Love in London by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gabby

I sigh, looking at all of the leaflets and pamphlets spread out over Oz’s kitchen table. “I really should have paid a bit more attention when we were on the tours,” I say, realizing far too late the predicament I’ve put myself into.

Oz leans over, a fresh cup of coffee steaming in his hand, and kisses the side of my neck. “Why?”

“Because I have no idea which one is the best,” I groan, swatting him lightly.

“Well, I do apologize,” Oz says, with a grin that implies he isn’t sorry at all. “If I had realized I was so distracting…”

“How could you not realize?” I tease. “You literally dragged me into a closet.”

He laughs. “Well, you’ve got a couple more days left. Do you want to go back, have a look at some of them again? We can probably just slip onto campus. I doubt there’s too much security around right now. And if you want to go back to the first one, I can just show them my alumni card.”

“No, no,” I sigh, thinking about how much that will eat into the rest of the time I have left.

Two days. That's all. And then I have to go home, and maybe never see Oz again.

And even if I come back here, several months into the future, maybe Oz won’t want to see me again anyway.

“What are you having trouble with?” he asks. “Maybe I remember something that you can't.”

I look at him, raising an eyebrow as if I’m heavily insulted. “Are you saying that you were able to concentrate more on the tours than I was?”

“I wouldn't dare,” Oz says with a smile. “But I have lived here for a long time, and I have some experience with these colleges from previous visits. Maybe there is something I can add to the discussion. And, not to mention, as someone who's been through college already, I can guide you as to which factors are the most important.”

I nod my head. “That is why I asked you along in the first place, after all,” I say. “I would love to get your input.”

“Oh, is it?” Oz says. He has his eyebrows raised now, too, and I know he's just teasing me. “I thought you invited me along so that you could pull me into a cupboard and have your wicked way with me, and all of that.”

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry for ruining your innocence,” I say dryly. “Now, help me decide. Which one of them has the best Student Union?”

I don't really need to discuss all of this now. The truth is, I don't have to make a decision for a while yet. I can apply to as many of them as I want because I only viewed five colleges here and the application limit is five. Combine that with the applications I'm making back home, and I know I'm going to have a lot of choices. The question is, which of them do I really want to go to?

And while I don't have to answer that right now, at least it's something that I can do with Oz. Something that allows me to spend more time with him, feeling him close by my side. I'm starting to feel a bit pathetic already, given how much I just want to cling to his company and his contact. I can't imagine how bad it's going to be on the day that I have to leave for the airport.

When we finish talking about student unions and bars and campus libraries and all of the rest of it, I feel a little more anchored. Like all of this, talking with him is normal, like he's discussing my future with me because he's going to be part of it. Even if that isn't really true, it feels good.

And when he slips his hand along my shoulder to my neck, pulling me around to face him so that he can kiss me, I get this glimpse of something that shoots right down my spine. This impression of a future in which touching each other, kissing, talking about plans, is normal.

And the worst part is, it only makes me want that future all the more.

I don't know how I'm supposed to do all of this. Keep my head together over the next two days. But the good news is that when I'm with Oz, I feel like I can do just about anything. His calming influence makes me feel like I'm exactly where I should be, and it's hard to argue with that.

Especially when, instead of heading out somewhere for lunch or getting something from the kitchen, we end up falling into his bed, obliterating any other thoughts completely from my brain.

I spend the last two days of my trip at Oz's place, with all of my things moved over from the hotel and my reservation canceled, in kind of a daydream. I don't want to think about the fact that my time is almost up. Every time it comes into my head, I push it away.

When Oz asks me what time my flight is, I tell him I can't remember and I'll look it up later.

When he brings up the fact that I need to start packing, I brush it off, telling him I can do it in the morning before my flight.

When he asks me if I'm looking forward to going back home, I give him the briefest answer and then distract him by asking him if he'd like me to get him a drink while I go for a glass of water.

Anything to avoid talking about the thing I don't want to confront. The fact that all of this is almost over.

And then it comes. I wake up early in the morning, to the sound of an alarm going off. The first one I've heard the whole time I've been here. Oz and I usually just wake with the sun as it rises over the city when it finally reaches a high enough point to shine right through the windows and glint off our eyelids. But today, there is an alarm, which means there is a schedule and a deadline, and the prayer I uttered before I fell asleep didn't work.

Because I prayed that I would wake up and it would all be different, and I wouldn't have to leave, and I would be back right at the beginning of the week and ready to spend it all over with him again.

I lay still, for a long moment. Oz turns off the alarm and clears his throat, turning to look at me. But I remain still, my eyes closed, not moving, focused on keeping my breathing as steady as possible. Maybe if I just pretend to be asleep, I can sleep through all of this. Maybe he'll leave me here, let me miss my flight.

But he doesn't.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his voice soft even if still slightly rough with sleep.

“I'm sleeping,” I say stupidly, which definitely gives the game away.

He chuckles lightly, and I feel his hand brushing the side of my face. “You have to get up sooner or later,” he says. “You've got somewhere to be today, remember?”

“No,” I say, keeping my eyes shut tightly and deliberately rolling onto my side, putting my back to him. I know I'm acting like a child. Stubborn and dumb, like I'm having a tantrum. But my heart is breaking inside me, and I don't know how else to deal with it. I don't want to face reality. I don't want to face the fact that today is the last day I will wake up in his bed.

“Darling,” he says, kissing lightly at my neck. It makes me shudder the same way it always does, sending a bolt of desire right down into the pit of my stomach. How am I supposed to resist him when he does that?

“Don't,” I say, my voice cracking on the words.

“What is it?” he asks, going still immediately. His hand hovers slightly above my arm, lifting up from where he was touching me. His face remains just an inch from my neck, but no longer kissing.

And that breaks my heart, even more, knowing how much thought he puts into my needs. How eager he always is to make sure that I’m comfortable, that I enjoy what is happening. How if there is the slightest hint that I’m not, he will pull away, no matter how much he must want to continue.

“Please,” I say. “Just let me go back to sleep.”

“Are you tired?” he asks, his voice full of concern. “Didn't you sleep well last night? I think you can sleep in for a while, but not for too long, otherwise...”

“Let me sleep in forever,” I say, my voice coming out as a whine.

Oz sighs, his breath ghosting over my skin. “Why?” he asks. “Because you’re tired? Or because you don’t want today to happen?”

“I don't want to go home,” I say, the words breaking into tiny pieces in my throat. I hold back a sob. The last thing I want is to make things worse. He must already think so little of me from the way I'm acting.

But his arm comes around me, holding me, pulling me against his chest where I feel safe and warm. It's like he is cradling me. Not rebuking me. Not laughing at me.

“I don't want you to go either,” he says, and that broken heart of mine suddenly jolts back into place, all of the million pieces reforming into one whole.

“Do you mean that?” I ask, my hands covering his where he embraces me. I don't dare turn around and look at him just yet, not until I know for sure. I don't want to embarrass myself by letting him see the hope in my eyes, not if it's all a horrible joke. Not if he's about to say, but you have to.

“Of course, I mean it,” he says. “I've been dreading this day ever since the first moment we met. Only a week. It's not long enough. It wouldn't be long enough if you were here with me for a year or a lifetime. I don't want you to leave my side, ever.”

Something is stirring so painfully in my chest, yet so wonderful. A mixture of the greatest thrill and the greatest joy, like my heart is about to expand and burst. Now I do turn, shifting in his arms until I can face him, putting my hands to his chest and looking up into his face to see the truth there. “You want me to stay,” I say. Not really a question. A statement. A hope.

“I want you to stay forever,” he says, bending to kiss me on the forehead. The lightest kiss, the most chaste. But also so full of meaning. “Gabby, I love you.”

That swelling becomes impossible to bear, my chest surely expanding sixteen times just to contain the size of my heart now.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. I close my eyes as he kisses me again, so sweet and gentle, and it feels like the end of the world and the start of it all at once.