16th September 2019
"What about cufflinks, babe?", Eloise singsongs to Harry as he walks back into the kitchen.
Twisting to eyeball him, she just catches him mouth a curse before promptly spinning on his heel to head back upstairs.
Grinning smugly, as she turns back to the leather holdall she's been trying to zip closed, she catches Anne smirking into her cup of tea at the island and they share a knowing giggle.
When he jogs back down again, Harry snatches the list from in front of his mum before she can even open her mouth. "Oh, for God's sake, just give it here", he sasses, brow furrowing as he combs over it himself before promptly heading back upstairs again, muttering under his breath.
If either of them should be disorganised and running around like a headless chicken, by rights, it should be Eloise.
Only having finished shooting season three of Killing Eve on Friday afternoon, she'd left the wrap party after just one drink and has barely sat down since.
It's been a whirlwind weekend, for sure; with a trip to the hairdresser, a manicure and pedicure, picking up favours for her bridesmaids, collecting her veil and shoes, some hasty shopping, and then frantic packing, packing, packing.
And Harry's been hard at it too; buying cases of their favourite spirits, sneakily collecting gifts, curating playlists... But, evidently, perhaps with a little less time and rigour packing.
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In fact, the whole summer had passed equally in a blur. They'd been in London throughout, but both incredibly busy.
Eloise had been embroiled in pre-production for Killing Eve, then shooting the first block of filming from mid-July; mostly in London, but with a few trips to Barcelona and Romania too.
Harry juggled endless meetings, planning for the album's release - promotion and marketing plans, tour scheduling, merchandising; plus some early interviews and photoshoots too. It's safe to say they're going all out for the new album; Columbia is super excited.
In early August, he'd travelled to Cancun, Mexico, to shoot the video for the first single, Lights Up.
Then, after a pit-stop in New York for yet more meetings, he hadn't been in London for long before flying up to Scotland at the end of the month. There they shot the video for Adore You, the second single, in a little fishing village just east of Edinburgh.
Besides work commitments, it had seemed like their every other waking moment was dominated with house renovation or decorating chatter and decisions needed, or else, wedding planning.
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Needless to say, Emma, Harry's assistant, had been a godsend.
Hannah too - Eloise's shiny new assistant.
Feeling overwhelmed at juggling quite so much, she'd finally succumbed to mounting pressure from both Harry and her agent, Charles, but struck gold in Hannah.
A few years older than her, she's not only experienced and great at her job, but pretty much un-ruffle-able, as much as Eloise can tell so far, and fast becoming a firm and trusted friend too.
Their parents and Gemma have all been incredibly helpful too, stepping in when they'd been away or working all hours.
Anne headed back down to London a couple of days ago, just to lend a hand, before she's due to fly out, with Gemma and Michal, on Friday morning.
As an added bonus, she'll be staying at the house for the rest of the week, so can bring anything they might, inevitably, overlook.
"Passports?", she asks, stepping out the ever-joyful pink front door.
"Yes!", they both answer in stereo as she passes Eloise both her handbag and Harry's phones and wallet, given he's still busy trying to squeeze as much into the backseat as possible.
The Range Rover is already packed to the gunnels. With a speaker, keyboard, guitar, amp, mics and stands, and a pile of cables and adaptors, plus crates of booze, the boot is already full to bursting.
They have a very special guest lined up to perform a song close to their hearts for their first dance, and Harry didn't want to risk inadvertently foisting them off with sub-par equipment, so he insists on taking some of his own.
Suitcases, holdalls and garment bags fill the back seat, with both footwells stacked with boxes full of documents - guest lists and photos, and the printed orders of service, menus, welcome letters and NDAs aplenty.
"Right, well what else can I do, whilst you're on the road?", Anne asks Eloise, perched in the front passenger seat, programming the sat-nav.
"Umm, would you mind just double-checking the RSVPs to the email address again? And, with fresher eyes, check they've all returned the initial NDAs too? If you can then message one of us a list of anything still pending, we can chase them up via text whilst we're on the road".
In no mean feat, they'd whittled the guest list right down, ending up at about one hundred and sixty.
With discretion and security paramount, and, not least, the maximum occupancy of the hotel, they'd had to be fairly ruthless.
It'll just be family, their closest friends and inner circle, and trusted work contacts who have genuinely become proper friends, plus just a handful of other friends whom they agreed they would have felt terrible to bump into afterwards then have to awkwardly tell them all about it.
Everyone else will find out afterwards, and will just have to understand.
But, as a conciliatory gesture, they have already agreed to plan a big party in London, just before Christmas, to celebrate with everyone else. And they'll probably do something similar in LA in the New Year.
As Eloise rounds the bonnet again after dashing inside to grab some waters for the journey, Harry finally manages to close the boot.
"Right...!", he rubs his hands together, grinning as he spins to face her. "Shall we go and get married then?!". His playful nonchalance is offset by the intent look in his eyes as he smoothly hooks one hand around her waist to tug her closer, planting the other on her jaw and kissing her hotly.
Playfully shoving him off, she shrugs, feigning indifference. "Oh, alright then! Nothing else on this week... May as well".
His slap to her bum, for the cheek, has her skipping into Anne's embrace with a laugh.
He follows suit before joining her in the car and buckling up.
Through her open window, Anne calls out, "Drive carefully now! And make sure you take breaks often enough".
"Yeah, yeah, alright, Mum... We'll see you in a couple of days!", Harry blows her a kiss.
"Ooh...!", she flags him down again before he can pull out the gate. "And you're sure you've got the rings?".
"Now they were the first thing I packed, trust me!", he grins, dimples on show.
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Despite hitting the last of the Monday morning rush hour traffic skirting London, they make it down the M20 to Folkestone in just under two hours.
After just a ten minute wait, they pull into one of the front carriages and are surprised to find they end up having it to themselves.
They chose to take the Eurotunnel to France for a few reasons, but, with a tonne of luggage between them, they knew they'd attract unwanted attention at the airports at either end, so figured driving would afford them the best chance of arriving at their destination incognito and with the purpose of their trip firmly under wraps.
To keep things quiet, they've had to tread incredibly carefully, issuing non-disclosure agreements and social media embargoes to the venue and all the suppliers, and even to each of the guests, too. It hadn't felt enormously romantic, but, pragmatically, it was entirely necessary.
Time will tell if they manage to stay under the radar, but they're certainly enjoying the road trip so far.
They've goofed around, chatting, singing and dancing in their seats; generally feeling excitable and full of beans. Hmm, whatever for?
Making the most of their shadowy, enclosed carriage, things get a little frisky.
When Harry gets out to swap with Eloise, he promptly tugs her straight back on to his lap in the passenger seat, and they spend the rest of the journey shamelessly making out like lovesick teenagers at the back of a darkened cinema.
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After driving three hours through France, they swap again after a quick break at a service station.
By the time Eloise returns from the toilets, grumbling about having had to pop a squat and piss in a hole in the ground, Harry's already back in the driving seat.
Sneakily, he surprises her with a small detour, south of Reims, via Épernay, to stock up on some cases of champagne at Moët & Chandon. He'd called ahead to order her favourite - the Dom Perignon demi-sec.
After managing to shoehorn them into the already full-to-bursting car, it's another five hours, via Dijon, before they cross the border, before Lyon, into Switzerland.
When Eloise pulls into the Four Seasons hotel on the banks of Lake Geneva, it's after 11pm.
It's further into the city centre than intended, but they'd been swayed by the promise of 24/7 security patrols in the underground car park.
They both swan-dive into the plush feather duvet and promptly fall asleep before they can even undress.
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17th September 2019
Having snatched a short yet far comfier sleep than either would have managed in the car had they driven through the night, Harry eventually manages to rouse Eloise - with gentle hands, whispered words, and the promise of breakfast already on its way.
After indulging in a quick but enjoyable picnic, sprawled on the super king bed in bathrobes, they weave an efficient dance around each other to quickly shower and get ready.
Equally caffeinated and fuelled up, they're back on the road before 5.15am.
It's an impressive start, but they'll still be cutting it a little fine, and hope the traffic gods shine down on them.
They have a ten-hour drive ahead of them, and an appointment they can't afford to miss.
No pressure.
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Climbing over the Alps and past Chamonix - they realise they've never skied together and resolve to rectify that over the winter - the long and pin-straight Tunnel du Mont-Blanc spits them out into Italy.
Dropping down from the mountains, they hit Milan by 9.30am.
After another quick break, and with Eloise now behind the wheel, they take in Parma and Bologna before arriving in Florence, bang on 1pm.
Despite making good progress, they only have time for a quick stop to grab a pizza for lunch, with Harry then fussing all the while over greasy fingers and the buttery soft leather of his new Range Rover.
Then, attempting to beat the Italians at their own game, he manages to get them to Rome in just under three hours. And he complains about her lead foot?
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With just enough time to park and check-in at their favourite Hotel de la Ville, they ask the concierge to arrange a car for them.
Even contending with the Roman rush hour and some frankly ludicrous driving, they arrive at the British Embassy with a whole twelve minutes to spare.
They're ushered into the British Consulate General's office for an interview to obtain their Nulla Osta - the local authorisation required for foreign and non-resident nationals to wed in Italy. It also means their union will be considered legally binding in the UK too, without the need for a second ceremony at a registry office.
It all proves incredibly straight-forward - just answering a few questions, handing over their documents for copies to be made, and signing some forms. Even with a couple of additional signatures and photos than most couples would be asked for, they're in and out with remarkably little fuss.
"Looks like this is happening then?", Harry grins at Eloise as he opens the car door for her as they head back to the hotel.
"You bet!", she can't resist pecking those irresistible lips before sliding into the car.
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Settling into their suite for the last hour, they're now showered, enrobed and curled up on red and cream striped sofa on their private terrace, when there's a knock at the door.
Agreeing they should maintain a low profile, their second brush with room service is a notably more glamorous affair than their pre-5am breakfast.
Supping on fresh lobster and crab linguine, washed down with perfectly chilled champagne, they snuggle up and watch the sun start to set over Rome's beautiful Borghese Gardens.
Both in digestion mode, Eloise lets out a groan as she twists to bend her legs up over his lap. "Oh, God! Food baby, look...", she laughs, dropping a hand to her slightly distended stomach and rubbing gently. "I really shouldn't have eaten that... I'm a terrible bride-to-be! Alessandro will give me a world of grief tomorrow if I can't squeeze into my dress".
Harry chuckles and swats her hand away to rub his over her tummy, slipping into her hotel robe. "No, don't! It's gross... I'm an animal!", she tries to squirm away, but he just wraps his arms more tightly around her, groaning when she accidentally elbows him in the stomach.
Settling down again, he interrupts their blissfully contented silence, first tipping his chin up to gesture out to the beautiful view of the last of the sunset in front of them. "Not a bad start, hey?", he whispers lowly, fingers dipping playfully under her robe and up the expanse of her thigh.
With her long legs draped enticingly over his lap, any resistance would have been futile. He thinks he's done well to hold out as long as he has, to be fair.
"I'd say perfect, actually", she lolls her head on his shoulder and beams up at him.
Lifting a hand to the corner of his jaw, she rakes her nails over his stubble before trailing her fingers up into his hair. It's almost dry after his shower and positively wild, with floofy curls sticking up in every direction. It's irresistible. He's irresistible.
Their locked gazes are equally moony. Sparkling sapphires and ebullient emeralds; somehow both outshining the diamonds on her finger.
"This time next week you'll be my husband", she whispers dreamily, still not quite able to believe it.
His megawatt smile pulls into a laugh of disbelief; glassy eyes crinkling. "We'll have been married for five hours already!".
Suddenly sliding his hand all the way up her thigh, he grabs her hip and tugs her around to straddle his lap, making her gasp at the sudden reorientation.
"...By this time next week, I reckon I'll have already tried my luck sneaking my hot wife away for a quickie", he grins, leaning forward to lathe kisses down her neck, nosing shamelessly into the loosened collar of her bathrobe.
"Fancy making the most of that double bathtub?". He reluctantly pulls back, but smiles wolfishly, "All this talk of marriage and a smoking hot wife and I'm suddenly not at all tired".
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18th September 2019
Enjoying a very well-deserved lie-in after their epic drive, they're on a far more relaxed schedule on Wednesday morning.
Indulging in a late breakfast at the empty rooftop terrace restaurant, they soak up the perfect Autumn sunshine before eventually packing up and checking out.
Heading across the city, they arrive at Alessandro's atelier for their final fittings.
After catching up with him over coffee, they reluctantly part, banished to different ends of the studio, with the glass walls covered up with drapes to avoid any inadvertent sneak peeks.
His team have done a phenomenal job finishing her dress, and she marvels at the details up close for a good fifteen minutes before trying it on.
To her relief, it fits like a glove.
She's lucky; she'd been training hard throughout filming again, to keep on top of all her stunt work, so hadn't felt any particular pressure to crash diet for her big day, like so many other brides seem to.
Mind you, she'll need to avoid indulging in too many meals like last night's seafood carb-fest if she's to still be able to squeeze into it in six days time.
Harry's fitting is a little less straightforward. He'd been hitting the gym and boxing ring hard, and is undoubtedly in the best shape of his life.
So much so, his suit jacket is now a little tight across the shoulders, however, Alessandro reassures him they can let out the seams a little in the next couple of days. No problem.
With beaming smiles and effusive thanks, they say their goodbyes, for now.
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After a final three hour drive, through Naples and skirting around Mount Vesuvius and then some frankly bum-clenching hairpin bends, they drop down to arrive at their destination.
Maiori, just up the coast from Amalfi.
Twenty-three hours on the road and 1,350 miles?
All more than worth it for that view and the warmest of welcomes.
After so long in the car, they're both more than a little rumpled and not feeling too fresh. His white pinstriped linen trousers are terribly creased, and her white t-shirt has a slight orange juice stain from breakfast this morning. Oops.
But it doesn't put off their exuberant hosts. Flocking out the front door and down the steps, they greet them on the drive as they're still mid-stretch, having literally just stepped out of the car.
The Palazzo's grand, golden stone facade appears to glow in the low sunlight, and the owners summon a couple of bellboys before excitedly ushering Harry and Eloise inside like long-lost family, heading straight up to the rooftop terrace.
Rounding the curved, grand stone staircase, it's just as magical as they remembered. Turning at the top, they both gasp and Harry sweeps Eloise tightly into his arms as they drink in the stunning vista before them.
The pop of a champagne cork rouses them from their enraptured whispering, giggling and kissing, and they're ushered over to the best seat in the house, set with four places.
If the view and exceptional restoration work convinced them the hotel would provide the perfect venue, the charming owners were the cherry on top. Being able to book it out exclusively, to ensure their privacy, only sealed the deal.
Isabella and Lorenzo are a blissfully happy married couple themselves, now in their late-forties.
Despite her name, she's English, but, romantically, fell for him on holiday at nineteen and never returned home.
Ordained, she will be the one to officiate their ceremony, so they soon get on to talking about their vows and the order of service.
And she's proven herself to be quite the wedding planner too. Talk about full service!
Together, they successfully ran another luxury hotel, further down the coast, before finally getting their hands on this long-admired property.
After a painstaking and sympathetic restoration, they only opened their doors for the first time earlier this summer.
From its commanding position, high on the hillside over the picturesque town in the heart of the Amalfi Coast, the Palazzo oozes elegance and charm, but has a wonderfully warm and friendly vibe.
Tiered and sun-kissed gardens, terraces and balconies make the most of its steep site; each affording incredible views over the sparkling Mediterranean.
To have the run of such a place, and get to fill it with their nearest and dearest for more quality time than they can ever usually afford, Harry and Eloise know they truly lucked out in finding their perfect venue.
The gifts of time and privacy are practically priceless for them, so they couldn't resist designing a days-long celebration to make the most of it.
They couldn't be any more excited.
Bring it on.
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