Italy In The Spring [h.s]

22

Harry's P.O.V

My blood runs cold and I swear I stop breathing for a few moments.

"What did Timothée do?"

Her curious eyes peer up at me with the moonlight reflecting off the soft green of her irises, waiting for me to tell her whatever awful thing he's done. I can tell she doesn't think it's as bad as what it is. She probably thinks it's something minor, but nothing near what he's actually done.

"Please," she whispers, her warm smell of flowers and honey engulfing me in a thick blanket of emotions. "I want to know. I know I didn't before, but I think it's time."

Words seem stuck in my throat and I feel frozen to the ground, unable to move or say anything. And all she does is look at me with a mixture of curiosity and hurt flashing behind her eyes. As if she's finally realizing it's worse than what she thought it was.

I shake my head and force myself to look away, "Rora, baby. I don't think it's my place to tell you."

"Why not?" She sits up and grabs my hands in hers. "I want to know now. Please, Harry."

"It's not my place, baby," I sigh and look down again. "As much as I want to, I can't. It's not something for me to tell and I'm not the one you should hear it from. I'm sorry, my love."

A soft sigh leaves her full lips and her shoulders drop the slightest bit, "It's okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you."

"Hey, hey, hey, Flower baby," my heart swells with pain and sympathy from the look in her eyes. I immediately pull her into my lap, hugging her tightly in my arms. "Don't think about that right now, yeah? We can worry about these things tomorrow. Let's enjoy right now."

Aurora settles herself deeper into my arms, nuzzling her nose into the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. "My mom thinks you're handsome," she mumbles into my neck, tilting her head back to stare up at me with those addicting eyes of hers.

"Does she?" I smile while keeping my eyes locked with hers, getting lost over and over again in the stars that shine back at me. "What about her daughter? Does she think I'm handsome too?"

She glances hesitantly around her and peeks over my shoulder, a giggle bubbling from my lips as I watch her look around before she leans closer to me and places her lips beside my ear, "Her daughter thinks you're pretty hot. But you didn't hear it from me."

My smile grows and happiness swells inside my chest, staring down at her with the purest form of love I can muster. Just trying to show her exactly how much she means to me. How much I love her. That I'm in love with her.

My Flower angel. My Rora.

Something shifts in her eyes and she takes my hand in hers, placing it on her cheek while dancing her fingers across the back of my hand. "Yes. I'm yours, my pretty Capolavoro," she whispers softly. "Your Flower. Your Rora."

"I said that out loud?"

She laughs and buries her face into my neck once again, squeezing me tightly in her arms and melting into me all at once. "Il mio ragazzo sciocco. Sei perfetto," Rora whispers, warm breath fanning across my neck.

My heart melts from the soft sound of her voice speaking Italian. "Ma petite fille. Je t'aime tellement que ça fait mal," I murmur into her hair before raking my fingers through it. The silky soft strands glide easily between my fingers, moonbeams bouncing off of her chestnut hair and turning it a soft auburn color.

I start thinking about what our life may be like in the future. Having her hand in mine always and forever. Being able to know that I'm coming home to the love of my life each and every day, waking up to see her face every morning. Knowing I'll always have my muse right there beside me.