To my astonishment, Harry has managed to make all the appropriate payments just in time for me to begin the fall semester with everybody else. Enrolling in community college is a lot easier than I expected; once you fill out the forms and pay tuition, you're in—which means that, as of today, I'm officially a student at Truman College.
It's a statement that fills me with so much joy I spend the entire week in a dreamlike state, floating around my apartment as I pack up my old life and prepare to move in with Harry. I haven't been a student in ages—almost nine years, to be exact. There's a small part of me that's overwhelmed by the prospect of school and everything that comes with it, especially when I've been gone for so long. But mostly, I'm just excited. I'm so excited I could burst.
In the four years that Harry and I have known each other, I'm not sure if he's ever seen me genuinely excited. I've faked it on numerous occasions, always trying to maintain a certain level of enthusiasm on the job, but he's never seen me like this. I think that's why he's so surprised when he opens his door to find me standing there with an enormous smile on my face, my hands overflowing with boxes.
Instead of reciprocating my smile, a familiar frown slowly spreads across Harry's face. It does nothing to throw me off, mainly because I'm used to it, but also because my mind is preoccupied with what I'm going to wear for my first day tomorrow. I'm dragged out of my thoughts, however, when he says, "You're early." He glances down at his Rolex watch and blinks. "Three hours early, as a matter of fact."
I can't find it in me to feel embarrassed. "Sorry," I say cheerfully, even though I'm not really sorry at all. "I just wanted to get a head start on the morning, I guess."
Judging by his current state—messy hair, crumpled university T-shirt, and boxers—he does not share the same aspiration. Before he can say anything, I tell him, "You know, it's not very polite to answer the door in your boxers."
Harry glares at me and scoots closer to the back of the door, out of my eyesight. "Do you know what else isn't polite? Showing up three hours early, without bothering to inform the person you're meeting."
"You're usually up by this time," I shrug sheepishly. "I wasn't expecting today to be any different."
He looks at me, mouth still twisted tightly into a scowl. "I was making the most of my last day living alone."
I ignore his dig and step into the hallway, despite the fact that he hasn't actually invited me in yet. But I figure there's no need for that, since this is technically my house now too. "You're too kind, husband."
He visibly flinches before grabbing the boxes out of my hands and placing them on the ground. "How did you get here?"
"I took the train."
Harry stares at me, his gaze hard and unyielding. "You carried all these boxes by yourself on the train?"
I nod slowly. "What else was I supposed to do? I don't have a car."
Glaring at me, he snaps, "I was going to pick you up."
"Well, I appreciate that," I smile sweetly at him, "but clearly that wasn't necessary."
He folds his arms across his chest, the expression on his face cool and stony as ever. "Why are you in such a good mood, then?"
I lifted my eyebrows in faux confusion, blinking at him incessantly. "What do you mean? I'm always like this."
"Maybe when you were working for me, but these past few weeks, you've been the complete opposite. I think this is the first time I've seen you smile since before you quit."
"That's kind of ironic coming from you, isn't it?" I point out.
Harry stares at me blankly. "Why is that ironic?"
I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. When a minute passes and he still hasn't given me a grin to indicate he was making a joke (I guess that really was a one-time thing, then), I inform him, "You're never in a good mood. I don't think I've seen you smile ever."
Harry's jaw ticks as his mouth curves into an even deeper frown, only proving my point further. "That's not true."
"Maybe you smiled at the wedding." Once again, he flinches, and I try not to join him. "But that was only for show. Aside from that, I've never seen you genuinely smile. I've never even seen you laugh, do you know that?"
Harry stares at me for a moment before asking, "Have you ever considered the fact that you might not be funny?"
My lips unwillingly twitch at his question, but I force myself to roll my eyes. "Whatever. To answer your question, I'm in a good mood because I'm happy."
He blinks, as if the word is unrecognizable to him. Maybe it is. Judging by the expression on his face, you would've thought I'd just delivered a slew of Russian curses, or some other unfamiliar language. "Why are you happy?"
It's a bit of an abnormal question to ask, but then again, the situation we're in is far from normal, so I don't think much of it. "Because I'm officially enrolled in school. I have my first day tomorrow."
He considers me for a long moment, his brows furrowed and his expression entirely unreadable. Finally, he says, "Well, I guess that is exciting, then."
I roll my eyes again, but I'm smiling. He isn't, of course. "Yes, it is. You know, this is going to be my first time back at school since I was seventeen." I have no idea why I'm continuing this conversation with him, especially when he's still in his boxers. I should just take my stuff and go upstairs to my room, but for some reason, I'm in the mood to talk.
Unlike me, Harry is rarely ever in the mood to talk, which is why I'm so surprised when he asks me, "Are you nervous?" He doesn't ask it in a cruel way; instead, he seems genuinely curious.
"A little," I admit. "I know that I'm probably a little rusty, so I'll need to work extra hard. I got my schedule last night, actually."
I wait for him to ask me what classes I'm taking, but he doesn't. Instead, he picks up two of my boxes and says, "I'll show you to your room."
I stare at him, slightly taken aback. I have no choice but to follow him upstairs. The entire walk to my room, I tell myself that just because I'm his wife now, doesn't mean that anything's actually changed between us. He's still going to treat me the same way he did when I was his assistant—invisible. It's not that I expected him to worship me at my feet, but I at least hoped that we'd be able to carry out a complete conversation. Clearly that wasn't going to be the case.
My room is at the end of the hallway, right across from Harry's, and it takes everything I have to keep my mouth from dropping open at the sight of it. It's bigger than my entire studio apartment—bigger than any room I've ever had. The ceilings are high and the tiles are glossy, and there's a massive walk-in closet that has my mouth watering a little. My eyes immediately travel to the empty bookshelf and the desk perched next to the queen-size bed. There's even a balcony. I might faint.
"If you need any other space, there's a few more guest rooms down the hall, so feel free to use those," Harry says, completely oblivious my astonishment. "The bathroom is right outside your door. You get your own."
I have no idea what to say. Should I thank him? Probably. But when I say those two words, he shakes his head quickly as if he's trying to erase them. My neck heats up slightly, and I busy myself with opening up my boxes. Okay, then.
Harry is quiet, watching me as I begin laying out clothes. I pretend he's not there. Then, after a minute has passed, he says stiffly, "I'll drive you to school tomorrow."
I tear my gaze away from the shirts I'm folding to stare at him. "What? Why?"
He ignores my questions. Instead, he asks, "What time do you need to be there?"
My brows knit together in confusion. "Harry, you don't need to do that. Seriously."
"The immigration officer is coming to the house on Friday," he tells me. "We need to be prepared."
My stomach flips at the mention of immigration and the sobering reminder of the massive lie—and crime—we're telling-slash-committing. "What does that have to do with you taking me to school?"
"We need all the practice we can get," Harry answers. "I'm going to be working late every night this week, so mornings are our best window."
"I'm sorry, mornings?" I repeat, frowning.
He nods firmly. "I'll take you every morning this week."
"I...I don't think that's necessary," I sputter. "We'll prepare when you get home. I'm fine with staying up late."
"You have early classes. That's not a good idea."
"Oh my God, I'm not thirteen," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Fine, whatever, you can take me tomorrow morning, but I'm taking the train the rest of the week."
All he says to that is, "Be ready to leave the house by eight-thirty." And then he's gone, and I'm alone, in my new home.
+++
When I meet him at the door the next morning, Harry reserves a split second to stare at my outfit, a casual blue-and-white gingham dress and sandals, before he grunts, "You're late."
I glance down at the time on my phone and roll my eyes. "It's eight-forty. Besides, I wasn't aware I was on a schedule."
He ignores me. "Do you have everything you need?"
"Yes."
"Did you eat something?"
"No, Dad, I'm not hungry." He scowls at me. "There's a Starbucks right next to campus, I'll get something from there."
"Whatever. Let's just go." As per usual, he's cross this morning, but I at least expected him to be a bit more upbeat, given that this was his idea.
"You're going to be late for work," I remind him as he begins pulling out of the driveway.
"The timings are a lot more lenient when you're the boss."
I roll my eyes. "Of course. How could I forget?" I pause to apply an extra coat of lip gloss, and I catch him glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "How's your new assistant, then? You finally found someone?"
"She's fine," Harry says stiffly. "She's still getting used to things."
"She'll figure it out," I say good-naturedly. "Even I got the hang of it eventually."
He looks at me. "What do you mean, even you?"
I'm preoccupied with reading an email on my phone that I barely process what he's just asked me. "Huh?"
"You said, 'Even I got the hang of it eventually.' What does that mean?"
I raise my eyebrows slightly, confused by his question, before saying, "Well, it's no secret that I wasn't exactly qualified for the job. I'm just saying that if I could do it, anyone can."
Harry's mouth curves into a deep frown. "Just because you didn't go to college doesn't mean you weren't qualified."
I can't help but laugh at that. "Actually, in the corporate world, that's exactly what that means. And I didn't just not go to college. I didn't graduate from high school either, remember?" Perhaps I say the last part a bit too bitterly, and Harry catches on.
"Everyone has different circumstances," he says sharply. "You don't have a degree, but you were the best assistant I've ever had."
It takes me a minute to realize that he's just given me a compliment, something he has virtually never done. I stare at him with surprise, mouth slightly ajar, before I say slowly, "Well, thanks." However, I can't help myself from adding, "You could've told me that when I was working for you."
Harry doesn't answer that. Instead, he says, "This new assistant—Sarah—she's straight out of college. I'm not sure if she'll be able to handle it all."
"Well, if she survives you, she'll be able to survive anyone." I supply him with a sweet smile to contradict my veiled insult, and he rolls his eyes before changing the subject.
"So, obviously the first question the officer's going to ask us is where we met. We're sticking with the story that you're my assistant, right?"
I nod begrudgingly. "Ugh. Yes. What a cliche."
Harry lifts a dark, stern eyebrow, but to my surprise, I catch a glimpse of the faint traces of a smile on his face. "Did you have anything else in mind? Something more romantic perhaps?"
I blush despite myself. "No. Work is fine."
He nods, all hints of a smile gone. "When did our relationship become romantic?"
"Um. I don't know." I think about it for a moment before saying, "I guess we can say you always had a secret crush on me, and then somewhere in the last year, things changed between us."
Harry's face rearranges itself into its default frown. "Why am I the one who has the secret crush? I don't think that's very realistic."
I let out a noise that's half-offended, half-amused. "Excuse me? Why not?"
"Because I'm your boss. I have a million different things on my mind at all times. It would make much more sense for you to have the crush on me."
"Okay, first of all, I guarantee I always had more things on my mind than you," I inform him. "In case you've forgotten, you were always pestering me with your stupid requests and schedule changes. And second of all, no one would ever believe that I'd have a crush on you."
Something inscrutable passes across his face, but it vanishes before I can place it. "You really think you'd be the first assistant to ever have a crush on their boss?"
"Maybe if that boss was reasonable, or at least an inviting person to be around. I think hatred is a lot more expected on my part."
Harry rolls his eyes. "For Christ's sake, this is only the second question."
I stare at him stubbornly, unwilling to budge.
After a minute, he groans loudly. "Fine. I had a secret crush on you, and then around this time last year, I told you how I felt." His face scrunches up in disgust. "I'm never saying the words secret crush again. I'm not an eleven-year-old girl."
I ignore him. "Do you think they might find it weird that I continued working as your assistant even after we got together?"
Harry shakes his head. "Not at all. Like I said, it's happened many times before. We just have to be convincing about it."
I laugh nervously before glancing down at the GPS on his phone. Three more minutes. "Okay. Last question."
"When was the first time we met each other's parents?"
My mouth jams shut at his question, and I can feel my body freezing up at the mention of my parents. Harry notices it too; his eyes linger on me for a moment, considering my reaction, before he says slowly, "You met my parents a few times over the years when you were working for me." At least this one isn't a lie.
An awkward beat of silence passes before I remember I'm supposed to answer the question too. "Um. We'll just tell them that my parents aren't in the picture."
Harry stares at me. "They're probably going to ask me why." The rest of his sentence is implied—what is the deal with your parents?
That isn't a question I have any interest in answering, and fortunately, I won't have to, because he's just pulled up to the college. All anxieties associated with my parents dissipate as I take in the campus, and everything that lies ahead of me.
"Thanks for the ride," I say quickly, grabbing my bag from the backseat. "I'll see you later."
His eyes swing my way before asking, "How are you getting back?"
"I'm just going to take the train."
Harry looks like he's going to protest, but then he glances at his phone and realizes there isn't enough time. "Fine. Just text me when you get home."
Home. I give him a funny look, but his gaze is focused outside the window. I guess he's taking in the campus too. He probably sees something entirely different from what I see—run-down. Disreputable. Embarrassing. Nothing like his prestigious, expensive alma mater. But I don't care about any of that. Right now, it doesn't matter where I get my education, as long as I get it. It's all I've ever wanted, and by enrolling at Truman, I'm one step closer to achieving the dreams that felt so impossible only a month ago.
"You're going to be late," Harry says after a minute. "You should get going."
I nod and step out of the car. Before I shut the door, however, he says, "Emilia."
I look up. "Yeah?"
The corner of his mouth tilts slightly up into a half-smile. "Good luck."
+++
My first day of school for the first time in almost nine years goes a little something like this.
I get lost a total of five times. I end up being late to a total of two out of my four classes. And I talk to a total of three people.
The first person is my advisor, which I'm pretty sure doesn't count. The second is a woman named Rachel, who happens to be a full-time mother and is also returning to get her degree. We're in the same statistics class, and we've barely even talked for five minutes before she goes off into a rant about her freshly divorced husband. She's sweet, though, and extremely entertaining.
The final person I talk to happens to be a guy, and a cute one for that matter. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be noticing things like that now that I'm technically married, but I can't help myself. His name is Andy, which reminds me of Toy Story, but he looks like a model, so I forgive him for that. He's in my psychology class, and he's the same age as me, twenty-six. When he asks me if I have a boyfriend, I say no, and I only feel slightly guilty when he smiles.
All in all, it's a successful first day, despite the heavy load of homework my professors have already piled on. When I arrive back at Harry's house—our house—later in the afternoon, I try to sit down and watch an episode of Schitt's Creek, but I'm too restless. Within half an hour of returning, I'm already starting my homework.
By the time Harry gets back, it's almost nine PM and I've officially ticked every box on my planner. It feels good to follow a strict schedule, to know that every deadline is announced ahead of time, that there will be no surprise assignments in the middle of the night that keep me in the office until my eyes hurt. Structure is something I've missed immensely.
Instead of greeting me with a hello, the first thing Harry says when he steps through the door is, "Sarah quit."
I tear my eyes away from the TV to stare at him, unsure what to say. "Oh. Um. Sorry?"
He shakes his head, and that's when I realize he's holding an enormous box of pizza in his hands. After he washes his hands, he sits down at the table and grabs a slice. I try not to stare, suddenly aware of the fact that I haven't eaten in almost five hours.
"You're not hungry?" Harry asks.
I stare at him. I'm starving. "What?"
He gives me a weird look. "This isn't just for me, you know."
My cheeks are pink as I make my way over to the table and open the box. I'm surprised to see that half of the pizza is covered in black peppers and jalapeño peppers, the same way I always order it. I have no idea how he knows that.
"Thanks," I say before shoving the slice in my mouth as delicately as possible. It's a failed attempt, but I'm too hungry to care.
Harry is quiet for a minute before he asks me, "What were you watching?"
I blush as I glance at the TV, wishing I had turned it off before making my way into the kitchen. "Oh. Um. Nothing."
He rolls his eyes. "You're allowed to use the TV, Emilia."
"I know that," I snap.
"So what were you watching?" he repeats.
"Nothing."
Harry looks at me for a minute before taking the box of pizza and walking over to the couch. He frowns at the screen, confused for a minute, until the theme song begins to play. Just my fucking luck.
"You watch Love Island?" Harry asks me. I can't tell if he's amused or surprised. Maybe a mix of both.
I keep my gaze focused on my pizza slice as I nod my head. "Yes, I do."
He rolls his eyes obnoxiously—there it is. "It's a pretty stupid fucking show."
I press my lips together tightly as I try not to glare at him. "Yes, well, it's funny. So."
"My sister loves it," he tells me. "But I think it's ridiculous."
"Of course you do. The same way you think everything is ridiculous. You know, not everything has to be a fucking Ken Burns Emmy-nominated documentary. Sometimes things can just be entertaining."
I didn't mean to blow up like that. Judging by the wide-eyed expression on Harry's face, he didn't expect it either. I'm about to take my dinner up to my room when he says, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were so defensive of Love Island."
"I'm not—" I try to protest, but he doesn't let me finish.
"I guess I should watch an episode before I pass further judgement, then."
I stare at him. He stares right back at me, not blinking. I don't think he's joking, but either way, I'm going to ask him. "Are you kidding?"
"I don't think so, no."
"Don't you have more important things to do?"
"More important than watching Love Island? Not at all." The expression on his face is smug, but he's not backing down. So I don't either.
"Fine." I lean over and rewind the episode from the beginning. "We're starting from season 5."
Harry scowls. "Why? Aren't you supposed to start from season 1?"
"The order doesn't matter," I roll my eyes at him. "It's reality TV. Besides, season 5 is the best one."
He grunts but doesn't say anything. Unfortunately, his silence is short-lived; he lets out a loud bark of laughter when the islanders begin introducing themselves to the audience. "Who the fuck is this?"
"Anton." I point to his name lit up on the screen. "It literally says it right there."
"He looks like a fucking prick," Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes as he grabs another slice of pizza.
"He is."
"Don't spoil it!" Harry barks, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing.
He only makes it through the first ten minutes of the episode before he practically jumps off the couch. "That's it, I can't sit through any more of this. I'm losing brain cells."
I roll my eyes at his level of obnoxiousness. "Whatever. Good night."
Instead of saying it back, all he does is command, "Eight-thirty, tomorrow morning. Don't be late."
He's up the stairs before I have any chance to protest.
.
here's chapter 5!! i hope u guys liked it we're slowly starting to get into things...if u know my writing u know i love a slow burn so i hope u guys do too lol. i'd love to hear ur thoughts on this chapter, and hopefully ch. 6 will be up within the next week! love u all sm, thank u so so much for reading ❤️❤️