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CHAPTER 8: I WANT TO KISS YOU

"Only three days left until the wedding, and you still haven't chosen a dress, Allison," my mother says angrily.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but the dresses that Amanda and you want me to wear are ridiculous and outdated. Let me choose it, please. That's all I ask, especially since you didn't let me choose who to marry," my mother closes her eyes upon hearing me and puts her hand on her forehead.

"Fine, Allison, choose the damn dress but do it quickly. You're getting married in seventy-two hours. I'm leaving," she gets up from the couch, grabs her purse, and walks away.

"Mom... Are you serious? Ugh, okay, Allison, you can do this," I look at myself in the mirror, encouraging myself while seeing the horrible dress my mother wanted me to wear.

"Oh no, I can't," I say in a squeaky voice after trying on more than fifty dresses.

Suddenly, one of the salesmen comes out with a beautiful dress, lace flowers, embroidery, a sweetheart neckline, and a very fluffy skirt. I look at the dress with my mouth wide open.

"It's beautiful," I say, and the salesman nods.

"It's the new design by Diego Petroni, the only one."

"Can I try it on?" I ask excitedly, and he nods again.

After putting on the dress, I step out and look at myself in the mirror. I can't believe it's me. It's the perfect dress.

I take a picture and send it to my mother, Amanda, and of course, Ana. All three approve of my choice, and my mother sends me audio messages almost in tears of excitement, just like Ana.

I enter the dressing room again and carefully take off the dress, trying not to ruin it. I put on my clothes and then come out to find the salesman.

"I'll take it," I tell the salesman when I find him in front of the dressing room.

"Will you pay with a card or cash?"

"Do you think anyone would carry all the money this dress costs in cash? No? Neither do I," I say and laugh at the terrible joke I just made.

"I don't think so either," I hear Harry's voice. I start looking for him with my gaze and find him on the left side of where I am.

"Harry!" I say surprised.

"Here, charge it to my account," he tells the salesman, who simply nods and takes Harry's credit card.

"It's not necessary, I can pay for it," I say, extending my card to the salesman. Harry looks at me and squints his eyes.

"It's the first gift I want to give you, future wife," he approaches me and tousles my hair.

"Awww, you guys are a very sweet couple," one of the saleswomen says, for some reason, we hadn't noticed her.

Harry clears his throat and scratches his head while smiling nervously. I, on the other hand, feel my cheeks burning and try to hide from the gaze of the salespeople and Harry.

"Take your dress and let's go, little Ali," Harry orders with a sweet voice.

I just smile and grab my purse. Harry takes the dress box with one hand and holds my left hand with the other.

When we leave, Harry lets go of me and hands the box to Luck.

"Do you want to grab a bite to eat?" Harry asks in his typical serious and cold tone.

"Eat? You and me?" I ask surprised, and Harry shakes his head.

"I was inviting Luck," he replies sarcastically and turns around.

"Very funny," I reply, walking towards my car.

"I was trying to get us to know each other, but since you don't want to, there's nothing I can do," he says, and I close my eyes, remembering the dinner at that restaurant and my proposal to get to know him.

"Harry, wait," I walk towards him, and he turns to look at me. "Okay, let's go."

"Okay. By the way, don't you have other clothes?" he looks me up and down.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I look at myself and then at him.

"Well, leather jacket, black jeans, boots. It's not the appropriate attire for the place I want to take you," I furrow my brow and analyze his outfit. It's quite obvious; he's wearing the typical attire of a millionaire businessman.

I snap my fingers and turn around.

"Allison, wait."

"What? Are you going to continue criticizing my way of dressing?" I look at him and raise my voice. "I'm not the perfect fiancée. I'll never dress like my mother or yours. I won't be who you want me to be..."

"I'm not what you want me to be either," Harry interrupts me. "Let's just go and eat, anywhere you want. We need to get to know each other a bit, or else our life as spouses will be hell."

I look at him with teary eyes and turn around, feeling a tear about to escape. I wipe my eyes and turn, standing in front of him.

"I think you're right. Come on, you choose," Harry extends his hand for me to take it, but I don't, and I quickly pass by his side and get into the car.

We arrive at a restaurant with a minimalist look and a view of the sea. Harry enters and requests a table, and the young man who attends us leads us to a beautiful terrace facing the sea, where we feel the sea breeze and hear the sound of waves crashing against rocks.

A waiter approaches us and takes our order. The waiter encourages me to try some seafood, but I firmly refuse. They're not to my liking, honestly. Harry looks at me amused, and I become annoyed by his gesture.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Your disgusted face when you heard the waiter say 'seafood'," he responds, stifling a laugh.

"I don't like them. Their smell and taste are too strong for my liking."

"I think that's the first thing I've learned about you," he smiles and takes a sip of water. "I'm allergic to nuts, by the way."

"I already knew that. I also know that you like blackberry pie and that you were less... grumpy before working with your father," I say, shrugging my shoulders. Harry settles into his chair and clears his throat.

"Who told you that?"

"Imanol," I say, and he tenses up. "I mean, he helped me choose the cake, so maybe I forced him to spill some things. Doesn't it bother you, does it?" Harry shakes his head.

"Next time, whatever you want to know about me, ask me directly, not anyone else," he looks into my eyes and gradually relaxes his face. I simply nod, and a waiter arrives with our food.

While we eat, we start talking about things we like, things we don't, and a couple of childhood anecdotes. In general, we avoid discussing deep topics. I think we're still uncomfortable delving into that area.

At the moment, we're walking along the beach. The sun is starting to set, and the sand feels great under my bare feet. Yes, we took off our shoes.

"Shall we sit?" Harry says, pointing to a large rock.

"Yes," I respond as I begin to walk toward it.

As we sit down, Harry sighs and gazes out at the sea.

"Do you plan on going to college?" he asks.

"Yes, I hope that doesn't bother my future husband," Harry smiles without taking his eyes off the sea.

"What do you want to study?"

"I don't know yet, I'm torn between two options," Harry turns to look at me, and I look at the sea, trying not to let him notice that I was looking at him.

"I suppose one of those options is law."

"You assume wrong. I don't want to be like my mother or my father."

"I see," he says, placing his hand on my chin and making me turn my head to face him. "On the wedding day, we'll have to kiss. If you want, I can do the airport trick, or..." he stretches the vowel and then pauses. I look at him confused and furrow my brow.

"Or what?" I question curiously.

"Allison, can I kiss you?"

I look into Harry's eyes, not understanding, and he immediately leans dangerously close to me. I know I should move, but inexplicably, I don't. I remain motionless.

He gets closer and closer, and I simply close my eyes. Suddenly, I feel Harry's lips on mine. He doesn't move them, and neither do I. I open my eyes, unable to believe what's happening, and I see that he has his eyes closed. Unexpectedly, an impulse makes me move back, separating our lips, and he is startled by my sudden movement.

"I didn't feel anything," I say, looking into his eyes.

"Neither did I," says Harry as he stands up and clears his throat to continue speaking. "We should go, it's getting dark."

I simply nod and get up. We walk towards the car, and nobody says anything. Harry looks serious, but in a way, he no longer has that frivolous look he had before. Now, he seems... embarrassed, hiding it beneath his serious demeanor.

I get into the car, he does the same, and he starts driving. On the way, all I can think about is the kiss and the fact that I didn't feel anything. I mean, kisses are a way of communicating with the other person's soul (or at least that's how I see it), and I didn't feel our souls connecting.

I can't say it disgusted me or anything like that. That's a sign that I won't suffer when I have to kiss him again.

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