I'm once again overwhelmed by all your reviews. They have been so inspiring - thank you so so much. I hope you enjoy this next part too.


Chapter Eleven: How's Home?

Back in New York, reality hits hard for Olivia.

She managed to sleep on the flight, emotionally exhausted, and on the way to her apartment she keeps telling herself she's looking forward to getting home, to curling up on her sofa and sleeping in her own bed at night. But turning the key in her lock and wandering inside, the rooms feel as empty as her heart.

She makes a cup of tea and sips it, staring out of the living room window at the city she loves so much as the sky darkens from the vibrant orange of sunset. In a way they're lucky, she and Fitz, that they both live here. Imagine if he was based in LA, or DC or somewhere even further afield, like Colombia. Would she have considered moving to be with him?

Against all rational thought and sense, of course she would - there's no question.

Her phone rings and she's expecting to see his name, even though it's past eleven PM in the UK, because she texted to say she'd landed safely and he hasn't replied yet. But it's Quinn, and although the last thing she feels like doing right now is making conversation, she knows she should answer.

"Hey."

"Hey Liv. I saw your flight arrived on time. Are you home yet?"

She gazes around the apartment she's lived in for the past three years, bought for her by her father and lovingly decorated in exactly her style: wooden floor boards dotted with an assortment of rugs; her large white sofa and matching armchairs scattered with cushions and several soft, gray throws; one wall that's almost entirely a bookcase and her baby grand piano in the corner. Her adjoining kitchen is duck-egg blue, the cupboards scrubbed down and re-painted by her own hands; there's a table in the middle where she sits facing the window, eating takeout or working on her laptop, and on a clear day she can see all the way to the river.

It's large, with two bedrooms: one en suite with a walk-in closet and the second acting as her office. It too has a spectacular view but she often ends up in the kitchen instead, closer to the coffee machine when she's working long into the night. She's had some good times here, by herself and with friends and even with Edison - and when their relationship fell apart, this apartment was also her sanctuary.

And yet somehow, after all that, right now it doesn't feel like home at all.

"Yeah," she sighs, "I'm here. I got in about ten minutes ago."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine thanks. I'm just tired." And she can't help but yawn because her body is telling her it's past her bedtime. "Sorry. How's everything been while I was away?"

"Yeah, nothing to worry about. I'll let you get to bed, Liv. We can talk tomorrow - what time do you think you'll be in the office?"

"I'm hoping seven, but definitely by eight." She's always been an early riser: tea, cereal, yoga or a swim and into work before the majority of her colleagues have even gotten out of bed. But this last week with Fitz has ruined all her routines: late nights, later mornings and a very different kind of exercise... Not that she's complaining about that, at all.

She says goodbye to Quinn and decides to run a bath, lighting candles and pouring in her favorite bubbles. She sets her phone within reach on the window sill, willing it to ring even as she chides herself for being so desperate. He's spending time with a friend he hasn't seen for over a year: she shouldn't expect him to call the instant she lands. And yet... he just seems the sort of man who would, and it hurts that he hasn't. Doubts are starting to creep in around the corners of her mind and she's so tired she can't completely refute them. What if she's developed unrealistic expectations which are just impossible for him to meet back in the real world? What if her fantasies about how life would be back in their homeland were exactly that - fantasies?

Or, worst of all: what if he just isn't as perfect as she thought he was? One more great pretender, like Edison Davis…

The hot water is instantly calming as it envelops her body and she lets it soothe her, quietening her anxieties. She might not have known him long but Fitz is nothing like Edison, she's already sure of that. Over the past six months she's finally started to feel like she can trust her instincts again (after making such a catastrophic error of judgement last time) and her gut is telling her that Fitz is one of the good guys.

No, one of the best.

If only he wasn't someone else's first.

She closes her eyes, trying to get rid of those thoughts as well. There's no use dwelling on how she wishes things were: they are what they are, and she and Fitz will be together, whatever it takes. There's no one else in the world who she will ever want; no one who is more perfect for her than him. They just fit. They are it.

He's The One.

… If only he would call.

She washes, trying to distract herself, and discovers she's sore in long-forgotten places now that she finally has a moment alone to reconnect with her body. Before last weekend it had been over a year since she'd had sex and even though she felt it with Fitz, those first few days, he was just too irresistible to ever turn down. She's more toned, too - the bedroom mirror shows her that, when she's dried off and looking at herself, seeing someone she barely recognizes staring back. Despite the alcohol and the extravagant meals, all the sightseeing and walking and - of course - the bedroom activities have definitely had an effect. The urge to take a photo and send it to him surfaces but is rebuked straight away by the horrifying thought of her phone being hacked, her privacy violated. It's happened to people she knows and, not for the first time this week, she really despises the fact that she is in the public eye. Then it wouldn't matter that she'd fallen in love with a married man: they would explain to their friends and family, and beyond that they wouldn't have to care what anyone else thought.

But having the entire world judge her - she's nowhere near strong enough to cope with that. As long as they can ride it out until his divorce and keep their illicit beginning hidden, they'll be okay. She has some serious planning to do with Harrison and the rest of her PR team in the next few months but she doesn't want to tell them just yet; doesn't want to unravel her secret life with Fitz any further until they're ready. They will have so many obstacles to overcome just to see each other without being followed or photographed, and while she's already longing for the day when they can step out in public and live something of a normal life, what they need right now is time - to nurture their precious relationship, to grow together.

And, even more than time, what Olivia currently needs most of all is to sleep. She brushes her teeth; contemplates emptying her suitcases and decides against it almost immediately because even the thought is exhausting. She does find the t-shirt Fitz bought her and puts it on before settling down into her bed, sighing contentedly at the scent of her sheets and the familiarity of her own mattress and pillows. Now she finally feels at home.

She contemplates calling Fitz, thinking he's probably still awake because she's managed to banish almost all of her earlier doubts and she's sure he would have contacted her before going to sleep. But, just in case, she sends a text instead. She tries to keep her eyes open as she waits anxiously for him to reply, for him to prove her right, but her body clock and an emotional day are threatening to drag her into the land of dreams. If she doesn't get to speak to him tonight she'll be more upset than she'd ever admit because damn it, she really misses him already.

Her ringtone wakes her from semi-consciousness just a few minutes later and seeing his name on the screen makes her instantly, embarrassingly happy.

"Hi."

"Hi, Livvie. I'm so sorry," he says, his deep voice as sexy as ever. "I've only just come up to bed. We've been sitting around the kitchen for the last five hours drinking wine and catching up. I kept thinking about you, wondering if you'd landed, but I didn't want to be rude and go check my phone. Can you forgive me?"

Relief floods her. Her instincts are still working: he's still absolutely perfect. "Of course I can," she breathes, and he's already forgiven.

"Good." She can tell he's smiling. "How's home?"

"It's okay."

"Just okay?"

His tone is so sweet and concerned that she finds herself confessing: "It's kind of lonely... I miss you."

"I miss you too. All evening I've been wondering where you are, expecting you to appear from another room and sit beside me. I can't wait to introduce you to Mark and Annabel - you'll love them, and they'll love you."

She can't help but yawn, her eyes closing. "I'm sure I will."

"Sorry, I should let you sleep."

"No, I want to hear more about your day. Talk to me. But if I go quiet for a little while, maybe just hang up."

He laughs. "Okay."

She listens for as long as she can, trying to picture Sophie at her riding lesson in the Oxfordshire countryside and Holly's violin concerto in the living room, imagining Fitz relaxing in his friend's home and feasting on a traditional Sunday roast, but eventually she has to admit that she's lost.

"Fitzy, I need to sleep," she whispers, yawning again. "I'm sorry."

He yawns too. "No, it's okay. It's almost one AM here anyway."

"Night night. Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

They pause, neither wanting to hang up. Listening to his steady breathing, she can almost imagine he's right beside her and not thousands of miles away.

"I'm wearing the t-shirt," she says sleepily, smiling like she would if he could see her.

"Really? Damn, I wish I was there."

She giggles. "I wish you were too."

And then they both sigh, lapsing into silence again.

"Goodnight sweet baby," Fitz says eventually, and he sounds as sad as she feels. She tries to reply but the words get stuck in her throat, so instead she hangs up and sends him a text as her eyes fill with tears: a single kissing emoticon, its lips pursed, a red heart rising from them.

He replies, seconds later, with three.


Fitz spends Monday morning lazing around the house after Mark and Annabel go to work, the girls to school, waiting for New York to wake up so he can do some work himself. He misses Olivia so much it's a physical ache and he's restless, wandering from room to room, unable to concentrate on anything for more than ten minutes at a time. Eventually he goes for a run around the village and then further, pushing himself harder than he has in a long time, but even the beauty of the Cotswolds on a clear day isn't enough to distract him. It's so good to see his friends again, to marvel at how much his Goddaughters have grown and developed in the space of a year, but all he really wants to do is book himself a ticket on the next flight home - to her.

And that makes him feel like a really terrible person.

She surprises him with a call around midday, sounding much brighter than she did last night. "I slept like a baby," she says and he can hear the noise of the city in the background as she walks to her office. "I still have that horrible back-to-work-post-vacation feeling but at least I'm well rested."

"You can't have missed me that much then," he replies, feigning hurt. "I tossed and turned all night in my big, empty bed without you."

"Really?"

"No," he grins, and she laughs. "Actually it was great, having all that space and no one to steal the covers."

"I do not steal covers!"

"You did, literally every night. I kept having to unroll you from the little cocoon you'd made yourself."

"Why didn't you say something?" she asks, amused.

"What difference would it make? You're unconscious, you can't help it. And besides, you're so cute all wrapped up."

"Ugh. Who wants to be cute?"

But she loves it, and they both know it.

They make plans to speak again later and Fitz fills the next few hours on the phone to Cyrus and his various project managers, in lieu of his usual Monday meetings. He calls a few clients, answers some emails, and before he knows it Annabel is arriving home with Holly and Sophie.

"My three favorite girls," he says warmly, mentally adding Olivia as a fourth as he clears his laptop and paperwork from the kitchen table. Annabel, blonde hair falling messily from its ponytail, takes off her gilet and muddy wellington boots by the door. She co-owns a riding center with her sister and brings the familiar smell of horses into the house with her, taking Fitz right back to his childhood on the ranch. He only ever rides when he's here or visiting his father, and is really looking forward to going with her tomorrow.

"You can stay more often, Fitz. I haven't been called a girl in years - unless it's 'Old Girl', of course." She rolls her eyes at her husband's affectionate nickname as she comes over to give him her customary kiss on each cheek. "How was your day? I'm so sorry we had to leave you here alone when you've come all this way to see us. We've got two stable hands off sick so it's super busy I'm afraid, and Mark is really under pressure with this church renovation. One of his junior architects just isn't pulling her weight, but at least he's managed to negotiate Wednesday off to spend with you."

"How far away is America?" Sophie chimes in, climbing onto the chair beside him before he can tell Annabel that he really doesn't mind.

"Really far," her sister replies solemnly. "Like, a hundred thousand miles."

Fitz chuckles. "Not quite so far - that's four times around the planet. It's closer to three thousand miles. Do you have a world map? I can show you."

He lets Holly point out New York and shows the girls how to use the scale and a ruler to calculate distances. They spend a while doing this, planning amazing adventures to Antarctica and Australia to see penguins and kangaroos. When the girls reluctantly leave to do their homework, Annabel makes a pot of tea and tells him the same thing she always does: "You're so good with them, Fitz. They really love you."

And it's usually followed by an unspoken question, because they've been friends for long enough: When are you going to have one?

Except this time, she knows the answer won't be anytime soon because he told them both about the divorce last night. Mark was surprised; Annabel not so much. She and Mellie were always civil but Fitz is well aware they would never have been friends if their husbands weren't. Looking back over the years, it seems so obvious now that Mellie wasn't right for him. Whereas Olivia… She would fit perfectly, even in this old farmhouse kitchen with her designer clothes and perfectly manicured nails, because she's warm, and lovely, and funny. She's the antithesis of his wife and he's just dying to tell his hosts about her, about how he's met his soulmate. But he's managed to hold his tongue so far - it's not just his secret to share, and she has far more at stake than him.

"So now what?" Annabel asks. "Are you going to sell your house and buy somewhere else?"

"I guess so." He hasn't really had chance to consider it - he's been far too busy making love to another woman. That thought, the memories it invokes, makes him shift in his chair. "It depends on the divorce settlement, but I'm hoping we can split our assets equally. I'm a little concerned that Mel has an unfair advantage over me, being a lawyer herself."

"I'm sure you can find someone just as good to represent you." She looks at him like she's trying really hard to see beneath the surface. "You sound like you're taking this all in your stride. Are you really okay?"

He smiles. "Come on, Annie. You don't have to pretend anymore. We both know what she was really like. Sure, it's a huge change and I won't ever be proud of the fact that I've had a failed marriage. But I really am okay. I don't love her, and I don't know her well enough anymore to miss her."

"I just… can't imagine it." She looks around the kitchen, at the walls covered in the kids' artwork, at the years of family memories etched into every inch of this house. He feels it every time he comes here: this is a place filled with love. Whereas his and Mellie's brownstone back in New York has never felt the warmth he's always craved. "I can't imagine ever having to move, to separate all those years of togetherness into two sets of cardboard boxes."

Fitz shrugs, sipping his tea. "We've lived different lives for a long time. You and Mark were so lucky, meeting each other so young and making it work."

"You'll find someone else," she says, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, and he can't help but smile to himself. If only she knew.

Mark arrives home after five and Annabel insists on cooking so the men can continue to catch up over a beer on the patio, enjoying the evening sunshine.

"This is the life," Fitz sighs, reclining in his chair and stretching out his legs. The house is on the edge of the village with absolutely stunning views across the countryside. "Maybe I should move here."

"You say that every year," his friend chuckles, "And yet you always return to New York. You love that city."

"I do." But his mind is on Vermont, on a big house like this where it's Olivia sitting beside him, their children bouncing on the trampoline at the end of the garden.

"We need to come and visit you," Mark goes on. "It's almost five years since we last flew over."

He has Fitz's attention again. "Really? My god, time flies. Sophie was so little she probably doesn't even remember."

"And yet her running around Macys completely naked and weeing in the middle of the men's clothing department is forever etched into our memories."

They laugh. "One to bring up at her wedding," Fitz suggests.

"Oh, definitely. Although she's never, ever getting married. She's going to be my baby girl forever."

They both gaze at Mark's daughters, their squeals of laughter filling the warm air as they run around, and it's moments like these when Fitz feels desperately, achingly sad that he isn't a father too; that his life isn't filled with this same, unparalleled joy.

But when his friend speaks again, he echoes Fitz's next thoughts exactly: "At least you and Mellie don't have to worry about kids in your divorce." Their eyes meet and Mark looks a little guilty. "Is that a terrible thing to say?"

"No, not at all." And it's not, because they've been friends for almost twenty years and because he's absolutely right. "That would have been awful."

"You know, every time you called in the last few years, part of me was always expecting you to say Mellie was pregnant."

Fitz is surprised. "Really?" He leans in closer, although the girls are already out of earshot. "You have to be having sex to get pregnant."

Mark laughs briefly, but he's serious again when he says: "I didn't realize you'd been having problems for that long."

"We got good at pretending," Fitz shrugs. "And then the pretend became real."

They both sip their beers in silence for a few moments, absorbing his words. "In that case, I'm glad you're moving on," Mark says eventually. "You deserve to be happy. You'll find someone else in no time - you've barely aged since we were at uni. Now that is because you don't have kids: you have the luxury of free time to go to the gym, to keep yourself looking sickeningly toned and handsome; to have mani-pedis or whatever you metropolitan guys do."

Fitz can't help but laugh. "For the record, I have never had manicure. And you were a metropolitan guy too, once upon a time. Working in the city, living in Kensington-"

"-In that ridiculously tiny flat because it's all we could afford, but we thought the postcode was worth it. Annie had to climb over me to get out of bed because the room wasn't big enough to have space on both sides. I got offered my first job in Oxford the same day she found out she was pregnant with Holly - I still don't think I've ever seen her cry so much."

"And look at you now." Fitz gestures to their beautiful country home.

"What, mortgaged up to my eyeballs and growing a dad-bod by the day?" He considers his friend. "How did we end up so different? I always thought our lives would play out the same way."

"You married the right girl," Fitz says simply, "And I didn't."

And that doesn't hurt half as much as it should because he knows now that his life is only just beginning. "You should come visit at Christmas," he continues, changing the topic - this reminiscing it getting a bit deep for two middle-aged guys. "I'll be settled in somewhere new by then."

"Mum and Dad would kill me if I tried to take the girls away for Christmas," Mark admits with a wry grin. "Maybe the Easter holidays instead?"

"Great. I'll pencil it in."

Mark laughs. "Sometimes I forget just how American you are."

"What, the accent doesn't give it away?"

"Of course. But I bet you don't actually own a pencil - it's only us architects who use such prehistoric tools these days."

"I barely use a pen," Fitz confesses. "I just type everything. Or I dictate, and my secretary types."

Mark rolls his eyes. "The lifestyles of the rich and famous."

"The grass is always greener, buddy." And yet, for the first time in a long time, he doesn't actually think it is. Ten days ago he would have given anything to switch places with his friend: to have a wife he adores, two amazing kids - a perfect picture of family life. But now there's nothing he wants more than to be with Olivia: to learn her inside out; to let her fill up his life with her laughter, her radiance, her light.

He wants to be able to call his friend one day, in the not too-distant future, and say: "I found her. The right girl."


It's the middle of the night when Olivia's phone rings. She's momentarily disorientated, dreaming she's still at the fundraiser, and doesn't even look at the screen before answering. "Hello?"

"Oh... hey. It's me. Shit, I didn't think you'd answer."

"Fitz? What time is it?"

"About… four AM, your time. I'm so sorry Livvie, I assumed your phone would be on silent. I wanted to leave a voicemail."

She switches on the bedside lamp and sits up, brushing her hair out of her face. Her momentary shock at being woken up from such a deep sleep is fading and instead of being pissed off, she's excited to get to talk to him again. 'Smitten' just doesn't cover it. "Well I'm awake now. You can tell me instead."

"I've just been online, browsing photos of you from the gala last night. Baby, you looked sensational. You are so sexy; I'm getting hard again just thinking about you in that dress."

"Fitz!" She can feel herself blushing… and becoming aroused. "Where are you?"

"Don't worry, I'm in my room and home alone." There's a pause as he lets that sink in. "How was the evening?"

"Great." But she's distracted, and she knows he knows it. "I took Quinn, we had fun. And we raised a lot of money and awareness, which is the main thing."

"I beg to differ," he says, and his voice is even deeper now than usual. "The main thing is you, looking like that. I wish I could've been there."

That's the same thought she'd had all night long. Because she did try to have fun, but she really wanted him there beside her.

"You would have blown our cover straight away," she says, teasing him. "We can't go to events until you've learned to control the way you look at me. And your wandering hands."

"And my erections."

She would laugh, but she's suddenly burning up for him. "Fitz…"

He groans. "I love it when you breathe my name like that. Say it again."

"Fitz."

He has such power over her: his voice alone can turn her on beyond belief. And the thought of him getting so aroused by her, halfway across the world, has her whole body thrumming with desire.

"Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you're wearing."

She's never had phone sex before but she doesn't even pause. "My I heart London t-shirt. And some tiny lacy panties. They're…" She looks down to check. "Pale blue, with a white bow." And her fingers stay there, lightly stroking the material, making herself moan. "They feel so soft."

Fitz's breathing is heavy. "Jesus, Livvie. Are you touching yourself?"

"Yes. I'm so horny… so wet already."

He groans again and she lies back, putting her phone on speaker next to her head on the pillow. She uses her free hand to take hold of her breast, squeezing the tight, aching flesh. "My nipples are hard," she murmurs, brushing over each one in turn with her thumb, whimpering as fire shoots through her belly. "Feels so good, when I touch them."

"Oh baby." He sounds like a starving man who's finally been given food: desperate and ravenous. "I'm so fucking hard for you. I can see you naked: every glorious inch of you. I'm imagining it's your hand on me, not mine."

She sits up briefly to pull off her t-shirt, to get rid of her underwear. "I'm naked now," she breathes, settling back down again, drawing circles on her clit which in turn draws moans from her throat. "Your hand is holding my boob," she says breathlessly, her eyes closed, and he's almost there beside her.

"My fingers inside you," he continues for her and she follows his instructions with a gasp, her back arching off the bed.

"Ohh."

"They're alternating between fucking you and rubbing your swollen clit."

And they are - and it's heavenly.

"Fuck," she whispers, rolling each nipple between her thumb and index finger. Her orgasm is fast approaching, making her toes curl. "Are you-?"

"Yes," he grunts, and she can hear the quick movements of his hand; his rapid, shallow breaths. "So close."

"I'm gonna come," she pants, as every sensation converges at the apex of her thighs and then explodes with a helpless cry, blackness consuming her for several seconds.

"Fuck, baby. Fuck."

She loves that he swears when he comes, all guttural and uninhibited, just like she loves everything else about him.

They stay on the line, breathing hard together. "I can't believe that just happened," she mutters eventually and he laughs.

"The miseducation of Olivia Pope."

"Mm."

"I need to clean up," he sighs. "And you need to sleep."

"I was trying, before somebody woke me up." But she's not mad - how could she possibly be, after that?

"Same again tomorrow?" he asks cheekily and she laughs.

"No, Fitz. We should wait until Friday. Only three days now - you'll live."

"I don't think I can, without you."

She's quiet for a moment, absorbing the sincerity of his words and the warm feeling they give her. "I can't wait to see you."

She can hear the smile in his voice: "I can't either. Goodnight, gorgeous."

"Night."

Friday cannot come soon enough.


"So, tell me about this mystery guy. I want every single detail."

She's having dinner with Abby at their favorite Vietnamese restaurant. "No. I don't want to say too much too soon."

"Why not?"

"Because…" She sighs, looking around to check they're not being overheard. "He's married."

She hasn't felt as guilty about that as she should, because Fitz is far too consuming for her to think rationally around him. Stephen was okay with it but she needs to hear what Abby thinks, to get another perspective from someone she trusts - even though it could never change the way she feels.

"Liv! What?" She looks stunned. "You've been sleeping with a married man?"

"Yes, but keep your voice down." Olivia takes a drink of water. "He left his wife a month before we met. It was already over."

"And he told you that, did he? And you believe him?"

She's never doubted him. "Yeah, I do."

Abby is staring at her and she blinks when Olivia stares back. "Sorry, Liv. I'm just shocked. I mean, I've dated my fair share of bad guys and I've had that line used on me before, only to find out the truth later on."

"I know. But he's different."

Her friend looks skeptical. "Okay. Well, don't say I didn't warn you if he turns out to be just another lying asshole."

"Abby! Why are you being so rude? You don't even know him."

"But I do know men, Liv; a lot more of them than you do."

"So, what, your judgement is better than mine?"

Abby opens her mouth to speak but manages to stop herself before the words come out, and Olivia knows exactly what she was going to say.

"Seriously? You were about to bring up Edison?"

In her defense, Abby has the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"And I've learned from what happened. You should be happy I'm finally moving on."

"I am." She puts her hand on Olivia's forearm who tenses at the contact. "Liv, listen to me. I want you to be happy - you deserve it, more than anyone else I know. I just don't want you getting hurt again. Surely you can see why I'm concerned?"

She sighs, squeezing Abby's hand, because her friend is right. It's so easy to lose track of reality when she's totally wrapped up in Fitz. "Yeah, I can. I'm sorry too." They share a smile. "Thank you for looking out for me. But I trust him, Abs. He's really opened up to me. It feels like we've known each other forever; like we're… soulmates."

Damn it, she's said too much already. "Seriously? Okay, you have to tell me more now. You can't just drop that bombshell and move on."

"What do you wanna know?" she asks warily.

"How old is he?"

"Forty."

"What? Jeez." It takes Abby a moment to recover from that. "But he's a hot forty though, right?"

"Oh yeah," she grins, picturing his beautiful face, his ripped body. "He's in Greek god territory."

"Wow. Okay, what does he do?"

"He runs an international charitable organization."

"Which one?"

Olivia laughs. "Nice try, Whelan. You're not getting that out of me because then Google will lead you straight to his door."

The inquisition continues a while longer, although she gives little else away. "When can I meet him?" Abby asks, and that's something she'd been wondering about herself.

"I don't know. It's my birthday meal the weekend after next and I would like him to be there."

"So bring him. And you may as well tell me who he is now, if we're gonna meet so soon anyway."

Olivia eyes her. "You're probably right. But London was this amazing bubble and I don't know what it will be like back here."

"Liv, if you think he's your soulmate then it'll be exactly the same. Soulmates don't abide by geographical boundaries."

She smiles as she lets that idea sink in, hoping beyond hope that her friend is right. "Just… give me a little more time. He's flying home on Thursday night and we're spending the weekend together. Maybe then I'll introduce you… I'm just terrified of what might happen if the media find out, so we're gonna have to see each other in secret until he's divorced."

"I won't tell anyone, you know that."

"I know. But I'm not ready to be labelled a home-wrecker and have my career ruined when it's only just beginning."

Abby looks sympathetic. "Okay." She picks up her glass and offers a toast: "To your mystery man, whoever he may be."

To Fitz, Olivia silently clarifies. My soulmate.


She makes it through Wednesday and Thursday, moving between local council meetings, event planning with her organization and a UN committee conference on the latest WHO report about the state of America's women's health. She's busy long into the evenings which is good because it gives her less time to pine for him; less time to dwell on the realization that she's already forgotten how to be alone.

Fitz calls at lunchtime on Thursday when he's at the airport and they talk for almost an hour, sharing every detail the other has missed out on since they last spoke. Even though she knows she has things to do, she doesn't let him hang up until his flight is ready for boarding. "I'll see you tomorrow evening," he says, and his voice holds a thousand promises she can't wait to explore.

"You have my address?"

"Yes, and I'll be there to pick you up at six o'clock sharp. You'd better be ready for me."

"Oh, I will be mister," she says playfully.

"See you very soon, Livvie."

"Have a safe flight, baby. I'm so excited to see you."

"Me too."

As it turns out, she's so excited she's still awake that night at eleven thirty, knowing that his plane has just landed. They'd arranged to meet the following day because it's so late and he's bound to be exhausted, but knowing that he's in the same city as her and given how much she's missed him every minute of every day… she picks up her phone and calls him.

"Hi."

"Hi. I'm still awake."

"I can tell." He sounds really tired and all of a sudden she feels shy - what if he turns her down?

"Do you… want to come and sleep over here?"

But there's no hesitation: "Yes."

"Really?"

"Olivia, there's nothing I want more right now than to hold you… and then fall asleep."

She giggles, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I'll pick up my cases and get a cab over."

"Okay," she breathes, filled with anticipation.

"Okay," he echoes, a smile in his voice which she can't wait to finally see in person once again.

The half hour wait for him to arrive is spent re-tidying her already-spotless apartment and trying not to freak out at the fact he's about to walk into her home: the center of her life. He'll drink coffee from the mugs her lips have touched a thousand times; see her laundry hanging out to dry, her tampons in the bathroom cabinet. She's never brought a guy back to her place so soon, but then again she's never felt this sure until now; she's never dated Fitzgerald Grant before.

She phones the concierge and asks him to let Fitz up to her floor, safe in the knowledge that several of her neighbors are celebrities and the staff are bound by non-disclosure agreements. And then she sits on the edge of her bed and she waits for that knock on the door; for the man of her dreams to reappear in her reality…

… Five minutes later, he's there.

All six feet and one inch of him, dressed in jeans and a sweater with his curls a little messy, and he looks tired and happy and absolutely like everything she's ever wanted in her entire life. He closes the door behind him and drops his bags to the floor, not taking his eyes off of her.

"Hi," he says, and he really is right there in front of her - at last.

"Hi."

Her voice is full of emotions she can barely name and she takes his hand because if she kisses him here, in the hallway, that's where they'll spend the night. She guides him to her bedroom, uninterested in giving him a tour right now. All she wants is his body on hers, his mouth on her skin, his heart beating against her chest. And whether they have sex or whether he goes straight to sleep, it doesn't matter: she just wants all of him, in every way, forever.

He pauses at the threshold and as she continues forwards their fingers slide gently apart, holding on to each other until the last possible moment. She kneels in the middle of the bed and looks at him as his arm falls slowly back to his side, telling him with her eyes that this is her, and she's his, and he can have everything.

"Welcome home," she says softly.

It takes him less than a second to go to her.

And it is home, for them both.