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Chapter 13: Rendezvous

And I'd fall at your feet
And I'd howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I'd claw at your heart
And I'd tear at your sheet
I'd say please, please
I'm your man

I'm your man - Leonard Cohen

"IT'S A PLEASURE to meet you, Miss Ferrari," I was greeted by a very welcoming tall middle-aged man soon after I put a foot on the airstrip at Heathrow airport.

"Please, call me Olivia," I smiled, "and you are?"

"Roger, I'll be driving you today," he said shaking my hand before taking my suitcase, "please let me help you with that, the car is over there."

Roger opened the back door of a black Range Rover that was parked near the area where the private plane I arrived in landed. Harry even arranged that a customs officer went into the aircraft. I wasn't sure if I felt like royalty or a very high profile prostitute. Either way, he was accomplishing the 'two hundred percent low key' policy. I clicked my seat belt and switched my phone on to quickly inform Harry that I had landed.

"Excuse me, Roger?" I asked as soon as he sat on the driver's seat, "could you tell me where we are heading to?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry Miss Olivia, but Mr. Styles specifically requested that I avoided giving you that information under any circumstance."

"It's okay, Roger, don't worry." It was worth trying.

"It shouldn't be more than an hour and a half drive Miss," that could probably give someone a hint of the final location, it didn't help me.

I sighed and looked out of the window as we left the airport behind. I smiled thinking that two days ago I was certain that I wasn't coming over. It took Harry several phone calls to finally convince me, and honestly, I needed some time away from home. The ten days before that were interesting to say the less. I stopped counting how many times I tried to contact Matt after he found Harry at my house. He wouldn't answer the phone or my messages, which left me wondering where we stood. Nick didn't mention the issue, so I figured he hadn't told him. Everything was so quiet that it seemed like the calm before the storm.

Harry left the morning after that incident to catch his flight back to London. Things were awkward at first, but he managed to cheer me up pretending nothing had happened. Two days after that he sent me an email with flight details and a list of things I should pack that included a swimsuit, workout clothes, and a coat. He also warned me that there was no reception or WiFi in our mysterious destination ( that apparently was situated in 1986). The thought of him kidnapping me to sell my organs was swiftly replaced by the certainty that traveling was the worst idea I could have. He spent the next week insisting until he, obviously, ended up convincing me to come.

I didn't tell anyone I was leaving, though. Not even my friends or Nick. I made up a story and said I was renting a house in the Hamptons to catch up on my script reading and that I wasn't taking my phone. This was the first time I was consciously meeting Harry, in a previously arranged date kind of thing. I wasn't ready to admit that to anyone, mainly since in less than a month he was going on a world tour and probably forgetting about me. This trip was essentially a sweet farewell to a memorable fling.

My phone started ringing half an hour after leaving the airport. I dug in my purse, and when I finally found it, I realized it was Harry. My heart jumped.

"Mr. Styles," I said faking a British accent.

"I reckon we'll have to work on that accent, Liv," he snorted loudly before kindly asking, "how was your flight?"