I am so sorry for the long wait. I'm so grateful for all of you who said you would be sticking around - I hope you're still out there! I have loved every single review, every comment on Twitter and Tumblr - thank you, thank you, thank you. And whoever reviewed today - you got your wish! Thanks for spurring me on.

Enjoy!

Chapter Ten - Will We Have An Extraordinary Life?

They're doing it again: sex without protection. Because their first shared shower was really only ever going to end one way, wasn't it?

It began with kisses beneath the spray, with giggles and Fitz humming against her lips in that way which she already knows means he's happy - really, truly happy. After a lazy morning in bed - after he woke her by kissing his way up her thighs; after she rode him with their fingers curled together, with her nose almost touching his, gazing into his eyes right until the very end; after they fed each other French toast and got all sticky with strawberries and cream - how could he not be happy?

She knows she is. She knows what happy actually means, now.

She also knows he was trying to be good, at the start. He turned her around and began with her shoulders, lovingly washing his way along her arms, but barely a minute later his attention had already wandered - straight to her chest. And then came the kind of soapy, slippery massage she's had wet dreams about through all the times she's been alone: big hands kneading the soft, aching flesh of her boobs; long fingers coaxing her nipples into stiff peaks, soaking her more thoroughly than the cascading water ever could.

"Oh, Livvie."

His bone-shaking baritone and then a hiss from them both as she ground back helplessly against his already-impressive erection. His teeth sunk into the side of her neck before he licked his way around her ear, his breathing heavy; nose pressed into her newly sprung curls.

"I want you again already. It's... unbelievable."

His left hand slipped between her legs, sliding easily through her folds, dancing over her clit, and the only thing unbelievable to Olivia was that anything on Earth could feel this good. She let him play with her a while longer, utterly powerless to resist the astounding talents of this man, until he told her she was ready to be fucked and she absolutely had to agree.

"Fitz," she warns now, breathless, with her arms braced against the wall as he pounds into her from behind. His pace is rapidly quickening because his knees are bent to accommodate their height difference and she knows there's a burn in his thighs.

"I'll come outside," he murmurs, his rhythm strict and exquisite. "You feel amazing, baby. I can't stop."

And she doesn't want him to, not really, because her orgasm is building and right now it seems a risk worth taking. Everything with Fitz is a risk worth taking. She doesn't recognize the person she's become since meeting him but she already likes this new Olivia much more than the old one.

"Don't," she gasps, granting him permission. "Don't stop. This is... so good, Fitzy."

His fingers return to her clit, pressing deliciously hard, and she's so fucking hot for him after their soapy foreplay and the way he feels inside of her that she's coming in no time at all, her cries loud enough to drown out the sound of the shower. She's vaguely aware of Fitz pulling out, of his knuckles brushing against her lower back as the hand that got her off now does the same for him, and it's just seconds before his groans of ecstasy harmonize with hers.

"Baby."

She's still bent forwards, trying to catch her breath, savoring the last of her orgasm before it finally dissipates, but his voice... The endearment in that one word makes her stand and turn around to face him, and sure enough his adoration for her is all over his face too. How did she ever live without him?

She can't help but smile; can't help but kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her wet, warm and thoroughly sated body rise into his - a perfect fit. He holds her close, stepping them beneath the water again to wash her clean, his lips caressing hers in a series of the sweetest kisses.

"Mmm," he sighs eventually, gazing down at her with those brilliant blue eyes, with an equally brilliant smile. "How did I ever live without you?"

And it's not just that she doesn't answer because she's so surprised they've had the same thought; it's also that she doesn't how to. What can she say? He has lived without her for forty years, and she's been fine for almost the last twenty seven. But they can no longer settle for 'fine' - that's clear, now. They can no longer live without feeling alive.

"Are we going to have an extraordinary life together?" she asks quietly, searching his face, and she's never needed anything more than to hear his reply because suddenly it isn't about London, about dates and great sex and navigating their fledgling relationship - suddenly it's about forever.

He looks at her for a long moment, a hint of a frown lining his forehead. "Why are you even asking that, Olivia?" His fingertips gently trace the curves of her eyebrows, her cheekbones, her lips and she wants to close her eyes and melt into his tenderness but he looks so serious that she can't.

"Of course we're going to have an extraordinary life. I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone else, in every possible way. I want to talk to you all day long, to find out everything there is to know about you. I want to introduce you to my friends and be the proudest man in every room. I want us to travel together, to have amazing adventures... To spend every Sunday lazing in bed without a care in the world."

His story is so vivid, so believable that it feels like he's reading their future to her; like it's already set in stone. "I want to marry you," he says simply, and that's the second time in two days and it's still not scaring her like it should. "I want to have babies with you, to raise a family; to move to the country and grow old together. I can already see us in our farmhouse kitchen: me, reading the paper and watching you make jam, with the sunlight streaming in through big, open windows and the sounds of birds outside."

"Are we going to live in a Disney movie? In the 1950s?"

Fitz grins. "No, we'll be very much alive. And I was thinking maybe Vermont. I could be the Mayor of a small town..."

"After you've been President of the United States?"

He considers her, amused. "Well, maybe not. But you can still make jam."

"I can't cook."

"You can learn."

Olivia sighs, rolling her eyes. She's not being purposefully snarky; it's just a reflex defense mechanism to try and hold back the rising tide of joy within her body because once she surrenders to it, she'll be giddy for days. "You're ridiculous," she says, and she's trying to keep her lips tightly pressed together to stop them from curving but she thinks she might already be failing.

"Maybe." Fitz is staring at her, clearly both intrigued by her behavior and a little nervous to hear her reaction. "Livvie... you haven't told me what you actually think."

And he's so sweet, so handsome and perfect and hers that the damn finally bursts. "I think yes," she says, her face breaking into a huge smile; heart pounding as she throws her arms around him again. "That does sound like an extraordinary life."

Fitz kisses the top of her head, squeezing her tightly. "For a second there I thought I was freaking you out again."

She looks up at him, biting her lip. "You should be. In fact I don't know why you're not. Who actually makes these kinds of plans after knowing someone less than a week?"

"People who know."

He leans in to kiss her but she turns away slightly, her mouth landing next to his ear instead. "People who are crazy," she whispers exaggeratedly, and his laughter makes her giggle too.

"So? We'll be the crazy couple with the whirlwind romance, who everyone pretends to doubt but in reality they're just dying with jealousy because we're so unbelievably happy."

He kisses her forehead as she sighs and lets herself bask in his vision, warming her all the way to her toes. "Now," he goes on after a moment, "Turn around, baby. I really want to wash your hair."

The massage he gives her is something close to heaven. He's so gentle, never catching or pulling as his fingers work some kind of magic on her scalp. "I love your curls. They're beautiful."

"Thank you."

He spins her to face him again and they share a smile. "You're beautiful," he says solemnly, and she feels it. Instinctively she rises onto her tiptoes to meet him halfway for a kiss, letting her mouth move languidly with his, playfully dragging his bottom lip between her teeth. She could get used to mornings like these and at the same time, she knows she'll never tire of them.

"Your turn," she says at length, taking his shampoo and squirting some onto her palm. Fitz leans forwards and she tangles her fingers in his deliciously soft curls, lathering them up until he's practically moaning with pleasure.

"I'd forgotten how much I love someone playing with my hair, rubbing my head," he says as they take turns to rinse under the spray. "It's been such a long time, but that felt incredible."

Olivia finds herself wondering when he last felt loved; when he was last treated to the intimacy and affection he so obviously craves. She's been trying to paint a picture of his wife in her mind, of a woman who could be so careless as to fall out of love with such a man, but she's just impossible to imagine - and that's probably for the best, right now.

"Can I ask a question?"

Fitz is washing his upper body and she misses the way he frowns because she's momentarily mesmerized by the sight of his hands moving over the muscles of his chest and abdomen. "Of course. You can ask me anything."

She shakes her head slightly to clear it. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Now I'm definitely intrigued," he smiles. "Go on."

She starts to apply conditioner, using the movement as a distraction to make her next words sound a lot more casual than they are. "When was the last time you had sex? Before this weekend, I mean."

He doesn't hesitate, and if he's confused by why she's asking he doesn't let it show. "I honestly don't know. Maybe around Christmastime, because we were drunk and we thought we should? Or it might have even before that."

Olivia isn't sure what she was expecting to hear, nor where she's even going with this. But she wants to know him, to understand where he's come from, and she tells him this.

"It's okay, Liv. I don't mind. I said I'd always be honest with you and there's nothing to hide. Mellie and I never had this kind of relationship; this insane, effortless chemistry." He gestures between them, letting the hot water rinse the soap from his body. "I told you it was arranged by our parents - that doesn't lend itself to grand romances, and you and she are very different people. We had to work hard, to mold ourselves into the people we thought we should be for each other. I'm starting to think I've been playing a character for the last twelve years and I'm only just remembering who the real me is."

"And who's that?" she asks shyly, because she's sure it wasn't his intention but his words are insanely flattering.

He grins. "A hopeless romantic; a love-struck, ideological optimist who naively but proudly walks around with his heart on his sleeve."

He switches off the shower and takes her in his arms again. "I'm your hopeless romantic, if you'll have me."

"I'll think about it," she teases, reaching up to kiss him in a way which definitely confirms she accepts his offer.

They dry off with plush white towels and it's almost midday by the time Olivia climbs back into bed with him after fixing and braiding her hair. She's put on her pajamas again, pearl satin shorts and a matching camisole, and the very first thing Fitz does when he pulls her onto his lap is notice that she's wearing a bra.

"Livvie," he admonishes, sliding his hands beneath the soft material and over the skin of her back. "There's a no-bra rule on rainy days in bed. On any days in bed, as a matter of fact."

His touch makes her shiver and he's turning her on yet again. She's just insatiable around him - it's almost embarrassing, and no good for his ego. And even though she wants to tell him not to, she just sits there powerlessly as he undoes the clasp and slides the straps down her bare arms, removing the offending item and tossing it to the floor. Then his hands settle around her rib cage and his thumbs brush over her already-sensitive nipples, making her tilt her head back and moan. How does he make her so wet with just the slightest touch, the gentlest caress?

"Sweet baby," he murmurs, and she feels his lips on her breastbone before he's sucking her left nipple into the heat of his mouth. His erection is rising between her thighs and she intuitively begins to move her hips, letting the sweetest pleasure flood her at the friction she's creating. Her fingers delve into his damp hair and she holds his head to her chest as he begins to graze his teeth over her, licking at her with his tongue through the material of her top, driving her right to the brink.

And then... he stops.

"Fitz," she gasps, and she's shocked to see how thoroughly pleased with himself he looks. This is the first time he's denied her, the first time he's withdrawn, and it's possibly the most frustrated she has ever felt.

"Calm down, gorgeous. There's no rush." He's still smiling wickedly as he lifts her off his lap and onto the mattress beside him. "We have all day to play, to tease each other..."

She blinks, her blood still rushing wildly around her body. "You're cruel."

"I know. But it will be worth it, in the end. I promise."

He flicks on the TV, contentedly ignoring the way she's glaring at him. "I think we should watch a movie. Is it too early for Champagne?"

He's on the phone to room service before she's even had chance to speak. Sensing she's not going to change his mind just yet, she decides to join in with his game - and win.

She lets him choose the film - Kingsman, a fittingly English comedy about spies disguised as gentlemen - and sits patiently beside him for the first ten minutes until there's a knock at the door. "I'll get it," she says sweetly, mindful of the fact she's scantily dressed and the damp white satin does little to disguise the dark chocolate of her nipples, something she knows Fitz is very aware of too.

"Thank you so much," she says to the butler, allowing him to wheel the Champagne cooler into the room. Her tone is far more flirtatious than it should be but there's fire in Fitz's gaze and she knows he's both annoyed and aroused - a very heady combination.

As soon as they're alone again she pops the cork, pouring two glasses and handing one to him. She straddles his lap again and offers a toast. "To being a horrible tease."

Only she doesn't take a drink; instead she dips her finger into the icy liquid and trails it down her chest, circling around her breast. Fitz inhales, his gaze fixed on her movements, and she repeats the action on the other side, this time sliding over her nipple. It hardens immediately and she bites back a moan, feeling electricity surge through her body.

"You are so sexy," he groans, his free hand sliding up and down her thigh.

"I know," she breathes, continuing to touch herself, to wet her camisole with Champagne and revel in the sensation of such coldness against her heated skin. It's so hot, watching him watch her with such unadulterated lust on his face, and now it's no longer about the game - she's forgotten they were even playing.

She swallows the last of her bubbles and leans across to place their glasses on the bedside table. Fitz's hands immediately encircle her waist and his mouth covers her right breast again, holding her in place while he makes her writhe and cry out his name. She's circling her hips now, grinding her clit against his rock-hard cock, his grunts of pleasure spurring her on.

"Are you gonna come for me?" he asks, his lips and teeth trailing briefly along her throat before returning to her chest.

"Yes."

And she is, dry-humping him. With all the tricks at their disposal, all the positions in the world and their astounding ability to press each other's sexual buttons, she's going to finish like a teenager at the end of a very heavy make-out session.

And fuck, it feels so damn good when she does.

She falls forwards into him, panting like she's run a marathon. Everything is throbbing and Fitz flexes his hips every so often, sending little aftershocks straight through her.

"Oh my god."

"Mmm." He nudges her face with his nose until he can kiss her. "Who's the tease now?"

"Me," she giggles, wondering if the Champagne has already gone to her head. She slips her hand into his boxers and begins to stroke him up and down, relishing the way his eyes fall closed and his lips part. She kisses her way down his torso, nipping his skin every so often, until he's helping her pull off his underwear and she's reaching over to the cool bucket for an ice cube.

"Liv..." he warns, intently following her every move, completely bare and at her mercy. He is such a beautiful man - she could stare at him forever.

"Ssh." She sucks on the ice cube and then takes him in her mouth, her cold tongue encircling his burning hot flesh. His pelvis rises off the bed and she moves with him, hearing his expletives fill the air. She cools her mouth several times with the ice and each time she returns to him, he swears again and his grip tightens on the sheets.

"Are you gonna come for me?" she asks, echoing his earlier words as she sits up to watch him, her hand continuing to work him up and down at a rapid pace.

"Fuck yes."

Their eyes meet and she grins when she sees how far gone he is. "Good. I love having you in my mouth."

She bends forward again, drawing him between her lips, using her tongue and her hand to take him right to the brink and then... with a shout and some uncontrollable bucking of his hips, he falls over the cliff.

He's momentarily silent, breathing hard, as she swallows and then takes a drink straight from the bottle. When she turns back she finds Fitz is looking at her, grinning. "This is the height of decadence," he says, amused. "Blowjobs washed down with Champagne."

She laughs, passing him a tissue from the nightstand. "Sorry it's only two-ply," she jokes, kissing him before they head to the bathroom to clean up.

It's quite a while later, after the movie and the Champagne are finished and they're still snuggled up together beneath the covers, watching the rain beat relentlessly against the window, when Olivia remembers something he said in the shower earlier.

"Fitz?"

"Yes?"

She wriggles around until she's facing him. "Why Vermont, specifically?"

"I really like apples."

He sounds so casual, so nonchalant that she rolls onto her back and laughs until she's aching, wiping tears from her eyes. "Fitz! Seriously?"

His boyish grin is just everything. "I am serious. And I was serious about the jam too - it's my favorite food. You'd better learn to make it quick."

"There's about as much chance of that happening as me running for President in the next election."

"So about fifty-fifty then?"

He's so cute, smirking at her, that she pulls him on top of her and kisses him. His weight makes her feel so safe, so secure, and they stay there awhile, making out between whispers and quiet laughter.

"Two days left," she says as they sky is beginning to darken.

"Two and a half," he counters. "You're not flying until Sunday afternoon."

Her mind wanders to New York, to the city she left single, still secretly nursing the last remnants of heartbreak, totally focused on her career. Who is the person returning to her apartment, to her life? She wonders if everything will look and feel different, now that her life has been turned upside down. Will the sky be brighter, the coffee fresher, the autumn leaves even more beautiful? Or will she be too wrapped up in Fitz to even notice?

"Tomorrow I think we should see Notting Hill."

"The movie?" she asks, distracted.

"No, the place," he chuckles. "Then I'm going to take you to The Ritz for afternoon tea."

Her mind immediately refocuses. "Ooh, I've always wanted to go there."

"I thought you might. And Saturday I think we should get out of London - Brighton is only an hour away on the train."

"Brighton?"

"It's a seaside city. Beaches, the famous Pier, fish and chips - it's quintessentially English. We used to go down at weekends when I studied here. It's one of my favorite places."

Olivia smiles, tracing her fingertip along his jaw. "If you love it, I'm sure I will too."

"And Sunday morning," he continues, "I have a surprise for you."

And suddenly there's a lump in her throat because after Sunday morning comes goodbye - a temporary one, but goodbye nonetheless. She kisses him into silence, letting herself get lost in him, in the familiarity of his body and this hotel room where they've lived in their fantasy, almost entirely undisturbed by the outside world.

"Let's not talk about Sunday," she says softly, running her fingers through his hair, determined to shower him with the affection he's been deprived of for far too long.

"Okay." His tone is light but she can see in his eyes recognition that she's hurting; that her hurt makes him hurt too. "What do you wanna talk about?"

"Dinner. I'm hungry. You haven't fed me for hours."

He laughs, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. "Okay. Do you want room service or shall we go out?"

"Let's go out. I want to wear something sinfully sexy and go dancing afterwards."

"Really?"

"Yes, old man," she teases, sitting up. "I'm twenty six, it's a Thursday, I'm on vacation in a city where the paparazzi don't follow me and I want to drink tequila and have a good time with my hot, married lover. Is that okay with you?"

"Less of the 'old man'," he retorts, but she can see that he's persuaded. "And even at forty - which is so ancient, I know - I can definitely match you drink for drink."

"Wanna bet?"

He swats at her ass as she heads towards the bathroom. "Oh, we're on."

Fitz takes her to an Ecuadorian restaurant in Shoreditch and introduces her to all his favorite dishes, flavors which take him back fifteen years to Daniela's mom's tiny kitchen in a village in the middle of nowhere. They do drink tequila - a lot of it - and end up in a bar with a dance floor, which doesn't start to fill until almost midnight. By that time they're undeniably drunk and Fitz - who can't dance at all - is happy to use the wall for support and let Olivia grind all over him in her tiny black dress, her mouth and her small hands doing all sorts of naughty things to him under the cover of darkness. He suspects when he looks in the mirror tomorrow he'll be covered in hickeys.

They leave some time around two AM, getting soaked on the street as they try to hail a cab. She sits in his lap the whole way back to the hotel, initially leaving kisses all over his skin but gradually slowing until he realizes she's fallen asleep.

He strips her off and it's such a contrast to the night before, after the opera, which was so sensual - now she's floppy, giggling and wet. "I'm so drunk Fitzy," she whispers, like it's a huge secret, and she's pretty adorable for someone who's such a mess.

"Yes you are." He gets her into bed, completely naked, and hands her a bottle of water from the minibar. "Drink this."

"I can't."

"You can."

He's sobered up a little but still finishes his own bottle, hoping to stave off a completely horrendous hangover in the morning.

"Good girl," he says a minute later when she's managed half of it, joining her in bed.

"I had such a fun time," she sighs, curling her body around his.

And god, he loves her. He really, really does, already.

"Me too. Sleep well, beautiful."

"Night."

He presses his lips to her forehead in the dark and tries to stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

They do make it to Notting Hill the next day but not until gone eleven, with Olivia wearing her sunglasses and moving as slowly as possible. "I wish I felt more like Julia Roberts," she moans as they wander along the narrow streets. "Or looked as good as her. Or just was her, in general. Julia Roberts would never end up this hungover."

"No, I don't think she would," Fitz teases, and she frowns at him over her Ray Bans.

"Easy for you to say, Hugh Grant. How do you look so good this morning? We drank the same amount, didn't we?"

He shrugs, smirking. "Age and wisdom, Livvie. There are some perks to no longer being twenty six."

She nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. "Oh shush."

He pushes their reservation at The Ritz back to three thirty so Olivia can have a nap beforehand. She wakes up much more refreshed and by the time they've finished their afternoon tea, she's almost her normal self again. The entire experience of caring for her hungover has been totally endearing, and even though she's apologized a thousand times he refuses to accept. She was right - she is young, and she likes to have a good time. God knows he spent a large portion of his twenties partying like there was no tomorrow.

They have a quiet night in, eating in the hotel's restaurant, and the next day is gloriously sunny when they arrive in Brighton. She's like a child when they get to the seaside, so impatient and excited to see everything all at once. They play in the arcades on the pier and lose all their money; he buys her an ice cream and it ends up all over their faces in a ridiculously sticky game involving an obscene amount of licking for a public place. They dip their toes in the water and decide it's far too cold; they eat fish and chips sitting on the pebbled beach, shooing away hungry seagulls and listening to the waves hitting the shore.

"This is amazing," she sighs, lying back and gazing up at the clear blue sky. "I can see why you love it."

He lies beside her and they gaze at each other, linking their fingers together, both thinking how perfect this day is to end their week. On the train home she falls asleep against his shoulder and he sits there and pretends she's his wife, imagining that's what other passengers see when they look at them. It's a dangerous game and he's very mindful of getting carried away, of losing his grip on reality. He's not sure what he's going to do with himself when she's gone.

They make love long into the night, over and over until they've given everything they've got. They make plans for the following weekend, back in New York, but it just doesn't seem real - life has changed irrevocably for them both.

Sunday morning comes too soon and Fitz is so tempted to keep her in bed, to keep on loving her because he still hasn't had enough. She tries to be upbeat but her dark eyes are full of sadness and it's heartbreaking.

"Livvie, it's not over," he says after breakfast, pulling her into a hug. "It's only just beginning."

"I know," she murmurs, trying her best to smile. "I'm okay. Now, what's this surprise you've got for me?"

He grins. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. You ready to go?"

She takes one last look at their suitcases, packed and sitting side by side on the bed. He's leaving today too, traveling to Oxford to stay with an old friend, Mark, and his family - Fitz's Godchildren.

"Tell me about them," she asks as they take a taxi to their mystery destination.

Fitz shows her photos on his phone. "That's Holly, she's ten. And Sophie, she's eight. They're amazing. Holly has already passed several grades on the violin - Mark has sent me a photo of her with every one of her certificates. And Sophie loves horse riding - and I mean, she loves horse riding. Whenever we Skype it's literally all she talks about for twenty minutes."

"Can I ask another question?" Olivia asks at length, gazing at him with tenderness in her eyes, and he knows exactly what it is.

"Because it was never the right time for us," he sighs. "Mellie wanted a kid right at the beginning but I was always away, traveling. And then by the time I decided I was ready to be a dad, she'd moved on from the idea."

She just looks at him, her gaze never wavering, wordlessly absorbing his pain. "Do you still want children?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

They are both silent for a minute and he wonders what she's thinking about behind those beautiful eyes. "Okay," she says finally, a small smile on her lips, and that's the end of the conversation.

His heart feels as light as a feather.

They arrive shortly at the riverside and he pays the taxi driver. "So, where are we?" Olivia asks, tugging impatiently on his hand.

"You'll see."

He leads her towards a building on their left where there are several men and women pulling rowing boats from the water. "This is Imperial College Boat Club," he says, pausing at the doorway and turning to her. "This was my rowing club when I was at university there. Come inside."

It's a large building, paneled in dark wood: one wall is covered with team photographs and the other entirely taken up by an enormous trophy cabinet. Out of the back windows is the Thames, still dotted with teams of students practicing. Fitz feels such overwhelming nostalgia being here that it takes him a moment to remember why they came.

He draws her towards the photos and spends a little while searching for one in particular. "Here."

And there he is, age twenty three, with his team of four others after they won the Britannia Challenge Cup at the Henley Royal Regatta.

"Oh my god," Olivia says, her face a picture of awe. "That's amazing, Fitz. You're part of history. Nice leotard, by the way."

He laughs and holds her closer, his arm around her shoulders. "Thanks."

"Mark Addlington," she reads from the plaque beneath. "Is that the same Mark- ?"

"Yeah. We've been friends almost eighteen years now."

"Wow."

"I can remember that race so vividly. It was the last of the year and we'd won quite a few events in the lead up to it. And at the end, as I realized we were going to cross the finish line first, I was so exhausted I temporarily blacked out - so I actually missed the moment we won."

She smiles, running her fingertip over his young face. "This is so cool. I can't believe you were here, all those years ago: coming down here early in the morning; racing these boats..."

"...Getting horrendously drunk afterwards in the bar," he adds, making her laugh. "Between you and me, I've definitely puked in the bathroom here on more than one occasion."

She scrunches up her nose which makes him chuckle. "Ew."

"Hey, I was young and stupid. But it was the best year of my life." She looks up at him and he's so blown away by how much she already means to him that he immediately revises his statement. "Until this one," he says, and he's deadly serious.

They walk along the river bank for a little while until it's time to head back to the hotel and check out. "Bye bye, room," Olivia says, wandering around their little nest. She runs her hand over the bed; along the wall where he made her fall apart several times. "We had some good times here."

"Good?" Fitz repeats, feigning hurt. "I think they were more than just 'good', baby."

"Okay," she grins. "We had some really fucking incredible times here. Is that better?"

He wraps his arms around her waist. "Much."

They stay there for several minutes, holding onto each other. He can feel her breathing deepening, like she's fighting back her emotions, and he lets go so he can look at her face. "Don't," he says gently. "Smiles only."

And she rolls her eyes but manages one anyway. "Sorry. I'm ready. Let's go."

"I have a present for you," Fitz says, reaching into his bag. He's come with her to the airport, partly because he's a gentleman and partly because she knows he doesn't want her to leave any more than she wants to go.

She opens the plastic bag to find a white t-shirt emblazoned with large black letters and a red heart to read I heart LONDON. It's so touristy and she absolutely adores it. "Thank you!"

She kisses him, tasting his mouth over and over again because it's become so innate, kissing him, that she doesn't know how she'll survive without it.

"When did you buy this?" she asks eventually, still clinging onto him.

"On Friday, while you were napping. I know it's tacky but I thought you could wear it in bed and always remember this week."

"I'll wear it every night," she promises, "And you'll get to see just how sexy I can make it."

He laughs, kissing her again. "I can't wait."

She basks in the feeling of his body wrapped around hers, so warm and strong, memorizing it until the next time they meet. "It's only five days," she says aloud, trying not to let her voice catch. "It's no big deal, right?"

"No big deal," he repeats, touching the tip of her nose with his index finger.

"It's going to be different back home, though, isn't it? We'll have to be a secret for a while. It's going to be harder."

Fitz shrugs and she can see he's putting on a brave face for her, something she really appreciates. "It is. But you know what I think?"

"What?" she asks, her voice small, feeling more vulnerable than she ever has with him before.

He nuzzles his face in her neck, kissing his way to her ear. "It's going to be better."

And she vows to try her very best to believe him.

They end up making out for several minutes, desperate to stay together until the last possible moment. "Okay," she says eventually, struggling to draw breath between his ravenous kisses. "I'm going now. And don't give me those eyes," she sighs, because they alone are enough for her to stay. "I'll see you in five days. Have a great time in Ox- ford-"

Her voice finally breaks at the end, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Oh shit."

Fitz holds her as she sobs, feeling ridiculously silly and also like her world is ending. "Ssh," he says, pressing his lips her hair, which only makes it worse.

She lets it all out until she's feeling ever so slightly better. She hiccups and sniffles as she recovers; her face is soaked and she doesn't care because the way he's looking at her makes her feel like the most precious thing on Earth.

"This is just the beginning of our extraordinary life," he tells her, cupping her cheeks in his hands, wiping away her tears while they shine in his eyes, too. "Have a safe flight home, sweet baby. Thank you for..." He shrugs hopelessly, lost for words.

"... For everything."

She mirrors his smile, sharing his inability to articulate just what this week has meant to her. "Thank you. I'll miss you."

"I'll call you."

"You'd better."

She picks up her bags but doesn't move, gazing up at him.

"Go, Livvie."

"One more kiss."

He obliges - fiercely.

And then she turns and walks away with fresh tears on her face, absolutely sure in the knowledge that she has fallen totally, completely and forever in love with Fitzgerald Grant.

She only hopes that will be enough to withstand what's to come.