We had a project together, and we got to hang out. I got to know him "as a regular person, not a star" and found that he wasn't really as cute as I had imagined him to be, but liked him all the more for that. His parents loved me.
He found out I liked him, and he rejected me. I fled to Italy to heal my broken heart. He regretted losing me, and looked for me all over the world, Sherlock-style. I hid in a bell tower, but he found me. And no, it doesn't end there.
He organized an elaborate marriage proposal in front of my friends and family. He gave me a platinum ring -- no diamond, just a cute little heart in the middle -- and gave me a completely rational reason why we should be engaged even if we hadn't even started dating yet. He demanded I wear the ring all the time because he wanted the whole world to know I was his, especially because he would be away most of the time, making movies and all.
I held the ring up, and I found myself thinking if I could wear it while doing the dishes. And that's when I knew I could marry Benedict Cumberbatch: he had just pursued me in Italy and proposed to me in front of family and friends, and I was still grounded enough to think of doing the dishes.