Finding You, Looking for Me: A Henry Cavill FanFic

Part 18: Going Public

So, obviously things were going swimmingly. I was actually living the dream. I had been swept off my feet one night, as I tended bar, by a devastatingly handsome, exceedingly famous, extremely wealthy man. I ran off to London with him, made love every moment I could, and enjoyed every moment of my life since I had laid eyes on him.

It was an absolute fairytale.

And now I was pregnant with his child. I began to show over the next few months. Paparazzi photos began to surface of me wearing baggy clothes, and gossip blogs began to speculate if I was getting fat or if I indeed was pregnant with his child. Henry stayed tight lipped, not giving into their demanding questions.

He posted a photo of us on his Instagram, when I was already six months pregnant. This was the first official statement that he had made about our relationship. My instagram was private, so I had photos of us littered all over it. The photo that he posted was a sweet picture of me sleeping in the bed beside him, my now long dark curls splayed across my pillow, my lips pursed, dreaming—he was nuzzled beside me, his blue eyes sparkling, taking the selfie of us.

The caption read: "When she's not saving the world (and me) she dreams. I only hope my beautiful, brilliant Sarah dreams of me."

When I awoke that day, it was to millions of notifications. He had tagged me in the post. My hormonal self wept in happiness and anger and confusion.

I sat up in bed, clutching my bed sheet and my iPhone, just trying to make sense of it all.

"Babe!" I called out. I heard Henry's footsteps approach the bedroom. They halted just before the door.  After a beat, the door swung open, and Henry walked in. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him—his hair was curly and wild, his smile was shy and apprehensive.  He was wearing a blue tank top and gym shorts, and he glistened with sweat from his run. He looked practically edible.

I watched him close the gap between us with wide eyes and my tear streaked face. His face fell at the sight of my tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked me carefully, sitting beside me in bed.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, almost angry. "You have fifteen million followers on Instagram. And you posted a pic of me—without mentioning it to me first!" I looked at him, exasperated. "And you tagged me? What's come over you?" I asked him, my voice teetering on loud.

He blinked, clearly not expecting this reaction from me. "That photo inspired me," he said softly.  He took my face in his hands, "You're angry?"

"I don't know," I admitted, sniffling. "I just woke up to this," I gestured vaguely at the iPhone.

He took my face in his hands, and kissed me tenderly on the lips. Then he let my face go and leaned down to kiss my baby bump. "You looked so peaceful and beautiful and I know we'll be sharing the news of the baby soon..."

"But we've never discussed how we were planning on handling this. You have PR people who handle stuff for you, but I don't get involved in any of it. I'm kind of on this island with you, just living our happy life, oblivious to the greater universe..." I babbled, while I cried.

He wiped my tears away. "Sarah, it's okay," he reassured me. "I'm sorry, I should have discussed this with you.," he agreed.

I nodded, my eyes wide. I leaned forward and kissed him back. "I'm just stressed and...isolated."

His face fell again. "Isolated?"

"Yes. I miss...the noise..." I told him. I remembered telling him about why I found bartending to be soothing to my anxieties.  He nodded,  understanding. I leaned forward and crawled into his lap, wrapping my arms around him.