Harry & Catalina's paths align as they make their own individual journey of healing. Both grieving the loss of parents, they travel to fulfill the dream road trip their parents never got to have.
The final destination, Italy.
Songs for the chapter: You Could Start A Cult — Niall Horan (a * in the chapter will tell you when to start playing it. TRUST ME YOU WANT TO.)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
📍 Brussels — 2020
Harry's vanilla scent engulfed my senses as he pressed my back against his chest, his hand covering my eyes as we walked up to the front door of our home here in Brussels.
"Harry, I hate not being able to see where I'm going," I pouted, my voice whiny, making Harry laugh.
"Catalina, I've been looking forward to this moment, please let me have it," he said close to my ear, his breath causing chills down my spine.
"Fine," I said, still pouting. We walked forward a bit more, before finally stopping.
"Keep your eyes closed, promise?" He said and I nodded.
"Yes, yes I promise."
I felt his hand slip off my face, feeling him walking around and standing next to me, "Okay, open your eyes."
I opened my eyes, gasping, my jaw dropping, "Harry..." I turned to face him then back to the stone house covered in ivy. It was huge, two stories, blended into beautiful bouts of green bushes and trees. It wasn't anything like I could have ever gotten myself this trip, "Is this real?"
Laughter spilled from him, echoing against the emptiness of the area we were in, "And this isn't even the main surprise, come on." He took my hand in his, linking our fingers, pulling me through the door. We rushed in, the entire back wall being giant window panels letting in the most beautiful light. Through them I could see a barn-like structure in the back, my eyes squinting to try and get a better view.
"What's back there?" I said, turning to him, our hands still tightly linked.
"Why don't you go find out," he smiled, letting go of my hand as I narrowed my eyes at him. I walked to the kitchen, finding the door that led out to the spacious backyard, if you could even call it that. It just seemed like land that let the house occupy its space.
I made my way over to the building, double doors painted different shades of tan, seemed to call out to me as my pace picked up. Reaching the doors, I pushed both open and stopped in my tracks, my hands coming to quickly cover my mouth. Large windows again lined the area, buckets holding paint brushes and giant easels could be seen spread throughout. As I approached the back tables and shelves nestled in a corner, I saw acrylics, watercolors and oil paints. There was cleaning mediums, paint thinners, sketching pencils
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
