Wish You Were Here - Part 3

Chapter 41

HARRY'S POV

My heart is pounding and I rub my sweaty palms anxiously down the front of my black jeans.

Olivia sits on the couch to my right, her fingers trembling as they fidget in her lap and I worry she might actually hyperventilate before we even start.

She looks beautiful, as always, but after two hours of us both being in hair and makeup she emerged looking like a fucking goddess.

The white wrap dress they put her in hugs her figure but looks demure, elegant and she looks every bit the angel to my devil as I fix the collar of my black silky shirt.

I've done hundreds of interviews before, posed for even more photos, but this feels like there is so much added pressure with Olivia sitting beside me.

An aura of protectiveness radiates off me and I take in a deep breath to try and settle my racing pulse.

I hear her sigh next to me and I instinctively wrap my arm around her hips and scoot closer. Fuck it.

It has been three weeks since my phone was taken and we had been laying low for all this time, hoping it will blow over and become old news when something actually entertaining arose, but we were wrong.

The media and paparazzi are completely out of control, let alone the fans who are in a frenzy with a million questions outside our house or wherever we go and also blowing up social media and any other platform available.

The silence from me about everything was only making things worse, making them angry and demanding and causing the gossip mags to have an absolute field day with not only the photos but the running commentary and fan theories.

After speaking with management, my publicist and our friends and families for what felt like days, we agreed the way we were going to tackle this was that I would give an exclusive interview to a reputable publication, answer their questions (bar a few, including everything related to fertility or our struggles with falling pregnant) and get everyone off our backs for a while.

This way, the fans won't feel like I'm hiding from them, and the media won't have to literally chase us down the street for answers anymore.

Our first choice publication, a high end fashion magazine that dabbled in lifestyle and celebrity, were more than obliging in the short time frame however, they would meet all of our demands under one condition, Olivia had to be interviewed and photographed along side me.

I turned it down, going to our second and third preferences but they all wanted the same thing. People wanted to know about US, see US, not just me.

"Ok shall we start?" The perfectly manicured women takes her seat in front of us with a bright smile and not a hair out of place.

A photographer stands beside her, we had absolutely refused to be filmed and this was their next best, and only other, offer.

I unwrap my arm from Liv's body and place a hand over her shaking ones on her lap.

I hear her take in a wobbly breath and I nod as an indication that we can proceed, although she is already tapping profusely at the illuminated keyboard on her tablet.

She looks up and smiles again, genuine, I think, before she speaks in a soft, nurturing voice.

"I understand you're nervous, there's no need to be, were just going to talk as if we are having a regular conversation," she tells Liv who looks like a terrified deer caught in headlights. "I got your list of your topics that are off limits and I understand the boundaries."

I squeeze Liv's hands a little as she takes in another breath and tries to relax.

"You have a beautiful home," the woman starts again, her voice changing slightly from motherly to professional.