3rd June 2019
Once the contracts and deeds were signed, funds transferred, keys handed over, and plans approved, the renovations began in earnest.
Unfortunately for Harry, it hadn't all been entirely smooth sailing. He'd received a few worrying phone calls and then, on Thursday, even had to leave a studio session early to dash home for an emergency meeting with the developers.
After Eloise's month away, he's desperately looking forward to her return home early this afternoon, but is definitely not looking forward to one conversation in particular.
Stuck on a call with Jeff and his record label team, just prior to submitting the final album, he hadn't been able to head to Heathrow to pick her up.
Waiting anxiously, his attention is divided; with one ear on Rob Stringer and the marketing team, he keeps a close eye on the time.
>
Hearing a soft cough from behind him, he spins in his desk chair; surprise written across his face.
She's leaning against the open door, offering him a happy, if tired, smile.
With a beaming one in return, he just has the wherewithal to mute his phone as he eagerly waves her over.
Swivelling his chair with his arms open in silent invitation, she wastes no time in dropping on to his lap, draping herself over him.
Raking his curls off his forehead - all soft and springy, she knows he just left them to their own devices after a shower - she casts her eyes over his face, drinking him in.
"Hi!", she whispers brightly.
"Hi!", he grins back, keeping his voice just as soft.
"God, I've missed you".
"Ahh, that's sweet...", he leans forward to drop a kiss to her neck before stretching up to whisper in her ear. "But my fiancée would be pretty pissed to hear that".
Her swat at his arm and epic eye roll break his straight face. Creasing into giggles, he reaches a hand up to rake her hair out of her face, running the silky strands through his fingers. It's growing out now, sitting a couple of inches below her shoulders, but it stills holds the dark rinse from her Knives Out character, Marta.
"I'm kidding! I've really, really missed you, baby... And, for the record, you are also smoking hot as a brunette".
"Don't get used to it", she scoffs quietly. "Ugh, I can't wait to feel like me again!".
"I'll take you any which way I can get, you know that", his lips quirk into a dimpled grin. "But...", he adds, leaning closer and dropping his voice lower, "I'm on mute, why are we whispering?".
With an exasperated shake of her head, she strokes a finger down his sharp jaw before angling it up for a reunion kiss.
But they're soon interrupted. As Jeff repeats his name to direct a question his way, Harry scoots them back around to face the desk so he can reach for his phone.
Folding her long legs up, she snuggles into his lap and drops her head to his chest, eyes closing at the soothing thrum of his heart and the vibration of his chest as he talks.
>
She comes to with him twirling the ends of her hair, peppering kisses to the crown of her head.
Burrowing further into his lap, she checks he's finished the call before mumbling around a yawn. "Sorry... Just need some coffee".
After rubbing her hands over her face she sits up and twists to face him, mustering some energy to give him a full-throttle smile. "Hi!".
She just catches it; the fleeting look in his eye as his own smile falters for just a second.
"What's up?", she puzzles, eyes darting between his.
He grimaces. "I've got something to tell you, but I really don't want to wipe that smile off your face", his shoulders drop defeatedly.
She lifts a finger to smooth the furrow between his brows.
"Oh, God...". Tipping his head back, it's his turn to rub his hands over his face.
Lifting a hand to his chin, she tips his head back down. "H, what is it? You're worrying me".
"You can tell me anything...", she prompts. Trying to quell her rising sense of dread, she's not sure she's ever seen him so sheepish before.
"I'm not sure I can...", he winces. "But I'll show you, come on".
>
Having walked around the corner to the new houses, and donned hard hats and hi-vis vests, Harry squeezes her hand as he leads her through the side gate towards the back garden.
He gestures for her to lead the way and drops his hands to her shoulders as he follows close behind, squeezing gently as she rounds the corner of the house and promptly freezes.
Gasping, she slaps a hand to her mouth, before taking hesitant steps forward, utterly speechless.
During the deep excavation work for the double basement, a pipe was accidentally clipped and the site partially flooded. Heavy machinery was called in to facilitate both the repairs and pumping out the excess water.
To quickly gain access, they'd had no choice but to take down the side fence and go in through the garden. But some unseasonably heavy rain last week meant the lawn had been hugely cut up; no thanks to the deep tire tracks, piles of piping, bags of concrete and steel girders.
That could have all been fixable, but the stone patio is also half dug up, and her beloved wooden archway taken down to allow the machinery room to manoeuvre, with both the rose and wisteria looking very much the worse for wear.
"Oh, my God...", she utters in disbelief after he hastily explains, stepping alongside her to watch her reaction closely. "Will they be able to fix it in time?".
"I don't think so, baby", he sighs lowly, squeezing her hand. "They can't even start trying until the basement walls have dried out and all the machinery leaves site. It's a waiting game; and that alone could take up to eight weeks".
Her face falls; reality sinking in.
"But this house is our forever home. We can't have that on dodgy foundations, right?", he reasons.
"We've bitten off a bit more than we can chew, trying to have it here, in September, haven't we?", she looks at him dejectedly, tugging at her pouting lip.
"A bit ambitious, maybe?", he chuckles softly. "It was worth a shot, but these guys have been killing themselves trying to get it ready on time, and I don't want them cutting any corners in a rushed job". He gestures to the sheepish builders and contractors, giving the pair of them a wide berth.
Stepping in front of her, he intentionally blocks her view of the ruined garden. He shifts, trying to obscure the gaping hole at the bottom of their house behind her head. "I want our wedding to be perfect, I do; but it is just one day. I know your heart's set on it, baby... But is it set on having it here, or having it then more, hmm?", he bends his knees to look her straight in the eye. "We don't need to decide right now. Sleep on it".
"I don't need to", she insists quickly, shaking her head. "I can't bear the thought of waiting, Harry".
In an instant, his frown fades, replaced with a beaming, dimpled grin. "I was really hoping you'd say that! Emma's been looking into venues again... Let's leave these guys to it and go back to the house to check them out".
Eloise pauses to look around again, taking it all in. With a deep breath, she lets out a lingering sigh. "I still absolutely bloody love it though", she smiles up at him.
"Well, I was hoping you'd say that, too!", he laughs. "Come on", he squeezes her hand and tips his head towards the side gate.
>
Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he pulls her close as they walk back down the road. "So, baby, what do you want to do today? I'm all yours".
Reaching up to twine their hands, she mulls over the possibilities for a beat. "Well, after a month rattling around old mansions in rural Massachusetts, wearing the same daggy clothes day in day out... I want to wash Marta out of my hair once and for all, then get dressed up in something fancy, and go out for dinner somewhere with my amazing fiancé". Stretching up, she smacks a kiss low on his check before whispering in his ear, "But, first, I want you... Obviously!".
"You just sort your hair and pick an outfit; leave all the rest to me". In a smooth move, he pivots and bends, folding her over his shoulder before dashing through the gate and straight upstairs.
>
>
10th June 2019
Emma's a wizard.
The following Monday, just a week later, Harry and Eloise head to the airport, off to check out a few shortlisted venues.
They'll spend a night at each, trying them on for size.
Is this the food they want their friends and family to dine on?
The wine they want to toast their future with?
Is this where they want to wake up for the first time as husband and wife?
>
Upon landing, they picked up a rental car. It's not a vintage Ferrari this time either, to his dismay.
With security paramount - Emma had even sent the shortlisted venues NDA's to complete - they need to try to stay under the radar whilst checking out venues, so they settle on a more practical black Mercedes SUV.
Their first stop is a beautiful Castello, in a remote little village on the outskirts of Rome, just beyond Tivoli and its famous gardens.
As they snake their way along the twisting driveway, the rows of perfectly manicured Italian cypress trees eventually part to reveal the majestic medieval castle. Its stormy grey stone facade is in stark contrast with the green and blue hues surrounding it.
Sharing matching, awed expressions, they look around in silent appreciation as Harry parks up.
But they both struggle to keep a straight face when they're greeted by the hotel manager - the most serious older man either has ever met.
Evidently, he takes weddings very seriously. And, indeed, NDAs too; they don't see another soul throughout their tour.
He sombrely leads them through the connecting courtyards and terraces, past the outdoor pool, down to the boathouse.
The grounds are pristine, and beautifully looked after; all manicured lawns, finely tended pot plants and sculpted shrubbery.
After checking out the spa at the old boathouse on the edge of the lake, they circle back to head inside.
It's even more impressive. Through stone hallways and arched doorways, they take in the bar, lounge and restaurant, and even head down to the wine cellars.
It's all certainly grand; filled with dark woods, antique artworks and tapestries, opulent textures and rich colours.
But it's deathly silent; to the extent that it feels a little like a museum.
Having to avoid catching Harry's eye, for fear of breaking into inappropriate giggles, Eloise distracts herself trying to imagine it filled with their friends and family, with laughter and music reverberating off the cold stone walls.
At the end of a long corridor, they arrive at the old banqueting hall, where the wedding ceremonies are held. Panelled with dark wood, with a galleried balcony and intricate detailing, it's dark and intimate.
The manager shows them photos of the room set up with chairs, drapes, flowers and a carpet down the aisle, with soft lighting from hundreds of flickering candles. It's a lot, but no doubt a stunning and incredibly atmospheric space.
As they head up a level, Eloise is wracked with shivers from the drafty wide stone staircase. Given the balmy Italian sunshine outside, she's only in a strappy chambray sundress, so goosebumps soon break out across her arms.
Slowing her ascent as they near the top of the stairs, she hooks her arm around Harry's waist, snuggling into his side.
After dropping a kiss to her forehead, he's about to open his mouth when the manager spins on his heel and gestures them through to the formal dining room and the one table for two, set by the mammoth stone fireplace dominating the far wall.
He disappears again just as quickly, leaving them to their own devices.
Harry gentlemanly pulls Eloise's chair out for her before sitting down opposite, eyebrows raised. "Umm-", He looks around comically.
Her uncontainable giggles set him off too.
They're wiping tears from their eyes with their napkins when they're interrupted by the returning manager, proffering a bottle of red wine. It's local, made at a nearby vineyard.
>
He keeps them coming; glass after glass. And faster than the chef - presumably hidden somewhere in the bowels of the castle - can keep up with.
The canapés and hors d'oeuvres are followed by sharing plates to sample endless starters, mains, desserts and cakes. It's a veritable banquet.
If Eloise is feeling tipsy after the starters, she's definitely drunk before they sample any desserts. And Harry's not faring much better.
Each time the manager re-emerges, they school their chatter and laughter, and try to maintain a respectful silence. It's increasingly difficult; but, hey, at least she's no longer feeling cold.
By 8pm, they're done; unable to eat or drink anything else.
After promptly escorting them up a couple of flights of stairs to the honeymoon suite, the manager mumbles "Buona Notte" before shutting the door and leaving them to it.
>
Harry promptly lets out a snort of laughter.
"Shh!", Eloise shushes him, eyes sparkling with mirth and cheeks flushed from the wine. She tilts her head, listening out. "Do you think he's going to lock us in?".
"Either way, we've definitely been banished!", he chuckles in disbelief.
Seeing their holdalls have already been brought up to the room, Eloise wastes no time in diving for hers to rummage for a sweatshirt.
Looking around, he's distracted, taking in the details of the suite. A huge wooden four-poster bed with heavy red velvet drapes sits opposite an imposing stone fireplace, flanked by austere artworks and wardrobes. The deep stone walls are at least a metre thick, visible around the small windows. A dressing table sits along one wall, and a red velvet chaise longue fills the wall between the windows, with matching curtains draping across the entrance to the cavernous ensuite bathroom.
Turning back around, he catches Eloise pulling on her - his - sweatshirt. "No, no, no!", he whines, "Honeymoon suite means fewer clothes, not more clothes".
"It's bloody freezing, and we're not married yet!", she sasses him.
But, with a few quick strides, he tugs her against his chest and teasingly dances his fingers under the hem of her dress at mid-thigh. Goosebumps break out again, and, with another shiver, she tries to swat him away.
"Shit! You are cold! Your hands feel like ice, baby", he yelps, trying to twist away as she predictably tries to bury them under his shirt and tank top.
"Get into bed, I'll light this", he gestures to the fireplace.
As he busies himself, knelt in front of the fire, Eloise lights the candles of the ornate wall sconces before switching off the lights and jumping under the covers.
Stripping down to his boxers, Harry smirks down at her, flicking his eyes to the heavy red velvet drapes surrounding the bed. "How are these making you feel?".
"Pretty unnerved, to be honest", she grimaces, eyeing them suspiciously.
"And how is this Castello making my Principessa feel, hmm?", he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head for effect.
"Pretty unnerved, to be honest", she repeats sheepishly, adding with a wince, "Sorry".
"Totally fair enough", he nods, slipping into bed. "It's amazing and looks exactly like the pictures, but it just feels so cold, in every sense of the world... Come here, let me warm you up".
He wastes no time in wrapping himself around her, arms and legs intertwining.
>
Things do indeed heat up in no time.
As lips press and pillow and suckle, hands dance and dip and stroke.
And he wastes no time in peeling off her sweatshirt, then sundress and underwear.
As he's pressing kisses, making his way down her stomach, lower and lower, she flinches.
With a slightly delayed reaction, he pulls back. Propping himself up on an elbow, he casts his curious gaze up at her. "What's up, babe?".
"Hmm?", she answers distractedly after a beat, then dropping her hand to his hair, twining her fingers through his thick curls. "Nothing".
"Well, I can think of something that's definitely up...", he smirks cheekily, before promptly getting back down to business.
>
A couple of minutes later, she stills her writhing under his attention, curling to half sit up, and reaching to drag the covers back over her body.
"H, stop", she tugs at his hair, trying to get his attention.
"Ugh, what now?", it's his turn to groan. He rests his head on her thigh and lolls it to peer up at her through narrowed eyes.
"What the fuck was that noise? Did you hear it?".
"That little mewl from the back of your throat? Yeah, it's one of my favourite sounds, baby", he smirks cleverly.
"Oh, shush! No...", she paws at his shoulder in a weak attempt to pull him up from between her legs. "That! There!", she whispers, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
"Huh? What?", he begrudgingly shifts to rest his weight on his forearms either side of her waist, dipping his head to press nuzzling kisses slowly back up her stomach towards her breasts, as his hips shift from pressing to rutting gently into hers, seeking some relief.
"Sssh! Well no, don't stop, but just listen...". She squeezes his bum with her calf, encouraging the slow roll of his hips. "Hear it?".
"No...? Yeah...? I don't know! Fuck, it's a little hard to concentrate right now, baby...", he flexes his hips for emphasis.
"Shh!".
"Oh, my God, stop shushing me!", he rolls his eyes at her before tilting his head, listening out exaggeratedly.
"Oh, yeah! Now, that I heard...", he shifts his weight forward to crane his neck and lick up the shell of her ear. "It's my dick, weeping, begging to get on with it".
"Oh, my God, shut it! I'm being serious".
"Okay, okay... Ooh, that?", he gasps before sinking closer again, whispering in her other ear. "That was definitely my balls, screaming as they crawl up into my body in protest".
"Harry!", she can't help but laugh as she scolds him, but then stops abruptly, face paling as she tries to push him back to sit up. "That! That scraping noise... Don't you hear that?".
He sighs and listens out, closing one eye and quirking his lips in concentration for a few seconds. "Nope, nothing, nada... What kind of supersonic hearing do you have, anyway? I get mine tested a fair bit because of the in-ears and amps, but that's actually a bit worrying", he frowns.
"Really?", she mouthes, making him do a double-take.
"Wait, is there really a noise? If this is a joke...", he snaps his hips into hers in warning.
"Yes!", she groans out. "Fuck, this place gives me the heebie-jeebies".
"Awww, are you scared, princess?".
"Oh, shut up".
"It's nothing! I've got you, baby... Now, please, just relax", he punctuates his plea, planting kisses from her lips, down her neck, to her chest and then breasts to lathe at her nipples, shifting his hips to slide home.
Entirely distracted, her throaty moan is cut off abruptly as Harry suddenly pops back up on a straight arm, whipping his head around towards the locked door. The scraping and creaking noises were quiet, but undeniable.
They both still, holding their breaths as she curls closer, wrapping a hand around his straining bicep to steady herself.
He turns back to her, face a picture. "Well, that door's thick enough, I suppose...", he shrugs. "I promised you I'd make you feel good", he drops an enticing kiss to her lips, before calling out, over his shoulder, "So any voyeuristic ghosties need to fuck off, please!".
Turning back to face her, he lowers himself back down until he presses her into the mattress. "Now, if you'll just stop clenching around me like a fucking vice, I can have you feeling a whole lot better in no time... Let me kiss goodbye my dream of marrying my princess in a castle, then we'll sleep, and then get the fuck out of here first thing in the morning, okay? Just give me tonight, please?".
Well, how could she possibly refuse him that?
Reaching to smoothly tug at the ties of the drapes to either side of the bed, he shrouds them in heavy fabric.
It's heavenly, and instantly feels more cosy and secure, without the shadows from the candlelight and firelight dancing across the cold stone walls.
Almost pitch black in their little cocoon, their other senses sharpen to compensate, making it seem all the more intimate.
The smell of the last vestiges of their perfumes, mingling with the burgeoning, unmistakable scent of sex.
The taste of the red wine lingering on their tongues and the salty tang blooming on their skin.
The sound of their breath catching around erotic hisses and sighs.
The press of hips, and his fingers dancing over her goosebumps - back with a vengeance.
>
>
12th June 2019
Having hightailed it from the castle, they were ready to love venue number two. And they really tried.
Their first impressions of the tiny ancient village, or borgo, equidistant between Rome and Naples, were positive enough.
It's a luxury resort providing four thousand acres of privacy, encompassing vineyards, a winery, a golf course, equestrian centre, and even a small 12th-century chapel.
The eight hundred-year-old estate is beautifully renovated, complete with two restaurants, a spa, tennis courts, and an outdoor infinity pool with views across the valley and rolling hills beyond. Its fifty rooms and suites are dotted around in a variety of converted stone buildings. It's luxurious, but homely and oozing with character.
It ticked so many boxes, and the lovely owners gave it their very best sell, but Harry and Eloise just weren't feeling it.
It was promising, but a little dusty and remote. Tranquil and relaxing, but a little blah.
Conscious of wanting to justify the trip for everyone, they were looking for the place, as opposed to just a place.
>
The next day, they arrive at venue number three.
Again, they want to love it, they really do - and both try acting like they do for a while, not wanting to disappoint the other - but there's no getting around it.
The new hotel on the Amalfi coast is stunning, and, as-yet unopened, understandably empty.
But, beyond people and inhabitants, it just feels a bit too sparse, too aloof, too soulless.
That's made all the more apparent, given its location in the middle of a busy road, right in the centre of town. And it doesn't have enough rooms for everyone, so their guests - many with recognisable faces - would inevitably be spotted, walking back and forth.
Both Harry and Eloise quickly realise they wouldn't stand a chance of keeping a wedding here private and under wraps.
That problem is unsurmountable; a deal-breaker and no-brainer.
>
However, that doesn't stop them enjoying an incredibly memorable long lunch in its breathtaking restaurant.
Carved into the cavernous cliffside below the hotel, with the tang of salt in the air and waves crashing on to the rocks below them; it's positively elemental.
Despite feasting on a divine local tasting menu and sampling some fine Italian wines, they both only have eyes for each other. With the discrete staff hanging back, they're largely undisturbed.
It's so rare for them to get to be totally at ease; so to get to enjoy complete privacy, in such an amazing setting, is nothing short of a treat.
However, the conversation eventually turns to something they've been putting off.
Well, Eloise has tried to raise it on a few occasions, but Harry had squirmed out of it every time, too awkward, too embarrassed. But time's running out.
A pre-nup.
After a sigh and pointed look at his predictable reaction, with her long fingers entwined and playing with his, Eloise perseveres and manages to keep him focused long enough to finally hear her out.
She's insistent; just on principle.
"I'm not driven by money, H, you know that... Although I appreciate that I can say that because it's never been an issue for me. I have family money on both sides, and I'm doing more than okay for myself...", she admits frankly.
"But you experienced phenomenal success and made a fortune long before we ever got together - which is pretty unbelievable, given you were just twenty-one! But all that is irrefutably, undeniably, entirely yours, and it always will be. I'd never, ever be comfortable with the idea of staking any sort of claim on any of that", she catches him still his squirming as a panicky look crosses his face, and she ploughs on, keen to reassure him.
"Forever means forever, Harry, and you have to know that I have absolutely zero intention of ever not being with you... But, just thinking about it rationally, well, we can both be pretty stubborn and hot-headed, and, God forbid, if anything unforeseen or untoward could ever happen, having something to fall back on that we'd agreed with calm and cool heads could only ever be a good thing, right?". She's desperate for him to understand her point of view on this.
Eventually, he caves - appropriately enough for their surroundings - but, in another display of his master negotiating skills, won't back down on a few terms of his own.
"A lifelong partnership means fifty-fifty, El, in everything... So, excluding my net worth from anything dated before 4th July 2015, everything else would have to be split equally. My earnings, your earnings, our investments... And, with your thinking in mind, I'd only ever consider agreeing to a pre-nup", he spits the word, distastefully, "If it also stipulates that I could never stake any claim on your earnings and investments from before we were together, or any family inheritance you might come into".
He smirks at her gaping at him, taking a casual sip of his wine before adding with a cheeky shrug, "Just, you know, on principle".
>
As they make their way back up the cliffside steps from the restaurant to the back terrace, Harry tugs on her hand in his and pulls her around to face him. "Pretty as this is, I'm not sure there's much point staying here tonight, is there?".
She quirks her lips and scrunches her nose cutely, admitting defeat.
"Well, Goldilocks...", he reaches up to flip her blonde-again hair behind her shoulder. "I really thought number three would be the winner, but 'too spooky, too blah, too busy'...", he counts on his fingers, "It looks like we've struck out, right?". He dejectedly scuffs his formerly clean white Vans on the dusty terracotta tile of the terrace.
"Was I too picky?", she can't help but pout. "Maybe there's another hotel near here and we could see how it might work, across the two?", she's grasping at straws and they both know it.
"Sure, we could give it a try... But we need to be in Rome by early tomorrow morning to meet with Alessandro, so we won't have much time", he reasons. "Let's get Emma back on the case, and we can make another trip if we need to".
"Okay, sure", she nods. "Man, I really had a good feeling that we'd find somewhere", she whines. "I guess we could take another look at dates too? Maybe September is just a bit too ambitious?".
"But then we're talking late next year at the earliest...", it's his turn to whine. "Baby, I really don't think I can bear to wait that long-".
"Me neither!", she cuts in, in solidarity. "But it is a bit of a tall ask, I guess? Emma can only work so much magic".
"Hmm, she is pretty great, isn't she?".
"Absolutely", she smiles sweetly. "I have total faith that if anyone can help us find somewhere perfect, it's her".
"That's what I said!", he grins slyly "...When she showed me this one!".
He whips out a few folded up papers from his back pocket. Beaming with excitement, he waggles it teasingly around and over her head, just out of reach.
"Want to see the wildcard?", he sing-songs, before promptly spinning on his heel and sprinting off, back through the lobby towards the car park, calling out "Thank you's" and "Goodbye's" over his shoulder.
Laughing as she approaches the car, playfully tossing the keys in her palm - he'd forgotten she'd had them in her bag - she backs him against the car and kisses him hotly, using his immediate and total distraction to pluck the papers from his grip, promptly swatting him over the head with it.
Eagerly unfolding the pages, she struggles to contain her beaming smile at his antics and evident excitement. With one look at the header photo, she gasps, whipping her head back up in a comical double take that has her cricking her neck.
Whilst she's still distractedly pouring over the details, he opens her door and helps her up into the passenger seat, chuckling all the while as he rounds the bonnet and programmes the sat nav for the nearby town of Maiori.
>
>
13th June 2019
The next day, after reluctantly setting off early for the three-hour drive back to Rome, they stop by Alessandro's Gucci atelier before flying home, to chat about what they each have in mind for the wedding, so that he and his team can get to work.
After greeting them effusively in reception, Alessandro soon separates them.
Taking Harry by the arm, he turns to reassure Eloise. "He'll be quick, I think... This is Sylvia, she'll show you some fabrics", he says by means of an introduction. "I'll be with you soon".
>
Making an uncharacteristically subtle entrance a while later, Alessandro sneaks up behind Eloise.
True to his word, she still hasn't quite worked her way through all the fabric swatches, too busy chatting with the lovely Sylvia.
But her attention is soon diverted, as he leans down from behind her to spread a few sketches on the desk in front of her with a dramatic flourish.
Holy shit!
They're unexpectedly simple, and so elegant.
Okay, one's entirely pearl-embellished and figure-hugging with sexy straps. It's absolutely incredible, but not quite right, for a wedding, not for her.
The other three are more classic, but just as stunning.
An embellished lace, partially see-through dress, with a pleated heavy silk skirt, almost meeting in the front, providing some coverage but still leaving a flash of skin and leg.
And two sketches have the same delicate mesh and embellished top. But one has a floaty, fluid, silk skirt; and the other, a bigger skirt, comprised of layers of delicate tulle with a thigh-high split.
Immediately welling up and stunned silent as she pours over the intricate details, eyes flitting from one sketch to the other, Eloise grasps Alessandro's hand as he sits beside to her.
She wasn't sure she had anything specific in mind, so cannot envisage how he could possibly have created options quite so perfect before they'd even discussed anything.
Still rendered speechless, she can only gape at him in shock for a while. "Oh, my God! You genius! They are so beautiful, so perfect", she eventually babbles.
Giggling at her reaction, Alessandro gestures to himself with a raised eyebrow (all flounces, ruffles, textures and heavy statement jewellery; undoubtedly maximalist), then to her (elegantly pared-back and classical).
"If I had a face and a body like yours, I'd let them do the talking too, believe me! I'm honoured to get to dress you on your most special day, Eloise; I won't foist my tastes on you for it. I want to design this for you... I only want to make you and that wonderful man of yours happy". Swallowing thickly, he scoots his chair back and nudges her to stand up, to get a better look at her.
"The real challenge is that there's too much to show off", he grins, rubbing his hands with glee. He jumps up to stand next to Sylvia, who's dutifully poised to scribble some notes. "Hmm... So it has to be classy and elegant. A luxurious, light fabric with lots of movement. And structured to show off this slim hourglass shape and that neck and those legs. Best keep the bust under wraps though, no? Don't want Harry fluffing his vows!". The colloquialism is even funnier with his heavy accent.
He proceeds to talk her through the four sketches and his recommended fabrics, before grabbing a length of silk and wrapping it around her to demonstrate a number of cuts, pleats, drapes and folds.
It's fascinating, exciting and reassuring, all at once.
After Sylvia dutifully takes all of Eloise's measurements, they agree he'll have patterns cut of her two favourites, for her to try on and make a decision at their next session.
>
A short while later, Alessandro leads Eloise back out to reception, where Harry sits thumbing through a design magazine. "H, there you are! Let me just go and check if they've found those two Pantone colours in both fabric options yet, okay?".
Harry grins conspiratorially as Eloise looks between them, with a beaming smile breaking over her face.
"What?", Alessandro laughs as he turns to head back to his office.
She just pivots neatly and throws her arms around his neck in a tight, grateful hug.
Harry chuckles alongside them. "Happy then? Good progress?".
"Beyond happy!", she spins back to him. "It's a wedding dress!", she squeals excitedly, her face the picture of disbelief, like it's just hit her.
"Glad to hear it!", he grins over her head to Alessandro, mouthing a 'thank you' as he swoops her into a tight hug.
She kisses him enthusiastically, before pulling back and staring at him moonily. "We're getting married!", she whispers.
"Ooh, has the penny finally dropped?!", he sasses, although unable to contain his dimpled grin. Fuck, she's adorable, and she's his.
"It just feels so real now! It's so exciting!".
"It is", he nods, simply.
"God, there's so much to do, though...", she shakes her head, eyes wide and letting out a deep breath.
"We've got three and a half months! Chill... Sorting a venue and making headway on what we'll be wearing isn't bad for one day, don't you think?", he reasons.
"I'd call that a pretty strong start, yeah", she grins again.
"Come on, let me take you to that cute bar you liked before we need to head to the airport. We can start writing a list... I'm sure wine will help".
"Oh, my God, are we really doing this?! Are you ready?".
"We absolutely are, and I absolutely am", he reassures her, cool as a cucumber. "September cannot come fast enough as far as I'm concerned; I cannot wait to make you Mrs. Styles", he drops his forehead to hers.
"Bring it on!". She melts back against his chest, tilting her head up to capture his lips again.
Alessandro interrupts them, calling out to Harry. "We don't have the swatches, but we'll order them in, which usually only takes a few days. Just text me nearer the time with the best address to send them to".
After more heartfelt thank yous and loose plans for when he'll need to see them both again, Alessandro smothers them both in kisses before bidding them goodbye.
As they're halfway through the door, he calls out, "Oh, and El? You better believe I'm making you that pearl one for your first Oscar's, okay?".
His unwavering affection and generosity renders her speechless, for the third time today.
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