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How had he ended up in this situation? Standing in front of you in the middle of the avenue, bewildered, dressed in a black tuxedo, while the car is forgotten a couple of steps behind with the back doors open. Staring at you, looking ravishing and fiery, bathed in the vibrant hues of the early sunset, wearing a gorgeous emerald dress that highlights your frame, as you yell at him, and he answers with the same force, too enraged to spare a thought for the people roaming the streets. Arguing with you, loudly, unashamedly, uncaringly of who might be witnessing the scene you're creating, of how late you will be to the party, if you end up attending.
Harry doesn’t know.
He met you when he least expected it. After a string of names and opportunities, women had left him more and more bereft, void, and certain that he would end up alone. Certain that the mystery of love was not his to unravel, that he was cursed by destiny, deemed unworthy to find someone to share and nurture it with.
Gemma. Grace. Marian. Susan. Violet. Amelia. They had all been good on paper. Strong matches. Suitable, with significant potential. Beautiful. Smart. Charismatic. In truth, though, wrong. Why? Because of different reasons. Flaws, incompatibilities, sometimes born on both sides, that destroyed the relationship once the initial attraction faded. No spark, trust issues, or different goals, to name a few. And others, because of him. For being too clingy. Too controlling. Too aloof.
And then you appeared. A happenstance. Wrong on paper. A disaster in the making. But so right flesh against flesh. Perfect. Honest. Genuine. Funny. Sweet. A breath of fresh air. A light into his quietness, bringing him out of his shell. Enchanting him with your personality and curves, your uncanny ability to push his buttons and drive him wild like no one else has done before.
Falling in love with you had been, at the same time, the easiest and the most terrifying thing he had ever dared to do. It had been instinctive, a leap of faith he hadn’t questioned but eagerly welcomed, seizing the chance you offered him and finally understanding Lucy’s words. But now, after a small quip has grown into this, as you throw regrets at each other, you shatter his beliefs, fracturing them enough for him to fear their crumble, to allow doubt and dread to sink their claws into him.
The love he feels for you, the power you hold over him, scares him shitless. You could destroy him with a couple of well-placed words.
He hadn't planned for any of this to happen. His playful jest about your tardiness had been an attempt to lighten the mood, to make you chuckle and lessen the weight on your shoulders as the driver took you to his brother's house -the heaviness he had seen as soon as he had met you this afternoon. Staining your expression, distracting him from your stunning appearance, and worrying him.
It couldn't have landed worse. It had opened Pandora's Box. Releasing the pain and frustration you were trying to swallow, the horrible day at work you had intended to conceal for the night.
You had opened the door while the implosion still echoed inside the car, leaving the closed space before he had time to grasp what was happening. Harry had followed you, unlocking his door a second later with your words reverberating in his mind. Chasing you, mimicking your steps, trying to understand what was truly wrong, and to control the situation. Provide his help, his support. But it had been for naught. You had refused him. The current of anger had been too strong to halt, feeding the argument that kept escalating between you. Awakening faults, wounds he didn't know he had caused you, with his silence and secrets, in the past five months since your relationship started. Turning your focus on him, prodding, provoking his temper till he had had enough, and he had unleashed it. Unwilling to stay quiet anymore, as you attacked him, firing back at you with your imperfections.
“Do you love me?” There are tears in your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. He can see your rage fade, disappear before him in exchange for defeat and painful resignation. Your question is no longer a yell, a reproach, but a whisper, cracked and oozing uncertainty. It's still just as loud. Powerful. It halts everything; your raised voices, his wrath, his frustration, the last thought he was ready to lash out.
“Of course I do.” He does love you. So much it aches sometimes. Harry is solemn, sure of his declaration, his vow, but it's not enough to reassure you. Mistrust and hesitation gleam in your irises, breaking him.
“Are you ready to love me?” You ask. It's a simple request, direct, hitting him square in the chest, squeezing his heart, and leaving him out of breath. “You say you love me, that you value me, that you want a future with me. But you hide yourself behind your walls when I dare to ask for vulnerability, for what is going on inside your mind, what you’re feeling. I don’t need fancy restaurants. I don’t need luxury. I just want you. And I don’t… can’t reach you if you don’t let me. So… are you ready to love me? To let me love you back?”
You're right. He's been hiding, fearful of your reaction, of your rejection once it’s all unveiled, as it has happened before, of how it would obliterate him coming from you.
“I’m scared.” He admits, taking a step towards you, craving your touch, your warmth, needing to hold you, relieved that you allow him to be close, ready to kneel in gratitude.
Your lips curl upwards, sketching a loving smile that grows, reaching your eyes, still rimmed with tears, for the first time since he picked you up, giving him hope.
“We can be scared together,” you offer him your hand. He takes it, with no hesitation.