Wish You Were Here - Part 3

Chapter 43

OLIVIA'S POV

I can hear my pulse thumping in my own ears as the tears stream down my face and onto the cold, hard surface below.

My fingertips are gripping onto the porcelain basin so hard that the thought of it accidentally breaking away from the countertop runs briefly through my mind.

I need to try and compose myself before Harry comes home and sees me like this but the emotions surging through my body are too hard to control right now.

We had gone and inspected the house in the countryside a couple of months ago, Harry falling in love with it quicker than I had and our bid was accepted the very same day as the article of us together was published to the world.

The interview was met with positive feedback and although it unfortunately hasn't stopped the hate, it HAS seemed to encourage a slew of unprecedented support for us. 

Fan social media accounts were made for our relationship and it would appear that there are just as many, if not more, people on our side than against us, which has been such a nice, welcomed, change.

Harry has been out all morning at the new house.  We received the keys last week and he had insisted that we buy all new stuff for our new home.

He had argued with me when I told him how much of a waste of money it was, trying to convince me that it was so that we finally had things in our home that were "ours" not just things he had picked out over the years, like the house we live in now. 

As much as I am sure that was part of it, I also know him well enough to understand it is so that when we come and stay back in our London homeroom time to time, that it is exactly as we remember it.

He had left at the crack of dawn this morning, meeting Tyler and overseeing the deliveries of all our new furniture.

"Liv? Babe?" My heart slams into my chest as I hear him calling for me down the hallway. 

I frantically try and wipe my cheeks but the tears won't stop.

Harry audibly gasps as he enters the bathroom, his arms quick to wrap around me as he instantly turns me around in his grip.

"Oh, sweetheart," he coos, his voice breaking a little and I'm sobbing so much I can't speak as he smothers me in love and affection.

This has become our monthly routine, I get my period and automatically break down until he literally picks me up off the bathroom floor. 

Sometimes we shower, the water washing away the tears and soothing our heartache, other times he wraps me in the duvet and softly hums me to sleep, too emotionally drained to move.

My arms wrap around his back, his white t-shirt damp with sweat from helping move furniture in that big house and I try to pull away to talk or at least let him see the emotion on my face.

"s'Not our time, baby," he croaks the same sentiment as he has since our very first negative pregnancy test on that deserted island, before we were even engaged.

"Next month," he instills false hope into the air as if it may stick into our minds and be the positive change we need.

All I can do is I shake my head trying to speak but too overwhelmed by the flood of emotions that knocked me down almost an hour ago.

His beautiful face is crumped into a frown as he watches my hasty dismissal and pushes the hair out of my face with both hands.

He cups my face, his eyes searching mine and hoping he heard incorrectly as he cautiously questions me, unsure if he wants the answer.