New chapter up in two to three days. This one's a little different, it has a different tone to it. Please read and review. I love all the support I'm getting for this story, so thank you.

April 5th, 2006

Dear Diary,

It's been exactly a week since my "picnic" in the park with Harry and a week and a half since I met him. We've gone on a few outings since then, little trips to go get coffee or lunch or just spend time together, and I wish I had the chance to write it all down. I've been so busy with work and sorting out my schedule that writing has been pushed to the back of my mind. I'm not going to write all the outings down, but it doesn't matter because I still know the feeling of the dates: happiness. I always feel so blissful and comfortable around him, and I find that sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is knowing that I'll see or talk to him again. He's so sweet, sometimes he calls me just to wish me goodnight and tell me he'd rather be out with me than _." The blank is always different, a meeting, a dinner, an interview, but it doesn't matter he says, he'd still rather be with me.

What makes today so noteworthy is that the first pictures of me and Harry together have begun to surface. I knew eventually the media was going to get a whiff of our relationship, but I didn't think it would be so soon. There's nothing definitive, just speculations about how we met and how serious we were, but nevertheless it caught me off guard. It was around 10:30 that one of my friends and coworkers walked into my office and said they had to show me something they found online. I agreed, and she brought me to a popular gossip blog that mostly covered starlets and heiresses, but somehow my picture wound up on the homepage. It was a photo of Harry and I from our picnic date, with my head rested on his shoulder, and the headline "Is Harold Saxon Involved?" was on top of it in big, black letters. I clicked on the article and scrolled down to see a few other pictures of the two of us, one from the café, one from the publication, and one of just the two of us walking down the street.

"Harold Saxon has been spotted numerous times within the past two weeks with the daughter of Lord Cole herself, Lucy Cole," the article stated. "Saxon and Cole were first seen together at the publication of his tell-all autobiography, Kiss Me, Kill Me, and have been reportedly inseparable ever since. Mr. Saxon writes in his book that he hasn't been 'very romantically involved' for most of his life, so Lucy Cole, we speculate, could be something special. Though no photographs have been taken of them at any of Mr. Saxon's public events, nor has either party commented on their exclusiveness, future plans, or relationship status, it's now a possibility that one of Britain's most eligible bachelors has got himself a girlfriend."

As I read, I felt a pang in my chest. It was like I was being stalked.

"I haven't even mentioned it fully to my parents yet!" I gasped, feeling betrayed. Sure, I had phoned up and told them that I had a date Harold Saxon, but I hadn't yet told them that I'd gone on a few more. My feelings for him were private, and it hurt that they'd been transformed just to give this website hits.

"I'm sorry Lucy," my friend said. "I figured you should know about it though, so you could be on the lookout."

I thanked her and once I was alone, I quickly phoned Harry and told him about the article. He said that one of his assistants had picked it up an hour ago, and he felt so terrible about the whole mess.

"I hope it hasn't caused you any trouble," he told me, "but I guess it's good this happened so early. With me private things are hard to keep private, especially because my book just recently came out and because I'm doing so well in the election. If this makes you uncomfortable-"

"No!" I assured him quickly, "it's okay. I was prepared to answer questions, and now's as good a time as ever to start."

Questions certainly flew. I was phoned at the office from three different tabloids all asking for exclusive interviews from Harold Saxon's alleged girlfriend. Not wanting to bother with them, politely refused and tried to keep my head straight. When I got home there was a message from Harry on the machine saying that he didn't want to bother me at work but I had the time could I meet him later for a two second interview with a certain magazine. He told me that he didn't want me to do anything that I wasn't comfortable with, and to call him so that we could discuss details, but he figured that since everyone was buzzing with rumors we might as well set the record straight. I phoned him, and within a few minutes I was driving towards the magazine's main office building and up several floors in an elevator to Harry drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair in front of a woman's desk. As soon as he spotted me, he smiled and gestured towards the chair next to him.

"Try to be polite," he whispered to me as I sat down, "and fight the urge to slap whoever's asking the questions."

I giggled and placed my arm next to his so our hands were touching.

"I'll try," I said, "but no promises."

I'm going to try and write down the interview to the best of my ability, just because I find the questions they asked both humorous and a little creepy. It's amazing how much information they want out of you right at the start, so they can bleed it all dry before the next magazine or newspaper can get to you. The whole time Harry had his hand either intertwined with mine or his arm draped around me, my head on his shoulder. I suppose he wanted to go for a healthy, loving image, especially because there were photographers there, and I didn't protest. I love being close to him, and I hoped that it was all for more than posterity.

The interviewer practically squealed when she saw the both of us, and it was very hard not to roll my eyes. She was an average sized woman in heels and a matching skirt and blazer. As she walked into the room she brushed some of her thick, brown hair out of her eyes and gave us a big smile.

"Just the couple I've been waiting to see!" she exclaimed as she sat down in front of us, notepad in hand. "This is all very exciting you'll have to excuse me. Can I make either of you more comfortable?

Yes, you can call off the interview, I thought but kept my mouth shut. Harry on the other hand began to talk to her, assuring her that we were fine and nudging her away from the small talk so we could both leave. It amazed me how collected and charismatic he was, his voice fluid like water as he handled the situation like he'd done it a thousand times. I had to remind myself that he probably had done it a thousand times, but it still didn't stop the amazement. I couldn't help but be amazed by him.

"Alright, alright, down to business," the interviewer said finally, much to my relief. "Now, please bear with me but we've got to do some rumor busting first. Where did you two actually meet?"

"At my autobiography publishing," Harry said plainly and pulled me a little closer to him.

"I was helping to run it," I explained. "I work in publishing and my company was working on his book. We starting talking there."

"Alright then, and what was your first impression of, may I call you Harold?"

Harry nodded and looked off towards the window.

"What was your first impression of Harold?"

"Well he's funny," I laughed a little and then caught myself, careful to not look like an airhead when what I was saying was being documented. I had been in interviews before, but it had been a long time. The tricks were just coming back to me. "I liked talking to him right away. We had fun just talking together, and really, you couldn't ask for much more."

"He's quite a catch isn't it?" the reporter asked with a laugh. I feigned amusement, although I felt uncomfortable at the comment and I was sure Harry felt the same. Why couldn't this woman stop pretending they were friends?

"So you've only known each other for about two weeks then?"

"That's correct," Harry told her. He was keeping his answers very clipped, and if it wasn't for the layer of clam he was putting on his voice I'd say he was irritated. He was clearly bored, his fingers tapping the same four beat pattern on the arm rest and his other hand playing with my hair, out of sight from the interviewer.

"Sounds like love at first sight to me," the reporter pushed.

"You can call it what you want," he said, and I was worried he appeared too disinterested. The initial charisma was wearing off, and I could see the reporter catching on as well. I gave him a slight nudge and he looked at me with a little smile, as if he always had everything under control, "but I don't need to put a name on it. I already know what it is."

He spoke right to me, and the reporter let out a little sound that sounded a bit like a shriek and clapped her hands.

"Oh you both are just too cute!" she cried, furiously writing down notes. I wasn't even paying attention anymore, my stomach had knotted itself up and my heart was racing. The feelings should've hurt, but they didn't. They were those weird, love feelings that make you feel so strange, almost like pain, but in the very best way possible. I forced myself to assume it was for the interview, just for posterity, but I didn't want to believe it.

Then I finally decided it: I loved him. I loved him with all my heart and I didn't want to let him go. Who said two weeks was too short for me to know? In that moment it felt like I'd known him forever.

Nothing else really mattered to me after that. The questions I expected to be asked were answered, and after about an hour she let us go. He led me out the door to the parking lot, and when we were out of earshot of any staff members he burst out laughing.

"Did they, honestly, just, I'm sorry." He put his hand out and proceeded to laugh for about thirty more seconds before taking a breath and looking at me. It was only then that he realized I wasn't laughing.

"What?" he asked, looking at me quizzically, "don't you find it funny?"

"I don't know what, was funny.." I asked him slowly.

"The questions they were asking, the way they expected us to answer," he looked at me and I faked a smile to show that I was understanding, even though I wasn't. "Gosh I don't know what they were expected, I had to lie through my teeth for some of those questions."

My heart dropped. Which ones had he lied during? I wanted to ask, but stopped the words in my throat. I'd have to pretend I lied too, so it wouldn't seem like I was clinging to him.

Two weeks isn't long enough for love anyway.

"Oh, yeah," I said fake laughing, "and they just latch onto the answers too. Tell them what they want to hear and they eat out of your hand."

"Exactly," he said, running towards me and grabbing my two hards. "It's like you have this power over them."

"Yeah.." I replied, trailing off. The excitement he was showing was a little frightening, but it was Harry and I couldn't help but find it beautiful, just like the rest of him. After all, who doesn't like a man with ambition?

Then he kissed me. It was completely out of the blue, but he did. Our first, big, heart-stopping kiss since that first date. I wanted to enjoy it, I really did, but I was so preoccupied with what he had just said that it was hard to even think about this kiss.

The whole ride home it was the same thing: what parts of the interview were actually true? Was it all fabricated, or was it just one, small detail and I was blowing everything out of proportion. In any case, I can't sleep because of it, so I think I'm going to go read a book.

Gosh I hate interviews.

- Lucy