Part One | Chapter One: Love Made Me Crazy

London, England

April 1917

Harry doesn't ask me to marry him. He tells me to.

I've never put much importance on marriage. All the marriages I've grown up around have been arranged. They have always been mere transactions, so to be a part of that exchange is something that's never intrigued me. The thought of breaking the cycle of unhappy marriages I've seen since I was younger is daunting, too big of a task to put on my shoulders. I do look at Harry and think I'd like to be with him for the rest of my life. We've talked about vows and whether we, being an irreligious duo, should bother to wed in a church, however, this seems to be in the future, years and years from now.

He springs it on me on my 24th birthday after everyone has gone to sleep. Due to the fact that I've been living with his family every summer, he's had to sneak into my room, sitting beside me on my bed. We're far too tired to be intimate tonight, thanks to the party his sister, Thea, has put together. We've both had some drinks and we're not too far from being drunk. I hold his hand in mine, my cheek pressed to his shoulder.

Harry says it loud and clear so I know it's not just the buzz of the alcohol in my ears. I pick my head up and look at him through heavy eyelids. For a split second, I see two of him. "What?"

His eyes are clearer than mine, voice less drowsy. "Marry me."

I laugh quietly, rubbing my cheek on his shoulder again. "Most men are gentlemen and tend to ask. In a more romantic way, too."

"I'm not asking," Harry says, completely serious. His mouth is in a tight line. I search for any hints of sarcasm, but the man who stares back at me is genuine in his words and expression. His eyes glance down to my mouth briefly. "I'm telling you to marry me."

I push myself off of him. "Sounds more like you're ordering."

"And what if I am?"

"Then I have to yell at you for it. What if I don't want to marry you, you insufferable man?"

Harry smiles fully, pink lips spread across his face, triggering the dimples on either side of that mouth. "Of course you do," he says as he leans down for a kiss. "I shouldn't even have to ask."

Despite the warmth of the kiss, I pull back and ask, "What do you mean?"

"Let's go to the courthouse tomorrow."

This comment forces a chuckle out of me. "Oh? Impatient, are we?"

Harry presses his mouth to my neck. "You have no idea," he gently whispers, all hot breath, biting down on my skin. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Harry," I say, much more sober now, gently prying him away. He holds my hands tightly and searches my eyes, his own softening.

"Annaliese."

"It's only, what, about a year and a half?"

"I know it's been that long since we've been together, but I've been yours for longer. I was born for you. And I want to be with you until I die. I want all the time I can have with you, so yes, excuse me if I'm a little impatient. I don't mind how you want the wedding. If you want to have a big one, then let's do it. If you want to run away, let's do it, Annaliese. Just say yes."

He kisses the expanse of my throat, my jaw, and my cheeks. "Harry, you know I'm not... I'm not in a rush and I'm not going anywhere. I'm still here in London and when I get a job, I'll be around whenever you want me to be."

He pulls away and holds my hands again. "You may not be in a rush, Annaliese, but I am."

"Why? You're young. It's not like you're dying tomorrow."

"What if I do die tomorrow? I'll never have married you."

I swallow uneasily, laying a gentle hand on his cheek. "Harry, you'll still have spent all that time with me. Marriage is just a label."

Something shifts in his eyes. "You don't think marriage is a big deal?" He sounds hurt, maybe even offended.

"Well," I start, taking my hand away, "it's a big deal, maybe, but it wouldn't be any different than what we are now."

"For starters," he quickly says, "we'd be living together, and I wouldn't have to be sneaking around like this just to get a kiss or two, Annaliese. And it's permanent. Don't you want that?"

"We can live together right now. We've saved enough money to last us a long time. Let's look at some places."

Harry frowns, clenching his jaw. "Annaliese, I don't think it's a good idea for us to move in together without being married."

"Why not? Don't be so conservative."

"I may not be conservative, but the whole world is. I mean, imagine explaining to my mother that we're moving in together. And another thing is your family. I haven't even met them. I can't move in with their daughter without speaking with them first."

"What? To ask them for permission?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not permission. I know you'd kill me if I did that. But I'd like to make it known to them that I will not be leaving their daughter's life. And I'm around forever. I don't even know what they're like."

He knows I can't argue with that. There hasn't been any opportunity for him to meet my parents. I've barely seen them myself in recent years save for one Christmas and my 23rd birthday.

"And," he continues, "I want to marry you. I want to make a life with you, not only move into a flat together. I want a house somewhere far away."

"What, like in America?"

His eyes brighten. "Yes, maybe. Let's do it, Annaliese. Marry me. I promise I will make you so happy. I have enough to give you right now."

My stomach flutters suddenly. "Harry, I have never, not even for one moment, ever thought that one day you'd make me unhappy. And I do want to have a future with you, but it's really soon, isn't it?"

Harry sighs and deflates. "Alright. What do you want to know about me?"

"What? I know everything about you."

"So tell me what the real issue is, Annaliese. Are you afraid you'll make the wrong choice? How about this, just agree to marry me, and then we can have a long engagement. I'll get you a ring, buy you a house in a nice neighborhood, make sure we find work in a nice place, and then we can get married. How's that?"

His eyes are desperately searching mine, and he kisses my fingers.

"Mon chéri, I just..." I don't know how to tell him that I'm not afraid of big decisions, but regrets. The last thing I want to do is regret a marriage, and with Harry no less because I wouldn't have anyone to turn to. He's the one I always go to when I have a problem with work or school or even his sister. Without him, who do I turn to? "I just need some time, please."

"Time?" he echoes, shoulders dropping. "For what?"

"To... to make sure!"

"To make sure I'm the one you want to marry?" he says, sounding even more hurt. "Annaliese, we've talked about marriage before."

"Right!" I argue, pulling my hands away, "and I want to marry you someday. I've seen too many marriages fail, too many people grow apart despite being married. I don't want that for us."

Harry stares at me for a long time and then presses his lips together tightly. "I see." He doesn't say anything for a long time. "So is it me?"

"No," I exclaim. "No! Fuck. Harry, I want to marry you, but just not now. I'm afraid..."

"Of what?" he persists.

"Of losing you! Down the road when you grow out of love with me and then we're both stuck in a marriage, unhappy, forever until we divorce. Harry, I can marry you and I can withstand hardships with you, but what I cannot do is divorce you."

Harry's eyes soften. "You're afraid of losing me? Annaliese..."

"Don't you dare say I'm being irrational. How can you believe in marriage after seeing what your father and mother have? And Thea?"

"My love, what you and I have is nothing like my father and mother. And certainly not what Thea and Jack had."

"Thea knew Jack longer than I've known you," I point out.

Harry sighs again. "Yes, but we are different." He squeezes my hand. "We are so good. We're strong."

"And what happens one day when you come home and are disappointed that I'm the one who greets you? And don't you dare say that would never happen, Styles. You know it happens. And if we have children, I will not be raising them single handedly. I'd rather kill you with my bare hands than have you walk out on them."

Harry raises his eyebrows in alarm, lips twitching with amusement. "Annaliese, you have to be more smart about this. I'm not proposing marriage because I've got a primary school crush on you. I love you. You know that."

I do know. I see it in his eyes everyday, every curve of his mouth when I visit him at his stepfather's shop, when he tells me things about his day and then ends with "I wish you were there too." I would be a fool to doubt the love he has for me right now, but I can't guarantee the love he'll feel for me next year, or the year after.

I hold his face, shifting closer. "Harry, I need time. Can I think about this?"

Harry's eyes widen and his mouth forms into a smile. "Annaliese Favreau, are you rejecting my proposal?"

"I'm not rejecting! I'm--"

"Stalling," he finishes, sighing. "Alright. I will give you time."

"Can I tell you by the end of the year?"

He pulls away immediately, horrified. "Absolutely not! Maybe by the end of the month because I'm being so generous!"

End of the month. It's July 7th. Only a little over 3 weeks to give him an answer. "Okay," I muse quietly. "Fine."

He doesn't look too happy about it, but he's not upset either. "Okay," he repeats. "Wow. I never considered that you might reject me. Of course you always surprise me, but still."

"I didn't reject you!"

The teasing smile returns to his face as he leans in to kiss me softly. His mouth is very warm and he tastes faintly of wine.

"Okay," he murmurs, "but you didn't say yes either. I love you."

I press myself closer, unable to get enough of the kisses. "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime."

***

There are other factors that make me reluctant about marriage, not only based on what I've seen in my childhood and young adult life. The war continues, showing no promise of an end. I look at Harry, who's finished with his education and the sole male from his family, fresh bait for the government to draft. The thought causes my knees to buckle, my heart squeezing with discomfort as if it's going to stop beating altogether. I look at him and imagine him far from me, far from his family he loves so dearly, and I want to take us all thousands of miles away. To marry him and have such little time with him? No, I can't mourn Harry.

Harry, on the other hand, isn't all that concerned about the war. He says he's got luck on his side and he's yet to be drafted so far into the war. He'll slip by unnoticed. He doesn't stop to consider he was too young when the war first began, and he's in the prime age for it now.

We don't talk about the war a lot, the thought of Harry joining makes me sick. He may not know too much about war (and his ignorance is sometimes for the better), however, I do know war. Stories of my grandfather in the war of 1870 haunts me, and if the war on the Western Front is anything like that, I cannot fully comprehend the terror I feel.

If we were to marry, I'd take up on his offer to go far from here. America, seemingly, is a safe bet for now.

***

Days pass by in a blur of anxiety. I have an answer for him by the end of the week, after Germany closes in on Paris as she had done years ago. We're at Hyde Park after dusk, walking side by side for some time. Harry doesn't speak, allowing me to gather my thoughts.

We stop at the large willow tree I usually read under and sit down against the hard roots, resting our backs against the dark trunk. It was unbearably hot today, but my sweating isn't caused only by the weather. Although it's dark, the temperature has yet to dip, very unlike the usual gloomy weather of London.

"I have an answer for you," I say, looking at a wilted branch looming over our heads just a few feet away.

Harry looks handsome, the gentle moonlight streaming over his face, light green eyes staring down at me, mouth curved into a smile. "And here I thought you snuck us out to have sex."

"Have sex under a tree in the dark? It's like you don't even know me, Styles."

Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around me, drawing me to his lap. His lips press to my throat, kissing softly. "I'd like to argue that I know you a little too well." He feels my fast pulse and slowly draws back. "Is that a no?" he asks quietly, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"It's not a no," I tell him, resting my hands on his sternum.

"You look so sad telling me yes," he sighs, resting his head back against the trunk. "Annaliese, I won't be angry if you say no. You have every right to say no. I'd just like a good reason as to why. The last thing I want to do is pressure you."

Tears brim in my eyes, and against my better judgment, I do nothing to hide them. In the dark, he can't see them, but he'd surely be alarmed by the sight of them. I rarely ever cry and right now, I feel as if I'm on the brink of hysteria.

"I don't want you to die," I whisper, afraid to raise my voice. "I don't want you to go to war."

The crickets are chirping very loudly, but that may just be because of Harry's silence.

"I'm not going to war, Annaliese," he answers, confused. "Where is this coming from?"

My fingers twist his shirt, unable to look at him. In the summer, he has freckles across his nose and cheeks, his dark hair shorter to keep him from overheating. I know all too much about him, about how his hands are calloused after a day at the printing shop, how he gets ink on his pants and it never comes off, how he often forgets to lock up the shop when he's on his lunch break. All these memories I have of the man I sit with currently will not be made into memories of a widow.

"They're drafting. And you're single. You have no kids. Nothing is tying you down."

Harry takes a big breath and exhales for the longest time. "You can marry me for any reason you want, Annaliese, but I will not let you marry me out of fright."

"Well, it's not you I'm scared of, Harry."

"No," he says firmly, holding my arms. "Annaliese. I want you to marry me because you want to. Not because you feel obligated."

"Obligation or not, Harry, I would do anything to keep you here with me."

Harry sighs again, deeper this time as if he's getting impatient. "I'm not afraid of dying."

"You may not be afraid of it, but I am!" My chest begins to ache from anxiety, breath shallowing.

"And I understand that," he says tensely, "but even if I don't die from the war, I could easily die from something else as early as tomorrow."

"Harry," I continue, holding his collar. "It's not the same. I plan on marrying you one day. And like you, I have no plans of leaving you, so is it so wrong if I marry you now and save you from trouble anyways?"

I can barely see his face except for an eye and the corner of his mouth. His lips are twisted down, his eyes narrowed in thought. My heart thunders in my ears, breath quickens to an embarrassingly fast pace, fingers trembling. My grip on his shirt is too tight. I let it go and my knuckles ache. The crickets are louder than before.

When he speaks, it's slow and deliberate. "I want you to marry me because you love me and trust me to make you happy. Right now. Not in the future, not years and years from now. I don't want anything else to be a factor in this decision." His body rumbles underneath me, voice deep and understanding. He's such a different man from his father. "I don't care about dying. I told you that a week ago. I just want to be yours."

He pauses to make sure every word hits me, and then continues on, "But, since this is a really big worry of yours... I can negotiate with you."

"Why?"

Harry chuckles under me, touching my chin. "Why? Christ, because I love you and I will have you any way I can."

"But I want you to be happy while loving me."

He gently swipes away a tear. "I know, Annaliese, and if you agree, it'll make me very happy. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"If you agree to marry me, only for me and not for any other obligation, I'll take you to America where we'll be far from the war. I told you I wanted to leave England and you want that too. This way, you'll have me without the prospect of drafting, and I'll have you, all to myself. And you won't be able to run away from me."

He tilts his head so the moonlight falls directly on his face and I can see his eager expression, eyes watching me carefully. "How's that?"

I love this man, not only when he's arguing with me about something he's passionate about, but when he's being reasonable against my unreasonable self.

But for how long can we run? And what if the war reaches America by the time we get there? There is no hope in staying in Europe, not with the war raging and ruining every country including mine. That brief thought I had about moving to France with Harry is long gone and foolish to think about now. The siege has not only left me in terror about my family, but about the proximity of how close it is to England, mere hours away from us. Air raids have become more frequent, not yet touching our side, but I hear them at night. I hear the planes while Harry is fast asleep in the other room and I feel it grip my heart in a tight fist. I can't breathe, scrambling out of bed to check if there's one coming towards us. I wait for Harry to arrive at my door, but he pays little attention to the politics of the world, the ones that are so against him.

Running away has always been an option, and Harry has mentioned on multiple occasions that he doesn't plan on staying in England for long. His tense relations with his family and the idea of getting a better paying job in America has always been on his list, but will we be making the right decision? America is not a country away. We would be leaving our past, our families, our notion of safety on these lands. We'd be foreigners, unaccustomed to the culture of America and their ways of living.

I have been an outsider for so long; in my closest circles, in different lands, in my own relationship. And I don't think Harry knows the consequences of leaving. Harry doesn't seem to understand any consequences of decisions that are literally life and death.

But he looks at me with an immense amount of trust, and he gives me a smile. "Don't worry," he says, running his thumb over my face. "I'll keep you fed."

"You know that's not what I'm worried about."

"I'm only joking, my love."

He waits patiently.

"Okay," I say finally, holding his face between my hands. "Merde. I'm saying yes."

A wide grin breaks out onto his face as he scrambles to sit up, hands on my waist. "You'll marry me?" He leans in and kisses me, hard, desperate. "Fuck. You do make me insane, Favreau. Can't believe the things you make me do."

"Better get used to it, Styles," I laugh, sniffling.

"I've been getting used to it for a year now, ma femme."

I hold onto him tightly when he brings me in for a hug, anxiety still prodding at my ribs. My eyes close. I squeeze him and send a quick prayer to whoever is up there to keep the man in my arms save from harm.