One Journey, the Final

Chapter 37:

Over a blur of days, things quickly became repetitive and similar. Each morning I would wake up, see Big Ben, turn and see Harry smiling at me. I would clamber out of bed and eat an English muffin while sitting in Harry's lap. Afterwards we would probably see what's on TV or take showers. I'd change into a dress, and we'd do whatever activity we had planned for the day. Honestly there's only so much you can do in London before you just end up walking around pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, or in other cases Harry Potter. But you need glasses for that role, which was something we didn't have on hand. After a few days of being drowned in accents, I started to pick up a version of my own. It didn't sound very well though. Really all you have to do is round your "r" sounds and you can label yourself British.

Realizing that tonight was our last night in the hotel kind of frightened me. After this, it's real life and real marriage. But then again, how "real" can marriage get when you're married to a pop star? About as close as Neptune is from the sun. Marrying Harry, I knew that I would undoubtedly receive a package of four other rambunctious boys without a say in it.

Tonight I stood out on the balcony, a thin blanket wrapped around my arms as wind blew though my hair. Luckily though, no strands had landed in my lip gloss, leaving a gloppy mess. It was just a movie type scene, where the girl stares out into the sunset, thinking of romance and her future. And that's exactly what I was doing right now. A part of me was glad the honeymoon would be over. I was kind of done with the whole fairy tale life. I was ready for the stress and business to start again. Besides, walking around London and seeing all the beautiful buildings had me longing to start up my own architecture business. In my defense, I hadn't looked at a blueprint in about two months, and I was starting to feel a longing to hold a design at my fingertips again. I'm sure there were plenty opportunities to build and design in some remote part of London. Maybe a couple of restaraunt buildings. I don't know. I could start that up, and I suppose set it aside when we started to have kids. But I didn't see that happening for a while. I'm still a child myself. In the distance I could see the last beams of the sun setting behind buildings. The last rays spread and warmed up my surroundings. But darkness started to shadow the area. I walked back inside, to see Harry cooking over a stove. He seemed to be perfectly content there, flipping pancakes and whatever else he was making. I smiled. I tossed to blanket to the couch and walked to the stereo system. I lowly played an all too familiar song that we both knew by heart. Harry however didn't pay much attention to the song. I came up behind him, and wrapped my arms around his waist, swaying the both of us.

"At last," I whispered, not daring to sing along and risk ruining the moment.

"My love has come along," Harry continued. I could see him smiling. He turned around, making sure to turn the stove off, just before he placed a hand on my waist, and the other in my hand. He pulled me close, and we continued to slow dance around the kitchen. He switched the light off, and opened the fridge door, and we continued to dance in the refridgerator light. I nuzzled my head in his shoulder, and he did the same.

"Remember how we met? You were inhaling a brownie," Harry whispered.

"Was not," I scoffed.

"Yes you were. But you were beautiful. The prettiest girl there. And from the moment I saw you pick up that cookie, I was in love with you," he said quietly.

"Well, your breath smelled like tacos. But I did love your accent," I admitted.

"They had a taco bar. I couldn't just stand there and look at it. But you know, that night, I lied down in my bed, clutching your phone number that was scribbled in a napkin, and tried to visualize every aspect of your face. And you were so different. I love you so much." I smiled.

"I honestly didn't think much of it. But I nearly spent that entire night working on the dream home blueprint. I think it was a sign." As the last chords of the song played, Harry sang,

"For you are mine...at last." And the song quietly died out in the London night and our little fridge light.

We stayed dancing for a long time. Before I knew it, it was one o'clock in the morning, and my feet were aching. Harry swept me up into his arms, like the traditional bridal carry, and laid me in bed. My eyes were already shut, my heart rate slowing. The falling sensation you get when you fall asleep was rushing over me. It was beautiful.  Harry crawled in next to me, wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me tightly. He pecked my shoulder, cheek, neck, and whispered in my ear,

"At last."