British Rose

Prologue

After returning from Barcelona, Charlotte fell back into her usual routine pretty quickly. Her college courses resumed a week after the trip and she was inundated with assignments.

Harry and her texted occasionally and he always sent her photos of the venue he was playing or the outfit he would wear that night. He also kept his promise about the postcards.

The fridge of her shared apartment was already half-covered in them.

When her roommate had asked one day who they were from, Charlotte tried to brush it off with "A friend." Deep down, it hurt her to say that. He wasn't a friend. But Giovanna was not the person to talk to about that, they weren't that close yet. Four months of living together was not enough for Charlotte to bare her soul. Maybe one day.

Although they texted each other quite frequently (not every day, two times a week was the rhythm they had somehow settled on), neither had brought up the topic of when they would be able to see each other again.

It is what it is, Charlotte said to herself every time the sadness burned in her chest. She was content they had stayed in contact.

About a month after Barcelona, Charlotte returned home from her new job at an ice-cream-parlor/café, exhausted from being on her feet for 11 hours and constantly surrounded by people. But the pay was better than at the craft's shop, she would get used to the hours.

She was very much looking forward to a quiet night in, maybe some yoga, wine and a movie.

Giovanna had texted her earlier that she would be out clubbing with some friends and come home late (or rather early).

A wave of relief had washed over Charlotte. The apartment to herself was just what she needed after that day.

She went straight to her bedroom, changed into her yoga clothes, then bathroom to take the makeup off.

Entering the kitchen, her gaze fell on the wooden table in the middle of the room.

A single envelope, in the middle of the table. Giovanna must have put it there.

Charlotte approached the table and picked it up.

It was addressed to her. The paper was heavy, the kind you have to buy in stationery shops.

There was no sender on it, but when Charlotte recognized the handwriting, her heartbeat immediately picked up and her hands started shaking.

Inside were a VIP-Ticket to Harry's last show at the Forum in LA, a plane ticket from Heathrow to LAX. And a handwritten note on the same type of expensive paper as the envelope it came in.

Come see me?

xx H