Yup...things really have gotten a little crazy.

Bobby eventually released the story about Mitch and I.

He put a romantic and highly endearing spin on how myself and Mitch met one another again at the Nortonhill school reunion.

Of course, he purposely forgot to mention how as teenagers that there was never no love lost between us, because Bobby Cline was only interested in the fact that we found the beginnings of love on that strange and wonderful evening. "The press are going to lap this shit up, they really are." Is what Bobby kept telling us, excitedly so. "They'll all be clambering over this. Just you wait and see!"

So while it seems that the whole world is having fun with how Mitch and I first got together, we are just having fun being together. Hidden Hills is certainly keeping us well hidden. It's where Mitch continues to heal and where I can remain a little oblivious to what is going on beyond the affluent walls of Mitch's home. It's my parents and Iris who are mainly the ones who have been dealing with all of the current press intrusion. The media are digging, trying to find out everything about the, no longer mysterious brunette, who is now dating the great yet very injured Mitch Heston. But Mitch and Bobby have assured me that my parents and my business shall be taken very good care of. Already, I have been assigned my very own publicist. She's based in London, knows her stuff apparently, and shall now take complete control of any information that is to be given to the press about me. I am yet to meet her, but I did have a small conversation with the very confident and determined, Gina Gorseman, just the other day. "Rebecca, don't you worry about a thing. Anything, and I mean, anything, that is now given to the press about you, your family or friends, will only be given to them via me. I'll be putting a prompt stop to them harassing your parents and your PA, so for now, you needn't worry about anything other than enjoying the LA air." Is what Gina had so professionally assured me when we spoke ever so briefly.

Sooooooo, what am I doing right now? Yup, I'm enjoying that LA air.

Early October LA air to be exact. Not exactly bikini weather, but warm enough to enjoy sitting on the covered porch to take in the views of the Santa Monica Mountains that stunningly surround the house. While I sip from a mug that's filled with warm tea, I appreciate the quietness of just being here.

Here, is beautiful.

Here, is perfect.

When we first arrived at Hidden Hills, the thought that this place would be full of nothing but the rich and the famous, who all come here to just rest their elite and hugely inflated egos, had been quickly snuffed out by the sign that was the first thing I saw as we drove through the front gates of this affluent gated community: . My judgemental mind-set, was quickly put to bed. I had foolishly figured that this place would have the stench of snobbery and wealth, wafting in its Californian air and settling into the walls and soft furnishings of Mitch's entire home. I had also thought, that I would feel completely out of place here. I thought, that I would feel incredibly uncomfortable here, but I'm glad to say that I was wrong.

Mitch's home, feels like a home. It has welcomed me into it. It has made me happily want to be here, to help care for its owner.

Okay, so the rich and the famous probably are our nearest neighbours, but within the walled and gated grounds of this hillside haven—it's safe and relaxing.

Which is why so many celebrities choose to reside here. Hidden Hills offers that longed-for peace, seclusion and privacy. It offers a safe and secure suburb, that's got three checkpoints and is completely enclosed within huge security fencing. That is why Mitch chose to base himself here, he needed somewhere away from the main city, away from the paparazzi and away from his fans. This home, gives him the space that he says he so often needs. None so, more than now. It has been nine days since Mitch's accident. He's getting better. Both physically and mentally. He has been behaving himself with the medical team who have been coming in twice a day to care for him, and I'm beginning to see more and more of the lighthearted Mitch that he used to be. He has had to accept that his accident has caused him to let some people down. Once he has fully recovered, he will be obligated to finish his film and then proceed to honour any future engagements he has coming up. It's just not possible for him to catch up on all of the things that he unfortunately couldn't fulfil because of his accident. After many chats with myself and Bobby, Mitch now realises that there is only one of him. There is only so much that he can do as just one person. The tv networks, the charities, the radio stations, the media corporations—they have access to many more celebrities who can all do what Mitch physically cannot.

His spirits have thankfully been higher, right up until he took a phone call from his father late this afternoon. Since that call, he has been quieter, a little withdrawn. He never talks a lot about his family, and I never push him to, because I know that when he is ready to talk about them, he will. But I sense that Mitch is hurt by the fact that it has taken his father nine days to call him. That's got to hurt, and that is why I am sat out here on the porch, slowly drinking my mug of tea, taking in the glorious sunset view, giving Mitch a little bit of space on his own.

Sometimes, we all need time to ourselves.

Sometimes, we need the freedom to think things through all alone.

Which is exactly what I think Mitch now needs. If I'm being completely honest, it's what I also now need. I need to accept that I'll soon have to return back home. Now that Mitch is on the mend, it's time for me to start thinking about returning back to my own life.

I know it's going to be different.

Probably a little crazy for a bit.

But my time here is coming to an end.

Which is a shame, because I have enjoyed being within our Hidden Hills bubble. This house and its farmhouse feel, is a wonderful place to hide away from the world. Without a doubt, I'm going to miss seeing the luscious greenery of the large gardens that frame Mitch's home. I'll miss walking on the wide planks of reclaimed Russian Oaks that are laid as flooring in all the rooms except its eight bathrooms; those beauties, are all wonderfully laid with marbled floors.

Yes, I'll miss this six-bedroomed wonder. I'll miss all of its architectural delights. I'll miss walking amongst its expansive lawns and numerous fruit and shade trees. I'll miss imagining that the stables will maybe one day have a horse or two to fill them. I've promised this place that the next time I come, I'll spend more time in the pool and the spa room. I'll cook a lot more in its kitchen that has stunning dual centre islands, a fabulous farm sink and is flooded with lovely and natural light. I've even promised the master bedroom, that Mitch and I shall make love on its wool-carpeted floor. Then we shall make love in its en-suite bathroom; christening the sink first, then the bath. I have made all of those promises, not just to this house, but also to myself. I need to believe that I will be coming back, because leaving is going to be so damn hard.

Feeling a warm hand on my shoulder, a warm hand that I know to be Mitch's, draws me away from all of my inner anxieties about returning back to England. "You like it out here, don't you?" He asks, taking the seat right beside me.

Hugging my mug of tea and inhaling the fresh air with happy satisfaction, I dreamily nod. "I do."

Together, we breathe in the beginning of the evening air. In silence, we watch the last of the days sun start to slowly disappear behind one of the mountains. Without saying a word, Mitch lays his right hand onto my leg, caressing my jeans with sensuous little swirls. For a while, he so sweetly does that, until that silence and those sensuous little swirls are put on pause. "My father has invited us to dinner for his birthday."

Kind of surprised, I turn to look at Mitch. "Okay. When?"

"Just before Christmas." His voice is so indifferent, maybe just a bit agitated, that I can tell that Mitch isn't keen about going.

"Well, I'm happy to go, if you are?"

"I can't say I am ever happy to see my father, Rebecca." There's a heavy dose of sarcasm in Mitch's voice, accompanied with a taut sneer across his face. "After his duty-bound call to ask whether I was alright, his exact words then were, if you're still with this girlfriend by Christmas, bring her along as well...that's my dear ole dad all over, subtly critical about everything in my life."

"I take it that you're not close, then?"

Holding out his hand to me, Mitch wants our hands to link together, like the affectionate gesture will somehow lessen his obvious uneasiness. "My father has never approved of my choosing to go into acting. He has a strong distaste for my fame and all that comes with it, yet is happy to utilise it for the university that he lectures at."

For a moment, I study Mitch intently. When he speaks about his father, I hear the rawness in all that he says, I hear his hurt. Using my fingers to softly assure him that I am here, that I am still listening, they slowly caress his hand. "In what way?" Comes my gently asked question.

With a distinct hardening of his eyes, Mitch answers. "Every so often, he will want me to attend some high brow function, show my face and say a few words...that kind of thing." Now chuckling, with that same rawness and hurt, Mitch begins to disbelievingly shake his head a little. "He can't stand what I do, but when it suits him, he's happy to use what I do to make himself look good amongst the trustees, patrons and his fellow professors. It's all highly superficial, Rebecca."

"Why do it, then?"

Looking like my question is weighing heavily on him, Mitch regretfully shrugs. "I'm not entirely sure."

I don't think I have ever seen Mitch so lost within something that not even he himself can fathom. So I want to veer him away from all talk about his father, I want to veer him away from the isolation that a brief conversation about his father brings to him. "Whatever you decide about your father's birthday, I'm happy to go along with it, but right now, I fancy having a long and lovely soak in one of your jacuzzi baths. I want bubbles by candlelight and a little flirty footsie with my wounded man." Placing my mug down onto the porch table, I stand up and then carefully pull Mitch onto his feet. "Come on, handsome?"

Standing tall and now more happy, Mitch pulls me gently into the warmth of his body. "I need to thank you, Rebecca. For bringing yourself to me after my accident. For being by my side during the whole time that I have wanted to just give up, and for always knowing when I need you to take my thoughts elsewhere." His gaze on me then becomes as soft as that of a treasured caress. "You know I am falling in love with you, right?"

Excited and aware of the strength and warmth of his body while floating within the echo of what he has just so wonderfully said, I try to settle my excited heart...my fluttering and overwhelmed heart. Smiling up at Mitch with an unseen giddiness, I can hardly lift my voice above that of a whisper. "I know that feeling very well, but it would seem that I am just a little ahead of you, Mr Heston." Is what I so dizzily admit.

An heart rending tenderness quickly glaze the blueness of Mitch's surprised eyes. "You love me?"

It was time.

Time to just say what's truthfully in my heart and in my soul.

Needing to press myself against him, I make it impossible for even air to pass between us. Then bringing my hands up to his face, I delicately hold it within my soft palms. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I never expected it to happen, but I have fallen in love with you, Mitch. You have capsized my life. You are making me want things that I never thought I'd ever want, and I'm glad to want those things, I'm glad to have fallen in love with you." Drinking in the comfort of his nearness, tears of that gladness begin to tremble upon my lower lashes.

Mitch is momentarily speechless by his surprise, momentarily needing to just hold me tighter. Then his handsome surprise falls all away from the contours of his face, replacing it with a broad and devilish grin. "Rebecca Adams loves me." With a confident, playful grin, his arms then fully engulf my upper body into one of his masculine bear hugs. "I can't really blame you, I'm really quite a catch." I can't see him laughing, but I feel it rumbling within the corded muscles of his chest.

He's happy.

I hear it.

I feel it.

Which in turn, makes me happy.

Stroking the back that I feel is one part of the whole man that I now know is truly mine, I decide to have a little fun with my answer. "And I have caught you, haven't I, Mitch?"

Bringing his face down closely to mine, Mitch begins to move the tip of his nose in sweet circles against the soft tip of mine. "You certainly have, Rebecca Adams. You have caught me good and proper."

We kissed on that porch for such a wonderfully long time. It was like our kisses were sealing our fate, sealing all of our promises to one another. They were the kind of kisses that would leave tingling memories on our lips, leaving an imprint of our time together.

For soon, I would be returning to England. So those porch kisses would have to see us through until the next time that we would be able to recapture them all over again; creating new memories and new imprints upon both of our loving lips. And within the giddiness of all those kisses and the cuddles that we so affectionately shared, I wondered what might happen with a love like ours.

A love that has happened so quickly and so unexpectedly.

A love that shall be blossoming beneath the spotlight of Mitch's fame.

Yes, I have wondered a lot.

I shall probably continue to wonder.

However, all of my wonderings now have to be placed into the hands of Mitch's fame and into the hands of time. For they now have the guardianship of our love, of our possible future...they are indeed the ones who shall ultimately have the power to either strengthen us or weaken us.