The moment I open my eyes, I know it's early. A quick glance at my phone on the bedside table confirms it—5:42 AM. I don't know why, but I've never been able to sleep comfortably in hotel rooms, no matter how luxurious they are. Maybe it takes time for me to adjust to a new environment.

But what I don't need time to adjust to is the feeling of being with Harry again.

Last night was familiar, effortless—like picking up a favorite book and flipping straight to the part that makes your heart race. It felt like a glorious sunset and a calming sunrise all at once. The way we touched, the way we fit together, the way we lost ourselves in each other—it was overwhelming.

Looking at him now, sleeping so peacefully, is one of my favorite things. His long hair is a perfect mess, framing his face like a masterpiece. His features are relaxed, serene. His eyelashes, long and heavy, rest against his cheeks, carrying dreams I hope are beautiful. And his lips—God, his lips. The ones guilty of making me moan his name, the ones that melted against mine just hours ago—still pout slightly, even in sleep.

I chuckle softly, careful not to wake him.

"You mean so much to me, Ella."
"I missed you."
"I missed us."
"Baby, you feel so good."
"You are so much more beautiful than I remember."
"I don't want this to fucking end."

The words he whispered last night echo in my mind, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

I was never one for dirty talk—it makes me feel out of place—but hearing it from Harry, the way he expressed how much he wanted me, how much I still meant to him... God, I'd be lying if I said I didn't love every second of it.

I extend my hand and gently brush back a few stray curls, my fingers tracing his skin. I press a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of bed, wrapping myself in my silk robe.

The city outside is waking up, the sun painting soft golden strokes across Florence's buildings, caressing trees, benches, and the cobbled streets below.

And all I can think about is how much I envy it.

Florence—the abstract lover that stole my man.

I try to shift my focus, opening my laptop to review my notes for today's interview. But no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep drifting back to him.

I sigh, grabbing a glass of water and returning to the window. I take a slow sip, lost in thought, when his voice startles me.

"Baby?"

I turn toward the bed, finding him watching me, his voice laced with sleep.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing up? It's early, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Almost six."

"Come back to bed." He stretches out his arm, reaching for me.

"Okay."

I slip off my robe and slide back into his embrace, his warmth enveloping me.

"Ella?" he murmurs, his voice still heavy with sleep.

"Yes, Harry?"

I kiss his palm as he cradles my hand in his.

"Does this mean Jimmy is going to punch me when he sees me?" he asks with a groggy chuckle.

I smirk. "Most probably."

He laughs louder this time, the sound vibrating against my skin.

"Can I ask you something?" he pushes me gently so I'm facing him.

"Anything."

"Why are you here?"

I inhale deeply. "Because I couldn't stay away any longer. When I was given this opportunity, I knew I had to see you again."

His brow furrows slightly. "And what does that mean now?"

I hesitate. "I honestly don't know. I looked at schools here, but I haven't found anything. So I guess... I'm going back."

Something shifts in his expression. "I could come back."

My chest tightens. "Harry, I love you. I never stopped. You mean the world to me. But I won't let you do that."

His jaw clenches slightly.

"You came here for a year, but there was always a possibility of renewal. I won't be the reason you throw this away."

He doesn't respond immediately, just studies me like he's trying to etch me into his memory.

Then, barely a whisper—"You love me? Still?"

I nod. "Never stopped. You ruined men for me, you goof. No one compares."

His smile slowly spreads across his face. "I love you too, Ella."

"You do?"

"I don't think I ever stopped, either."

His fingers trail along my skin, his voice turning soft, sweet.

"When I saw Chase in that photo, I saw red."

I smirk. "Imagine what I felt when Nadine opened the door to your apartment."

"My poor baby." He leans in, kissing me tenderly. But beneath the honey-dripped kisses, the dull ache remains, reminding me that we are on borrowed time.

"Ella?"

"Yeah?"

His face grows serious. "I need to tell you something."

A small pit forms in my stomach. "Okay..."

"I haven't exactly been..." He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck.

I force a weak smile. "I know. I figured as much."

A flicker of pain crosses his face. "Have you?"

I shake my head.

His eyes darken. "Baby, we agreed not to keep in touch because it would be harder, but... you never called."

I swallow thickly. "Harry, it's okay. We weren't together."

His body tenses. "They didn't mean anything."

"It's okay." I try to reassure him, sensing the guilt rolling off him in waves.

"They?" I quirk an eyebrow, teasing despite the ache in my chest.

His expression falls. "Ella." His voice pleads for understanding, for forgiveness.

And I give it. How could I not?

I smirk, nudging him. "You know what? Jimmy is going to punch you so hard. And you're going to love it."

His laugh rumbles through the room, breaking the tension like the sun melting away the frost.

And just like that, we slip back into each other's orbit.

The kisses start slow, but the fire ignites instantly. Within minutes, the space between us disappears, bodies entwining, hearts colliding, skin against skin—like we never lost each other. Like we never let go.

Like we were never apart.

"Seeing you in action kinda turned me on a bit," Harry smirks as we share a taxi back to my hotel.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"When you went all fashion journalist on Alessandro," he grins. "Asking about lines and muses and inspirations and fabrics and patterns—I swear, I almost pushed Alessandro out of the way just to have you right then and there on that floor."

I scoff. "And who told you I would have wanted that?"

He scratches his head dramatically, pretending to be in deep thought. "Hmm... maybe the fact that you were literally drooling while Tony was fitting the new line on me? Oh! And let's not forget the little detail that I made you come numerous times last night and this morning."

"Shut up!" I swat his arm playfully, my cheeks heating up.

"What?" he grins, feigning innocence.

"Stop it! And I was not drooling."

"But I did make you come numerous times?" He winks.

I roll my eyes. "'Numerous' is a big number, Harry."

His smirk grows. "Big, huh? Any reason you chose that word specifically? Your subconscious trying to tell you something?"

"Harryyyyy."

"What? I'm just saying—"

"Oh my God, Harry." I clutch my stomach, my laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

"Oh my God, Harry," he mimics in a high-pitched voice. "I rest my case, Ella. Your subconscious is screaming at you."

"Stop!" I gasp, barely able to breathe.

"I thought it was Don't stop, Harry. Don't you dare stop," he teases, waggling his eyebrows.

Wait. Did I actually say that? I don't think I did... but...

I groan, hiding my face in my hands. "God, I hope the taxi driver doesn't speak English."

"I do," the driver replies in a thick Italian accent, pressing on the d like his life depends on it.

I freeze.

Harry, of course, is thoroughly enjoying my mortification. "You do now, huh?" He leans forward toward the driver, way too entertained by my suffering. "Tell me, don't you think she's crazy about me?"

"Pazzo di me," he adds in Italian.

The driver doesn't even blink. "I do."

"No, no, that's not fair!" I protest, deciding to play along now that I've already lost my dignity. These moments are all I have left to take home with me, and I'm determined to savor every second.

"Sir, don't you think he's crazy about me? Loco para mí!" I counter, pointing at myself dramatically.

Harry snorts. "Baby, that was Spanish. Bad Spanish."

"Excuse me, Mr. I Speak a Gazillion Languages," I huff, and that's the first time the driver actually smiles.

"I do," he says again.

Harry's grin widens. "You do what?"

The driver glances at me through the mirror before answering. "I think he is crazy for you. Completamente innamorato."

I turn to Harry, curious. "What did he say?" I whisper.

Harry's eyes soften as he leans in closer. "He said... I'm completely in love with you."

Before I can even react, his hands cup my face, and he kisses me noisily, laughing into my mouth before licking my cheek just to piss me off.

"Gross! Harryyyyyy!" I shove at his chest, but I'm giggling too hard to sound convincing.

"Completamente innamorato," the taxi driver repeats, chuckling as we reach my hotel.

I tip him generously, but the second my feet touch the pavement, my heart sinks.

The laughter, the teasing, the butterflies—soon, it will all turn to heartbreak.

The clock is ticking, and I know all too well that this bliss is only temporary.