A/N: A million thanks and so much love again to my reviewers, my readers. May be a while before the next update - my parents and (soon to be) parents-in-law are visiting from the UK for the next 6 weeks, so I won't have much time for writing. Stick with me though, we have a long way to go with these two yet!


Chapter 9: Does The Real World Still Exist?

Late morning on Wednesday finds them in the Food Hall at Harrods, where they've just bought a selection of mini macaroons from the patisserie section and they're still there, eating them in the middle of the store. Fitz calls it decadent but Olivia thinks the only thing decadent is the way he kisses her afterwards, tasting the sweetness of her lips over and over until she's afraid her knees might give way beneath her.

They wander through Knightsbridge, stopping in various designer boutiques as they pass. "I'm running out of clothes," she says, defending herself against an accusation which never comes. "I only packed for a long weekend." But Fitz just smiles in that way of his, patient and adoring, and sits contentedly in each store, catching up with work emails on his phone. Olivia ends up buying more than she should simply because of the look on his face every time he sees her in a new outfit.

"I think I have an addiction," she confesses afterwards, refusing his offer to carry her bags.

"So do I," he echoes, pulling her close as they stroll along and pressing his lips to her temple, making her heart skip several beats. It's moments like these where she forgets they barely know each other; moments where they've been together for years, where he's the other half of her. And what a life that would be: to get to spend every day beside him; to live in this feeling he gives her, this feeling that she is more than herself - that she can do anything, be anything with him on her side.

After everything Edison put her through - after she gave him her love and got nothing in return but false promises, and resentment, and (worst of all) apathy - the idea of a fulfilling, loving relationship where she can be her true self has been almost impossible for her to believe in. Until now; until Fitz. Because she already believes in him, in the power of them, despite herself and her scars and the rational part of her brain which is telling her that she of all people should be taking extra care of her heart. The trouble is, he's just so easy to fall for, so easy to trust - she can't help herself.

And she doesn't want to.

They have their first falling out later that morning, by the gates of Buckingham Palace, and it's probably her own fault because she's let herself get too excited and once again forgotten that another woman across the world is still wearing his wedding ring. "If you become President one day, you'll go in there to meet the Queen," she muses, marveling at the building's architecture and grandeur, at the magnificence of the Queen's Guard stationed outside. "Or the King, I suppose."

An easy smile curves Fitz's lips, the same one which will make him such a great politician. "It's what my father always planned for me," he tells her. "I knew I was expected to follow him into politics and I never questioned that. At one point I did try and rebel by coming to study in London when I was twenty three... although 'study' is putting it loosely. Between the sports and the drinking and the endless parties, there wasn't much time for anything else. I crammed my entire year's work into the last six weeks."

"And did you come out with a good grade?" she asks, charmed by the image of this younger version of him.

He shrugs slightly, his smile becoming a grin. "Well, I was pleased for the amount of effort I'd put it. My father, on the other hand, was not. So from then on it was Masters and PhD, during which time I fortunately managed to grow some balls and start to steer my life in the direction I wanted to go. He couldn't really be angry with me for getting involved in charity work with Unicef, for starting my own organization which would eventually become my business as well. It all looks good on the old CV, right?"

"Of course." They've started to walk along the gates, her arm linked through his. Olivia thinks she could listen to him talk all day: his deep voice is so mesmerizing, so sexy, and she loves learning more about him.

"Anyway," he goes on casually, "Dad continued to plot my future for me, introducing me to the right people at every opportunity. He even set me up with Mellie, the daughter of one of his pals in the NRA. You know, excellent breeding, old money. The perfect First Lady."

And suddenly, she freezes. Did he just...?

She feels his body tense as he realizes what he's said but she's too shocked to do anything other than take a step back from him, her gaze fixed on the ground.

"Wait," he says quickly, his tone full of panic as he gently takes hold of her upper arms. "Fuck, Liv. I'm so sorry. That's my father speaking, not me."

"Is it?" She glances up at him, seeing the horror in his eyes, and she knows it's genuine but damn, his words have stung her. "What about my breeding?" she asks in a trembling voice. "How do I match up to perfect, rich Mellie Grant? I'm guessing she's also white, by the way, based on what you've just said."

Fitz briefly closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. "Please believe me, Olivia. That is not the way I feel - that is my father's idea of a suitable wife for his only son. He's old-fashioned and outdated and the only things he cares about are power and influence. He's been sacrificing me, my dreams, my desires since the day I was born, all in his own interests. And yet somehow, at forty years old, I still have this desperate desire to impress him, to earn his praise."

And she can't help but empathize with that last line, because it's exactly the way she feels about her own father. She and Fitz have more in common than she could ever have imagined.

"I am not my father," he continues, his voice harsh and determined, like he's reinforcing a message he's told himself a hundred times before but never quite accepted. "I would never judge anyone on anything other than their humanity. I don't care about who your parents are or the color of your skin. It hasn't even crossed my mind, apart from to acknowledge just how beautiful you are."

He's so honest, so heartfelt that she intuitively believes him before she's even processed it. And while she lets the world stabilize around her, lets herself be reassured that he is a good man, that she was right to put her trust in him, she realizes he's just opened up yet another can of worms over whatever future they might have as a couple.

"Okay," she says, lifting her hand to his waist, visibly reconnecting with him. "Theoretically, let's say we do end up together. Say this is the real thing."

It is, her heart beats. It is, it is.

"I can't see you winning many votes as a Republican with a black girlfriend."

"Then I won't run as a Republican."

She blinks, taken aback by the speed of his reply, by his matter-of-fact tone. "Fitz, your father-"

"Olivia, I don't care." When he draws her closer and smiles, she feels like she hasn't seen it for days and she can't help but mirror him. "I can see no reason on Earth why my success or failure as a politician, as a Senator, as a Presidential candidate would depend on the color of my wife's skin, our children's skin. In fact, there are a million ways it would make me a better man."

She would love to dwell on his naïve sincerity, on how ridiculous and endearing it is, but her brain has gotten stuck on his other words. "Did you just say wife? And children?"

He grins at her. "I'm not waiting until I become President to marry you, nor to have the cutest babies with you."

Her eyes widen.

"Theoretically, of course," he adds smoothly, but she knows he's deadly serious. Why does the thought of settling down and starting a family with a man she's known less than four days not freak her out? Why isn't she running for the hills? She should be doing both but looking into his bright blue eyes, so sure, so full of conviction, she finds she doesn't want to run away: she wants to stay; to take the chance that maybe he's the one she's going to grow old beside. Does it matter whether she goes all in now, or in three months' time, or six, or a year, when she already knows deep in her soul that he's it for her? Why hold back when diving in feels so good, so natural, so right?

"I believe you," Olivia says softly now, standing on tiptoes to kiss him. "I believe what you said earlier. I've never doubted you - I was just so shocked, I didn't know how to react."

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs in reply, slipping his arms around her. He nuzzles his nose against hers and she breathes him in, letting her mind and body calm.

"I hate that you're somebody else's," she confesses after a moment, her voice barely more than a whisper; "that you're not mine."

It's a true admission of weakness, of jealousy, but she wants him to see everything inside of her; she needs his unconditional acceptance, of her and all her flaws. Fitz lifts her chin so he can gaze down into her eyes and straight away she finds exactly what she's searching for.

"I hate it too," he says quietly, looking at her with so much longing. "I hate it more than you realize. I can't believe I wasted years of my life miserable, clinging onto a dead marriage, when you were out there the whole time."

"I'm here now," she says, pressing herself further into his body, her hands settling on his lower back. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

The smile that curves his lips is huge, showing off all his teeth. "And that's where you're going to stay," he teases before leaning down to capture her mouth in several slow, tender kisses. He might have continued things, right there outside one of London's greatest landmarks, if not for her phone starting to ring in her purse.

"Wait, does the real world still exist?" he jokes as she pulls it out, smiling at him before separating herself from his embrace to answer the call.

"Abby, hi."

"Hey stranger. How was the flight?"

"Um..." She gives Fitz an apologetic look before turning away - this is not going to be a conversation she wants to have in front of him.

"I'm on my way to work," her best friend is continuing, as usual not giving Olivia chance to speak - for which she is very grateful, this time. "My current caseload is kicking my ass. This week is already kicking my ass. I can't wait for Friday. I need several glasses of wine... Maybe even several bottles."

Shit. She'd completely forgotten they'd made plans together. "Abs, I'm afraid I'm going to kick your ass too."

"What?"

She glances back at Fitz, seeing him wandering over to admire the Victoria Memorial. He looks perfectly content, giving her a wave and that heart-fluttering smile. "I'm sorry. I... didn't fly home yesterday. I'm staying here in London until Sunday."

There's a brief pause on the end of the line. She can hear the cacophony of the New York commute in the background. "Who's the guy?" her friend asks eventually, as clever and as shrewd as ever. They've known each other eight years, since their very first day at Yale when they discovered they were roommates: more than enough time for Abby to know there are very few reasons Olivia Pope - the perennial planner, the control freak - would make such a rash decision as extending her vacation at the last minute.

"There's no guy," she tries, but Abby just laughs.

"Yeah, and I'm the best lawyer in this damn city. Now we're both liars."

"Abby..."

"Tell me everything Liv. Name, age, height, build, occupation, hobbies, financial status."

Olivia sighs. It feels weird talking about Fitz to someone outside of London, to acknowledge him and their crazy journey so far back in her New York life. It feels like it's becoming real and she wants that - she wants to try them out, to discover what kinds of adventures they can make out of everyday life together - but on their own terms, at their own pace. And, preferably, in secret until he's divorced.

She looks around again, making sure he's nowhere within earshot before she speaks. "You know me. I don't want to make a big deal about this. He's just someone I met at the conference on Saturday and we're... hanging out. It's fun."

"Mm hmm. Right. Hold on a second." She hears her friend ordering a coffee to go and has to try hard to stop her mind from picturing exactly what types of fun she and Fitz have been indulging in. If only Abby knew...

"Just tell me he's a good guy, Liv; tell me he's treating you well. And, y'know, that he's super hot and great in bed too."

Olivia laughs but she's touched by her friend's concern. "Yes to all of the above. He's... something else."

The same words he used to describe her to Stephen, said in the same tone of wonder, of disbelief. Because she could use all the words she knows and they still wouldn't explain just how much Fitz already means to her.

"Abs, I have to go."

"Is he there?"

"Yeah. We're outside Buckingham Palace."

"Can I speak to him?"

"No!"

"Liv! Come on. What do you think I'm gonna say?"

"I can only imagine."

Her friend lets out a sigh. "You don't trust me, do you? I'm wounded."

"No you're not. You're fine."

"Well, I don't know how you can be so sure when you're all the way across the Atlantic. Wait," she adds suddenly, "He's not English, is he? Is he going to keep you there forever?"

Olivia laughs at her panicked tone. "No, he's from California but he lives in New York. He's one hundred percent All-American."

Oh yes he is.

"Ugh, I am so jealous of you right now. I want a guy who makes me sound all dreamy when I talk about him."

"I do not sound dreamy." But she does, and they both know it. "Anyway, I'm sorry about Friday. Let's do dinner next week - Tuesday?"

"Sounds good. You're buying."

"Okay." She smiles to herself, full of affection for her best friend. "Now go and kick this week's ass. You can do it."

"I hope so. Thanks Liv. Stay safe, try to do all the things I would do."

Oh, I already am, she thinks as she ends the call. Including several things you wouldn't... like falling in love.

She finds Fitz on the steps of the Memorial and sits down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her. "Hi."

"Hi."

God, she's missed his voice and it's only been five minutes. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. How is Abby?"

Olivia looks up at him, amazed that he's asking. "She's fine, thanks. We were supposed to be going out this weekend but I had to let her down."

He frowns. "I'm sorry."

"What for? It's my fault, I'd forgotten we'd made plans. She doesn't mind. She's making me take her out to dinner next week to apologize."

Fitz smiles and leans in to kiss her. "Okay. Where do you wanna go next?"

"I don't mind. You pick." He considers her for a moment and she knows exactly what he's thinking. "Not the hotel, Fitz."

His grin is unashamed. "Damn."

"Come on, tour guide. You can do better than that."

"Mm." He dips his head so his breath caresses her neck. "Nothing's better than that."

He presses his lips to the sensitive spot just below her ear and she feels a shiver run all the way through her. "Fitz..."

"Yes?"

She kisses the cheeky look off his face, teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue but drawing away as soon as he tries to deepen things. When he opens his eyes again they're hazy with desire. "You're a cruel woman, Livvie."

"I'm not, I'm just practicing the art of self-discipline. Yesterday I didn't do so well. Today is my day."

They smile at one another. "We'll see about that," he murmurs, kissing her before standing up and holding out his hands towards her. "Are you up for a walk?"

"Definitely." She lets him pull her to her feet.

"Okay. Now give me your shopping bags."

"Fitz, I don't mind."

"I know, but I want to carry them for you. Chivalry isn't completely dead, Miss Pope."

She hands them to him and he mimes tipping his hat to her, then offers his arm which she takes with a giggle. "Why thank you, Dr Grant."

"Shall we?"

"We shall."


They walk all the way along The Mall to Trafalgar Square and then further, to Leicester Square via Piccadilly Circus, enjoying another day of sightseeing beneath beautiful sunshine. Fitz tells her more about his earliest charity work in Ecuador and Colombia, where he first went with Unicef straight out of university to help build schools. His first trip was scheduled for two months but he ended up staying for four, setting up the project which has evolved into his multinational business.

"It all started with Daniela," he says as they stroll along. "She was one of the pupils at the new school we built in Cauca, Colombia. She was fifteen and I knew straight away she was smart - very inquisitive, always asking thoughtful questions in the classes I observed. She had this beautiful rag doll which she always carried and she told me she'd made it by hand, along with her mother and two younger sisters. Her father and older brother were both in prison for getting involved with a drug cartel so the girls made and sold these dolls to earn a living.

"Well, it was so rural, you can imagine they didn't sell many. I was heading back to the city and I took five dolls to one of the tourist shops, eventually persuading the owner to display them. To cut a long story short, they sold for much more than Daniela's family could make alone, and that was the start of my first project.

"I began to travel the neighboring districts, searching out local women and children who made traditional wares - jewelry, clothes, pottery. Then I partnered them with businesses in bigger towns, acting as their advocate, their manager: negotiating contracts, prices, supply and demand. Very few people had cars in the villages so I'd do these big rounds every week, driving through to pick up all these gorgeous products and delivering them to the stores. And then I'd drive the same journey in reverse, handing out the profits. Those were my favorite days."

"That sounds incredible," Olivia admits, fascinated by his stories, by the experiences he's had which she's only dreamed of. She's read some of his papers about social infrastructure, about barriers to women's rights in these countries and what he thinks needs to be done to overcome them, but hearing him talk so passionately about his work is something else.

"It was great," he grins. "I had to come back to the US every few months because of my visa but I would have stayed there permanently if I could. I saw Daniela every few weeks and she started to come into the city with me, listening to my negotiations with new partners. My father was putting pressure on me to move back home, to settle down, and I suddenly found myself wondering why I was still playing this role - why not local people, bright young students like Daniela?

"So she became my first apprentice, and she was a natural. I still traveled a lot but in every area I had projects in I employed someone young, someone interested in business, to run things for me - particularly young women, wherever I could. And they've been amazing - the whole experience has: seeing families and communities lifted from the depths of poverty; seeing my students, my friends getting an opportunity to make something of themselves in two countries where that is not an easy feat."

"How do things work now?" Olivia asks, gazing up at him in awe. "Don't you partner large US companies as well?"

He smiles. "You've done your homework on me, haven't you? Well, over the last ten years things have grown exponentially. I worked for the UN for a short while but I couldn't keep up with both, so I opened an office in New York and dedicated myself to furthering the good work we'd already done. With Daniela's help, and Luisa and Carolina and all the others, we started an internship program for young women to actually go and work with these larger businesses in local cities. And then I began to contact companies in New York, to partner them with my tradeswomen in their rural villages. And once we were set up in the city we began to expand nationally as well, which led to an internship program for women from rural South American communities to come and work in the US, to gain experience with some of our most successful businesses."

Olivia is stunned. "That's your project? The G.A. Initiative?"

"Yes."

"I had no idea." They've paused now, on a quiet street lined with cafés and bookshops somewhere by Leicester Square, and they instinctively turn to face one another. "What does it stand for?"

"Nothing officially. But it means Grant Attaway - my mother's maiden name. She died when I was seventeen but not before introducing me to the harsh realities of women's rights in the developing world, and closer to home. She worked for the UN too when she was in her twenties, before she married my dad, and she used to tell me all sorts of stories of things she'd seen, of injustices we would never have to face. A strange lesson for a teenage boy, I guess, but one which has haunted and inspired me ever since."

"Your mother sounds extraordinary," she says softly, thinking of her own mom, of losing her at a young age as well. "I'm sorry she hasn't seen you grow up, seen all of the amazing things you've done."

He takes hold of her hand and squeezes it, his smile lighting up his eyes. "She was the most generous woman I've ever known. If I can be half the person she was, I'm doing alright. But to this day I still haven't figured out how the hell she ended up with someone like my father."

Olivia can't help but smile back at him. "Love works in mysterious ways."

They're moving closer together, drawn by something beyond them. "So it does," he remarks, and she can't look away; can't close her eyes until the split second before their lips meet, can't ignore the pounding of her heart. His arm slides around her waist and she feels suddenly emotional, tears stinging beneath her eyelids as she clings to him.

"I lost my mom too," she says as soon as they break apart, her voice tight because sometimes it still hurts so much she can't breathe. Hearing Fitz talk about his mother has given her the overwhelming need to share her pain because she doesn't know anyone else who can understand - all her friends are more blessed than they appreciate with two healthy, living parents.

"I know we weren't talking about me," she goes on, already seeing so much compassion fill gaze, "but I also know what it feels like to go through that, to grow up with a father who is... different, now. Distant. Harder to love."

"I'm so sorry Livvie."

"So am I."

He lets her shopping bags drop to the floor and cups her face in his palms, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"Oh god," he sighs, pulling her into a hug. "You were so young."

Olivia buries her face in his chest and focuses on breathing deeply, on regaining control of herself. This is not the time or the place to fall apart, although she feels so comfortable with Fitz she knows he wouldn't mind if she did.

"I'm okay," she whispers. "I'm fine."

He moves back to look at her again. "I know. But it's okay not to be fine, sometimes. You're still beautiful even when you cry."

He kisses her forehead, her nose, her mouth and she closes her eyes again, focusing on how it feels to be supported by someone so unselfishly and unconditionally. She's never had that before - in almost two years with Edison she didn't once cry about her mom in front of him because it wouldn't have felt right, and he certainly wouldn't have known how to react, how to comfort her. Looking back now, after Fitz, she's beginning to wonder why she ever stayed with him so long.

"Thank you," she says at length, gazing up at his impossibly handsome face. "I don't know what came over me."

"I'm afraid that doesn't stop," he replies solemnly. "It still surprises me sometimes, straight out of the blue. I can't believe we've both been through it."

"It's crazy, isn't it?"

He smiles. "Crazy is one word for it. Right, I think we both need cheering up. Let's go get some lunch and then I'm treating you to the biggest ice cream you can imagine."

"That's an offer I would never refuse. I'm an ice cream-aholic."

"I'll add it to the ever-growing list of things we have in common."


Olivia's phone rings again five minutes later and this time it's Quinn, her assistant, telling her about some urgent edits that are needed on an article she's been writing for the domestic violence charity she supports. "Seriously? I thought it was supposed to go to print yesterday."

"Yeah, sorry Liv. They said their Editor in Chief has come back from vacation and wants a few changes made."

She sighs, glancing at Fitz who is looking curious. "Did you tell them I'm on vacation?"

"I did, but he was pretty insistent that it's done asap. They've emailed you their suggestions and I've also sent you the number of the guy who called me."

"Fine, I'll do it today. Thanks Quinn. Everything else okay?"

"Yep. Your dress for Monday night arrived at the office this morning - it's stunning. How's London?"

Olivia squeezes Fitz's hand as he leads her through the crowds. "It's amazing." Their eyes meet and they both smile.

"Do I get to find out why I had to rebook your flights at such late notice?"

"Maybe."

Unlike Abby, Quinn doesn't know her well enough to voice her suspicions. "Okay, well have a great time Liv. See you Monday."

"Can we detour back to the hotel?" Olivia asks after she's hung up. "I need to pick up my laptop so I can quickly edit an article - hopefully it won't take long. Maybe we could find a café and I can do it over lunch?"

"Sure. We're not far from the hotel, actually."

Back in their room he takes the computer from her and sets it down on the desk. "Fitz..."

"Just one minute," he says in that deep, seductive voice, his hands settling on her hips, and how can she possibly refuse? His kisses start out innocent enough but soon one minute becomes several, and then their clothes are falling to the floor and they're ripping open a condom and he's holding her against the wall as he fills her over and over again, everything so hard and tight, so frantic and desperate.

"Sweet baby," he growls, biting on her neck as she tips her head back, her uncontainable moans rising to collect in the corners of the ceiling. She's so close already, her whole body on fire, and she's never come before in this position without someone's fingers on her clit but Fitz makes her so hot he's going to be her first - there's no question.

"Fuck," she whimpers, pulling his hair to guide his mouth back to hers, welcoming the wet heat of his tongue sliding against hers. Her hips are grinding in their own rhythm, separate to his quick thrusts, and the combination is proving too much. She can feel his fingers gripping her thighs, her ass with enough pressure to bruise and the thought of him marking her, and of how much he wants her, finally takes her over the edge.

She writhes in his arms as she comes, losing all control over her body as she succumbs to the absolute bliss he's conjured from her so effortlessly. Her head falls back against the wall as she slowly calms and she holds him close as he approaches his own end, every push of his hips sending aftershocks of electricity fizzing along her limbs.

"Oh, Livvie," he groans as he hits his peak, his face buried in the side of her neck. His final movements are erratic but his grip on her never wavers and she slides her hands over his arms, feeling the strength of his biceps which are holding her off the ground. He lifts his head to look at her, his breathing rate rapid, a sheen of exertion covering his skin. "Baby. That was incredible."

"I know."

Their lips meet, softer than before. "So much for 'one minute'," she murmurs, making him laugh as he slips out of her and lowers her legs to the floor.

"One minute won't ever be enough of you," he says simply, kissing her a final time before he heads into the bathroom, leaving her speechless at his words. How does he keep doing this, time and time again? He could write poetry books, wedding vows, Hollywood endings. There is so much soul inside of him, so much love waiting to be given, and she feels so unbelievably lucky that they've found each other; that he's sharing himself with her.

And even more than that, she cannot believe just how good it feels to be able to share herself with him.


"Fitz, stop staring at me."

She's working on her laptop, sitting opposite him in a little café just down the street from their hotel, while he's on the phone to his second-in-command Cyrus. For the last fifteen minutes his eyes haven't left her face.

"What?" Fitz mouths, looking amused. "I can't hear you."

His conversation continues smoothly, something about stocks and figures in the millions of dollars. She knew his business was big, but she hadn't quite realized just how big.

"Stop staring at me," she says again, knowing full well he heard her the first time. He just grins, and damnit why is he so attractive even when he's annoying?

Olivia takes a pen from her purse and writes the same words on the back of their bill, passing it to him. She watches as he reads it, still talking into his phone, and then his smile widens before he scrunches it up and throws it onto the floor. "No."

Her mouth opens in shock which just makes him laugh. "Sorry, Cy. I am still listening, go on."

She decides to ignore him, just as he's ignoring her requests, but his gaze remains fixed on her as she types away, making her skin burn and her head fuzzy. This is no use - she's creating more errors on the page than she's fixing. It feels like forever until he finally finishes his call.

"Fitz, you're so distracting!" she cries out, throwing her hands up in the air. "Please stop staring at me."

"I can't. You're so beautiful."

"Fitz!"

"What?" He looks so totally innocent and sweet that an incredulous laugh escapes her. Is he for real?

"You're so ridiculous."

She picks up her purse and laptop and moves to the next table. He follows her like a puppy.

"Go away."

"No."

"The quicker I finish this, the quicker you can have my attention again."

He considers her. "I hadn't thought of that. You're so smart, Livvie."

"I know. Now can you find something else to do, or leave me alone for thirty minutes? Please, Fitzy."

He moves her laptop to the side and leans over to kiss her. "Sorry. I'm just playing. I do actually have something I want to do, it won't take long. Try not to miss me too much."

Olivia smiles at him, tenderly running her fingertips over his cheek. "I will."

He stands, tucking his phone into the pocket of his shorts. "You'll miss me or you'll try not to?"

She can't help but grin. "Both."


He presents her with tickets for the Royal Opera House that evening, acquired on his quick trip to Covent Garden earlier. "They're not the best seats in the world but La Traviata is one of my favorites."

"You like opera?"

"Yes, and theater. I haven't been to either for years, though. I keep meaning to and never getting around to it. The Opera House is a stunning venue - you'll love it."

"I can't wait," she tells him, and means it.

They eat in a busy Italian restaurant opposite, the small tables crammed with people like them, dressed for an evening of sophisticated entertainment. Olivia is wearing one of the items she bought that morning: a knee-length, black dress with a bold floral print in purples, blues and greens, its neckline plunging, its straps thin and arranged in a complex pattern across her upper back. It's totally unforgiving and makes her feel so sexy, especially after seeing the expression on Fitz's face when she was finally ready to leave the hotel.

He looks amazing as always in his black suit and a white shirt, his hair sitting in perfect chestnut waves. There's a hint of pink on his forehead, his nose, and she touches his soft skin with her fingers.

"You look sun-kissed," she remarks as they cross the cobbled square, and he surprises her by leaning down to press his lips to hers.

"You look kissed," he says playfully, his blue eyes alight with humor and affection, and he's so cute that she pulls him back to her by the lapels of his jacket, kissing him again until she's dizzy from lack of oxygen.

The opera is enthralling, the building as exquisite as Fitz promised, but she still allows him to distract her every so often with kisses behind her ear or his hand slipping under her skirt, stroking the skin high on her thighs. By the end of the performance she's filled with so many emotions: awe and sadness for the show, burning desire for the man beside her. There's something about touching each other in the dark, surrounded by hundreds of other people, which makes her want him even more than usual.

He peels off her dress as soon as they're back in their room again, his big hands caressing every inch, every curve, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His mouth follows the same path and she feels like a trophy, like his most prized possession: the most beautiful thing in his world.

He settles between her legs, both of them naked by now and sprawled on the bed, and his tongue takes her to places she's never been before, places she hasn't even dreamed of. He's slow, deliberate, agonizingly thorough. He writes his name on her, spelling out his full title: twenty nine letters of heaven and she's coming before the end, neither knowing nor caring whether he's the third Fitzgerald Thomas Grant or the tenth, only that he's hers.

She lies beneath him when he makes love to her, letting her body rise and fall with his, sharing his kisses and his air. They're more intertwined than they've ever been, at the end: his arm under the bend of her knee, her other leg around his hips; her fingers in his hair, his holding onto her jaw, keeping her still so he can see the second she breaks, so he can fall alongside her. He's everywhere and everything at that moment, enveloping her completely in the heat of his body, holding her close as she loses touch with the world for several long, breathtaking minutes.

And she's never felt so at home.

They're lying in bed a little while later, still wrapped around each other beneath the covers. Olivia can feel all the hard lines of his body and the softer, forgiving parts too, now that he's relaxed - and she wants it all.

"Thank you for everything today," she says quietly, gazing into his eyes, their noses almost touching. "It was the best day ever."

Because despite their altercation and her tears over her mom, she feels nothing but absolute contentment right now. They have come out stronger, together, on the other side.

"You are more than welcome."

Their kisses are tender now but no less passionate; there's still something simmering just beneath the surface, always ready to be roused. She caresses his neck, his back and his hands do the same, giving her more comfort than any man has ever managed before.

"It's supposed to rain tomorrow," Fitz murmurs at length, rubbing his nose against her cheek, intermittently pressing kisses to her skin. "I vote we stay right here, all day long. We can order room service, watch movies... be naked together."

"I'm glad you said that last part," she replies sleepily, letting him take complete control of her mind and body with his loving touches. "I'm not interested if we're not gonna be naked."

He smiles but it's solemn, serious. "Earlier today you said you hate the fact I belong to someone else." His fingertips gently brush her hair away from her face and he's looking at her with so many emotions she can't even begin to name them.

"I don't, Livvie. Not any more. I only belong to you."

And she has to kiss him again to stop herself from speaking because once she's said the words that are filling her mind right now, they'll be in all kinds of trouble.