It was a frantic day. Not only did I have to pack us both up and move us to Florence for the next leg of filming, I also had to deal with the fallout from the misunderstanding in the jewellers. Even my Mum got wind of it and called me to see if it was true. I packed our cases with my phone permanently tucked under my chin.
Clive had advised against issuing a statement denying the engagement. Ever the PR man, he knew that the mystery and conjecture would keep the public talking for a while. All I could say to the various journalists and bloggers was that I could confirm it was indeed us in the shop, but no official statements would be made.
Henry seemed to find the whole thing funny. He read a couple of the articles when he got back from the gym and, apart from calls to his Mum and one of his brothers, let me get on with dealing with the press.
The journey took around three hours. We both sat quietly, watching the scenery, each lost in our own thoughts. We would be in Florence for two weeks, then London for another few days. After that, Henry would be flying to Detroit, the setting for his next film, for pre-production training. I had him for less than three weeks, before he'd fly out of my life. I'd go back to being a gofer for spoilt actors while he'd be immersed in a nine month filming commitment.
"You're not still brooding over that death threat are you?" Henry interrupted my thoughts. "Whoever it is has firstly got to find us, second, get past our security and lastly actually carry out his threat. It won't happen, it's just a nutter."
"No, I'm not worried about it," I told him. I'd actually put it to the back of my mind. I had far more pressing things to worry about. Henry's hand found mine, he squeezed it gently in an act of reassurance. I scooted across the seat to snuggle into him, painfully aware that I had to make the most of his physical presence while I could.
Florence was delightful, although poor Henry barely saw it. The crew were cramming in as much filming as possible into a short window of time, as both Henry and Armie had other commitments elsewhere. His days were full of costume changes and endless takes. During the long, boring days,I busied myself organising stuff for our return to the UK. Our evenings were spent eating out, seeing tourist stuff or staying in our hotel room making love.
I could sense a new urgency to our lovemaking during that time, as though we were both trying to get even closer, if that was possible. Henry seemed even more insatiable than usual, needing to be inside me at every opportunity. It was as though he wanted to constantly remind me how great we were together, as if I needed reminding. I don't mind admitting that I lapped it up. I gave him all the attention he could possibly want. I worked in his trailer during the day, so if he had a break, I'd be there, ready and willing.
Florence was genuinely a happy time for us both. We existed in a bubble of unreality, just the two of us, totally wrapped up in each other. I was still getting online threats, mainly from the 'Hat' person. I hadn't blocked him or her, I just read, screenshotted and ignored. There were plenty of nutters online, so someone describing themselves as a world traveller who sent nasty messages was, in my mind, not to be taken seriously. I put them in the same category as the obviously gay fellow on twitter who regularly begged me for a photo of Henry's dick.
As our return to London came ever closer, I sensed a despondency in Henry. It was the elephant in the room we'd both been ignoring. During the few days we had at home before he flew back to the States, he was booked back to back with interviews, appearances and photo-shoots. I began to hate his job.
It all came to a head on the plane going home. I was running through his schedule with him, explaining the various commitments. "So when do we get some alone time?" He asked. "You've booked me up until I step on the plane." I could see he wasn't happy.
"All of these were deemed imperative by both the studio and your agent. If you want someone to moan at, talk to Alan. I only do the scheduling, I'm not exactly happy about it either. Your bloody job strikes again." I turned back to my iPad in a huff.
"My job strikes again? I think that's a bit rich coming from you. You knew exactly what my job was and what it entailed when you met me. You're the one who won't come to the US with me. You're the one putting your job first, ahead of us." He was keeping his voice low, but I could hear the anger and frustration.
"It's not just my job," I hissed, "it's my life. My flat, my salary and my friends are all in London. I'd be homeless, jobless and penniless in America, or is it only about you and your precious career?"
"Don't be so stupid," he huffed, "you'd live with me, we have plenty of cash. You make it sound as though I'd dump you on the streets and let you starve. Rent out your flat, that way you can build up some savings in the UK."
"You make it sound so easy. Unlike you, I can't work in the US. I'd be totally dependant on you for everything, and unlike you, I don't have a few million in the bank to soften the blow of giving up a career I've worked my arse off to get."
"Oh there's an easy solution to all that," he said, flashing me his heart-melting smile.
"Really?" I said sarcastically. "If there is, I can't wait to hear it."
"Marry me," he whispered.
