastic tone to her voice, and I'm not sure what to make of it, but she's his fucking sister, so what can I do but be nice?

"Okay, well, I'll tell him you called."

I hear another voice in the background. "Hold on," she sounds so annoyed. "My mum wants to talk to you."

"Maddie?"

"Oh, um, hi...Anne. Should I call you Anne?"

"Yes, darling, please." I like how she calls me darling. "I'm just so thrilled you'll be joining us for the holidays. Harry talks about you nonstop, I mean he just goes on and on."

I'm laughing, "oh lord, what does he say?"

"Oh, he said you have a lovely singing voice, and that you're a marvelous pianist. And he always talks about how funny you are, that you are funny, not just on the show. And of course, he told me about your mum, and I'm so happy for you that you guys have gotten closer lately."

I suck in a breath. "He did?"

"Yeah, I hope that's okay."

"It is. Of course it is. I just...I don't really know what normal kids tell their parents."

She laughs loudly, screeching, "yes! He's always telling me how you say you don't know what normal people do."

I laugh along. "I don't, really."

"Well, you sound pretty normal to me."

"You have no idea."

She laughs again. "You are funny."

I hear Gemma in the background, "wasn't funny when she landed him in jail."

"Oh," I exhale. "I'm so sorry for that...situation."

"I'm sure, darling, but it wasn't your fault."

"Like hell," I hear Gemma say. She does not like me.

"Gemma, enough already. Maddie, that was actually part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I just want to make sure Harry will be okay to leave, given his legal troubles."

"Of course. I'll speak to the lawyer right now and find out. And if he says it's fine, I'll book my ticket."

"Perfect. I can't wait to meet you!"

"Me too."

I call Jack, who assures me the police are not pursuing the matter, and that Harry can travel freely. Then I call the airline. Fuck, it's so late to be booking the travel that there's no way I can sit with Harry, if he uses his already purchased seat. As she searches for other options, the ticketing agent asks me where I'm going to be staying in London. I explain that I'm actually headed to a small town near Manchester. She suggests that I book a connecting flight, then, which would cut the travel time by three hours. "We only have first class to London right now," she says. "Economy and business are fully booked for all the flights, all that week."

"Can I upgrade the existing ticket?"

"Yes, of course."

"Let's just do that, then, and go ahead and add the connection through to Manchester."

"First class for that as well?"

"Sure."

I go through the awkward squealing when she realizes she's on the phone with the Maddie Turner, then pay for the tickets. I get a discount, she tells me, for the existing ticket. The confirmation appears in my email moments later, and I thank her for her help. I forward the new ticketing information to Harry and his mom, so she knows we'll be coming into the airport, not a train station.

I am just back inside from carrying the kitchen trash out to the can in my garage when Harry storms into my house. Our house? "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" He shouts. I flinch back against the counter. "You can't pay thirty fucking thousand dollars for plane tickets!"

"I can, actually," I say, annoyed. I know he's fucking sensitive about how much money I have, but fuck, come on. This is over the top.

"And then you send the fucking email to my mum, and how is she supposed to feel that you traded the ticket she worked really hard to buy me for something worth like, fuck I don't even know. Ten, twenty. No fifty times the cost."

"Harry, I didn't...I had to get first class. I didn't have a choice."

"And what about the fucking connecting flight, huh? Are you too good for the train? The precious Maddie Turner has to fly first class," his voice goes all high and prissy. I can barely breathe. I feel like he has punched me in the gut, knocking all the air from my fragile lungs. Word punched.

I walk away before I throw something or scream or cry.

"Where the fuck are you going?"

My voice is a whisper, shaky and raw. "To call my therapist and figure out what I did wrong here." I turn away, but then immediately look back at him, my voice a bit stronger. "Economy and business class were sold out. For all the flights, all of next week. I just wanted to be able to sit with you." I walk back to my bedroom. My bedroom? Fuck. I sit at the foot of the bed and put my head in my hands, letting the tears loose. When the sobbing subsides, I dial Dr. Kline, who sounds out of breath when she answers.

"Maddie? What's up?"

"I don't know. I don't. I--"

"Breathe." I do. Slowly. I hear her shuffling around. "Okay, now tell me what's happening."

"Harry and I are fighting." I explain everything, the tickets, the money, the yelling. How he was so mean. "And I'm confused, and pissed, and...really fucking hurt."

"Money is the most common cause for fighting in a relationship. Maddie, thirty thousand dollars is a lot for plane tickets," she says. Really, doc? I want to be angry with her for taking his side, but I realize she's trying to give me the perspective I lack. "That's probably more than Harry's mom is spending on her wedding. You said she struggled to pay for his original ticket. How much was it?"

"Six hundred and something."

She stays quiet for several moments. I know she wants me to think about what she said, what I said. Anne had to save up to pay $600. I just have no experience with that struggle. $30,000 is two days on set for me. It's nothing. Maybe 12 hours. I wonder how many days, how many hours she had to work for $600.

"What would you have done differently, if anything?"

I consider her question. "I would have talked to Harry about the issues with the ticketing. And I wouldn't have sent his mother the email."

"So what can you do now instead?"

Again, I think about it, my head resting in my hands. "I can apologize for being insensitive about the money."

"Anything else?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, let's talk about what he said. How did you feel about his reaction?"

"At first, I was so confused. I didn't get why buying the tickets would be a problem. I can see now, how it would be...rude. But when he said that shit about the train, and called me the precious Maddie Turner, I felt angry. So angry. And hurt."

"Why do you think you felt that way?"

"It was like he was accusing me of being the very thing I have worked to escape, the fake spoiled actress. Like he didn't really know me, and therefore couldn't possibly love me," I break down again. Fuck, this hurts.

She gives me the time to cry. Then she asks, "what can you do now?"

"I don't know." It comes out a desperate, whiny sob.

"Can I give you some direct advice?"

I nod. She can't fucking see me over the phone. "Yeah. Yes, please."

"You don't like what he said. You don't like how he said it. It's okay to tell him that. To let him know you don't like it, and that it's not acceptable. Not as an ultimatum, but just as, this is what I need from you."

"Okay, thanks, Dr. Kline."

I sit in the bedroom for several more minutes before going back out to the kitchen, where Harry sits on a stool, his head buried under his arms on the breakfast bar. I run my hand gently down his back as I sit down next to him.

He sits up and spins his stool to face me. His lovely green eyes are rimmed with red. Fuck.

I breathe and choose my words carefully. "I'm sorry for being insensitive about the money. I should have talked to you before upgrading your ticket. I know that you're uncomfortable about...the difference in our financial status. And I should have realized how it would make you feel. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I was so angry," he whispers. "And so humiliated."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way. Honestly, they searched for two tickets together on that flight, on any flight. There were none. I asked for a single on that flight. Nothing. There was nothing. They checked business class. Nothing. The only way we could be together for any flight was in first class."

"I know, I called the airlines right now." I frown. Like he didn't believe me? "I was going to switch my ticket back, but it sold already." Oh.

"I will work at being more sensitive about this issue in the future." He nods. "Harry, what you said to me, the tone with which you said it, really hurt me," my voice cracks. Fucking fuck. "I'm not some spoiled diva."

"I know. I know that, but it's intimidating. You have so much... this house, where I live rent-free, that car."

"These ten dollar shoes I bought at Target," I point down. "This $16 shirt. Target."

"The jeans?" His eyes have lost their hurt and fury and have been replaced with humor and mischief. He is mocking me, and I'm not in the mood.

"Amazon. Thirty fucking dollars." I shake my head, not ready to let it go. "I think the worst part is that it feels like you meant to hurt me. Like you knew those words and their implication would hurt me."

He sits there, his green eyes never leaving my drowning brown ones. Finally, he says, "You're right. I was so angry, and I lashed out. I knew it would hurt you."

"That really scares me, Harry. That you would cut me with your words. Intentionally. I don't like that at all, and it's not okay with me. You said you would never hurt me." The last sentence comes out almost a whimper.

He stands and puts his hands on my face. "Oh, my precious g--"

I pull away. "Don't call me that."

"Have I ruined that word forever?"

I glance up at him. "I don't know about forever. For today, certainly."

"Fuck. I'm sorry, Maddie. I'm not... I have to get back to work," he sighs. Was that sorry for going back to work, or sorry for breaking my fucking faith? My trust. My heart. Okay, I might be getting a little melodramatic. "I really don't want to. I don't like leaving when this still feels...raw."

"It's okay. I'm fine. I'm just going to go for a run." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can feel myself retreating behind the wall of pretend that has protected my heart for so long. And he spent so much time taking it down, brick by brick, piece by piece.

He pushes his fingers back through his long hair. "Okay. I'll see you later." And he's gone. And I feel empty. And lost. And alone.

I change into my running pants, a t-shirt, and Harry's oversize hoodie. I decide to stick to the lower, looping hills just south of my neighborhood, circling past the university's western border, then back around. I can't shake this fucking biting anxiety in my stomach, and I know that I need to do something about it. I continue down the hill past the boys' place to Sal's.

"Oh! Madelyn. It's been so long since you've come in!"

"Well, I've got your delivery boy in my service, so..." Sal laughs. He is always, has always been, so sweet to me. But Harry doesn't seem to get along with him a lot of the time. "Is he here?" Sal gestures to the back. "Can I?" He waves me along.

I hear Harry before I see him. "No, I don't know. She was so hurt. I don't know--" he stops talking when he sees me rounding the corner. His eyes lock to mine, like a tractor beam pulling me in. "No. I have to go. She's here."

I take a step closer, but he stays put, warily leaning against a tower of boxes. "I just wanted to come by to tell you," I clear my throat. "I love you." And I do. But god it scares me.

That fucking beautiful slow smile spreads across his face, and finally he moves toward me. "I love you, too." He cups those large hands around my face leans in to kiss me. I am expecting the forceful passionate kiss where his tongue takes over my mouth, but I get the sweet, gentle caress of his lips against mine, his tongue just darting in to swipe across mine. "I'm so sorry, Maddie," his voice cracks. "I'm not very good at handling my anger. But I don't ever want to hurt you again. I'm so sorry. I'll work at dealing with it better next time."

I offer a small laugh. "Okay. You know I'm so sorry, too. I didn't really understand why you were so uncomfortable about the money thing until today. I hate that I hurt you, or embarrassed you. And the idea that I hurt your mom kills me."

"I think I probably overreacted. Do you forgive me?"

"Yes." I think. I don't actually know what forgiveness feels like.

"So, you'll still come to England with me?"

"I paid thirty fucking thousand dollars for those tickets. You're damn right I'm going," I smirk at him. And he laughs, wrapping me in a gentle hug. Yes, we are okay. I think.

"Good. Oh, fuck, I almost forgot. Liam and Louis wanted to talk to you about the video. I don't know if you're busy studying or anything this afternoon..." His voice trails off into my hair.

"Not really. I was just going to run as far uphill as I could stand and then go home."

He asks me to stop by his old duplex and go over the ideas, so I do. Liam and Louis are hilarious as we sketch out the storyboard for their video, and at one point, I think Liam actually forgets the barrier he always seems to leave between us: fan and star. But I guess I haven't. Fuck.

"Hey, is she still here?" Harry calls, walking through the front door.

"She is," I answer, leaning into the kitchen from the back patio, where the rest of Harry's band and I have been working.

He stops just inside the kitchen, looking cautious. "Hi."

"Hi," I reach my hand out to him. "Come see."

His eyes soften, the dimples finally making an appearance on his cheeks. He crosses the kitchen in two long strides, and places his hand in mine. "How did it go?"

"Great. I think we have a really solid plan."

Louis explains the storyboards, and ten minutes later, we head home.

"Thanks for doing this," he says as we walk up the hill, hand-in-hand. "You don't have to."

"I'm happy to do it. For you."

Back at home, I have to register for my spring classes, so I leave Harry to figure out dinner while I do that in the office. I need some space. Harry is everything to me, but I still have that ache in the pit of stomach. I push it down deep and try to focus on arranging my schedule. I have the film theory and production classes I have to take for my major, and I add music and American literature to round it out. I still haven't decided whether I will double major, or what in, so I'm trying both options. Harry wanders in with Chinese food as I'm finishing up. We eat at my desk, and way too soon, it's past midnight. I stand up to clear the trash. "You done?"

"Mm-hmm." He kisses the top of my head. Harry takes the cartons from my hand and carries them down the hall. I go the other way. I need space. "Wait for me," he says over his shoulder.

"I need to take a shower." I need space.

"Okay," he smirks. I shake my head. "Alone?"

"Yeah." I need space.

"Oh," he looks hurt, worried. "Okay."

"I just... I need space."

His eyes flash wide, then narrow, and his words come out breathy and disbelieving. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"What?" This again, really? "Why do you go there so quickly?"

"You say these phrases people use when they break up. I need space. That translates to I don't want you."

"No. Harry, no. I'm not breaking up with you. I just need to think. I need to breathe. That is infinitely more difficult when you're around."

His whole body is tense. "Okay. Go shower."

I don't understand this fucking burning in my chest that won't go away. I don't know what to do or what to say. All I know is I need space. I toss my sweaty running clothes in the hamper and step into the shower. I try to relax, let the warm water on my skin soothe me. It doesn't. I soap up and rinse off quickly, getting back out without even shampooing my hair. I want to fall to my knees and weep. I want to scream. I want to hit him. He hurt me so much, and I tried to be all mature and handle it by talking it out. But it doesn't matter. Everything feels different. It all comes down to this: I don't trust him not to hurt me again. And yet I can't bear to be without him.

I dry off and wrap my wet, unwashed hair in the towel. Harry is sitting at the foot of the bed when I come out of the bathroom, looking sad. Looking lost. He glances up at my bare skin in surprise, then pinches a growing smile between his lips. "Brazen," he whispers.

"Unprepared," I answer wanly.

His smile disappears. "Maddie, please. Come here." I shake my head. "I don't like this distance. Please. I need you. I love you."

"I love you. But I am not ready for you to touch me."

He breathes the word so quietly, I almost don't hear him, "why?"

"It was such a big step for me to trust you, to let you in, to show you all of me for these last two months. And I'm shaken. My trust is shaken."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm afraid you're going to hurt me again, and I need some time... to build back that trust."

He stands. "Do you want me to sleep in the other room?" What? No!

"No. I just... I want you to hold me, to put your arms around me and not let go. But I don't want you to touch me, sexually. At all."

He pulls me into a hug, his long arms wrapped so tight around me. "Madelyn Turner, I love you. Hurting you is the worst thing I've ever done. I'm so sorry." My heartache lessens. Maybe I just needed to hear him apologize. Sincerely. Two months ago, I was so closed off, I barely let anyone pat me on the shoulder. Now, I have opened myself to Harry. And, yes, it hurt as much as I feared. But it's also better than I could have imagined. And for the first time in my life, I genuinely feel loved.

"I love you so much, Harry."

"I love you, too, Maddie." We slide into the bed, and he holds me in his arms until I fall asleep.

And I wake still enfolded in his arms, his hands tangling with mine. He did not let go. I won't either. We have four days until our trip, this week occupied mostly with finals. I'm so excited to meet his mother, nervous for the flight, worried about the status of our relationship. My stomach is cinching tighter and tighter, a hangman's noose. We make it through the next several days in pleasant companionship, and gradually, I let him back behind the wall. Kiss. Touch. Love. And the knots come untied.

Thursday night, we drive down to LAX, and park in the VIP lot, for celebrities, he once said so bitterly. I try to push that memory away. Down. Away. There is a huge fucking crowd of paparazzi. I suspect the airline has a fucking leak. Harry wraps his arm around me, protectively. A small crowd of travelers starts to follow us, taking pictures themselves. I pause and take a giant selfie with all of them, a la Ellen's Oscar selfie. We pass the seating areas and head into the first class lounge. "Oh my god," Harry stares at me, his face flushed. "Is it always this crazy for you at the airport?"

I shrug. "Not always."

"You would be signing autographs and taking pictures with people for hours if we couldn't come in here."

"One of the many reasons it's better to travel first class," I try to smirk, but I'm so fucking tired.

He laughs sweetly, "oh, baby. You can sleep on the plane."

"Mmmm."

"Unless you want to, you know, mile high, and all that." I smack his chest. "Violence is never the answer."

"Depends on the fucking question."

We board our flight, settle into cushiony, comfy seats, and fall asleep holding hands. And in just 16 hours, I meet Harry's family, who wait in Manchester's VIP Emirates Suite.

"You are so beautiful, Maddie," Anne puts her hands on my face, and gazes into my eyes. Intense fucking eye contact. I blink, smiling tiredly. She is lovely, tan, with light eyes and a dimple just like Harry's.

"Thank you. So are you." I look away from her dissecting stare, at Harry, who is in deep conversation with a young girl. It has to be Gemma. She has the family dimple.

"Maddie," she says, nodding, but her eyes are warm.

"Gemma, it's nice to meet you."

Finally, she smiles full on. "Maddie fucking Turner. Good lord, Haz, you move off to Los Angeles and straight away get yourself a Hollywood starlet." Maybe she does like me?

Harry chuckles, shoving her lightly. Anne slides her arm over my shoulder. "Come on, let's get you two home."