Page 59 of Tears of Gold

“No! I would never ask her to.”

“But you aren’t happy to take my money to make up for the fact my sister is living in your flat?”

“That’s not what you said. You said you wanted to pay me an allowance. I’m not a bloody employee, Elijah!”

How did we go from wake-up sex and snuggles to arguing about money?

“Just give me your bank details, Faith. It’s not difficult.”

“No. You are difficult. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want Fairclough money, not now and not when we are married.”

His face is a picture of shock, the delphinium blues wide. “Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was something you felt so strongly about.”

I’ve hurt him again. Literally every time I open my mouth, I manage to do something wrong.

“It’s not that. It’s just since we met, your family have been dangling an axe over your head, threatening to cut you off for being with me, all sorts of shit. I won’t be responsible for any retaliation that comes your way and I won’t be a financial drain.”

“It’s not being a financial drain, it’s being my wife. It’s how things are set out.”

“Well then, things are going to have to unset themselves, because I will never accept a penny of their money.”

He shakes his head from side to side. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I’ll make something to sell to Whitlocks. You are not responsible for me, okay?”

He nods but I can see all too clearly that I’ve upset him. “Shall I put the shower on?”

“Thanks.” I nod and start the laborious task of attempting to stand without puking. “Eli.” I hold my hand out to him and pull him back to me, running my hand over the bare skin of his chest. “Thank you. I just want to protect you.”

His eyes meet mine, piercing and deep. “And I’ve only ever wanted to protect you too, but you won’t let me.”

“I’m used to fighting my own battles.”

“But you don’t have to anymore.”

I shrug and smile. “It’s just the way I am.”

He kisses me swiftly and turns for the en-suite and I follow him, my fingers looped through the waistband of his jeans. I’m pretty sure an Eli shower will make me feel much better.

The waiting room is smart and neutral. With glass tables and comfortable chairs, it’s a far cry from the NHS hospital I visited Abs in when she had Charlotte. The art of the wall is substandard and bland—Eli should donate them one of his paintings to really lift the place.

I’ve barely opened the glossy magazine I’ve put on my lap when my name is called. My stomach drops. Eli is looking paler, the skin around his eyes tight, but he gives me a smile.

This is it.

I guess we are going to find out once and for all if this is happening. I breathe through my mouth and try to get one foot to follow the other as we follow a nurse, who’s dressed in bright pink, towards a door which she knocks on. “Dr Vernon, I have Faith Hitchin.”

The doctor, who is younger than I expect, her body slender and dressed in slim fit khaki trousers and a cream shirt, stands to shake my hand. “Faith, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Why is this all directed towards me when Eli is the one who organised it, is paying for it? It’s because I’m the one with the baby in my tummy—maybe.

She beckons us over to some padded chairs near her desk. “Come and sit, I’ve got some questions for you.” She motions to a pile of paperwork on her desk and I hold in my groan. I don’t want to do paperwork, I want to know what’s happening. I can’t handle the not knowing any longer. I need to know now. Dr Vernon smiles understandingly and Eli squeezes my hand. I flick my gaze towards him and find uncertainty painted across his features. He’s as nervous as me. Somehow that calms me down. We are both uncertain, scared, but we are those things together. I run my thumb along his palms and his lips curve at the edges.

“So how many weeks do you think you are? When was your last period?”

I flush. “I can’t remember exactly.”

“Do you have an unpredictable cycle?” Dr Vernon asks.