Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“You never told anyone?” I ask, swallowing the food.
Adrian fed me another bite, his eyes never leaving mine. “No one,” he rasped. “No one but you.”
My pulse fluttered with his confession.
And I looked down, no longer able to hold his gaze.
That was when I noticed that my plate of eggs was half-way done.
Huh…
My head snapped up and my eyes narrowed on Adrian’s smirking face.
“You tricked me,” I accused, a gasp escaping my lips.
His smirk widened. “I didn’t trick you. You were hungry and I fed you. That’s what husbands do for their pregnant wives.”
Thud.
The stupid, treacherous heart ricocheted against my chest.
I was painfully aware of how intimate this moment felt.
Adrian Salvatore, the man who has deceived and manipulated me, standing in our kitchen at midnight, distracting me while we conversed so he could feed me because I couldn’t keep anything down.
This man is a paradox—capable of unspeakable cruelty and unexpected tenderness.
“Don’t try to be charming. I still haven’t forgiven you.”
The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. Adrian’s expression didn’t change, though something flickered in those blue eyes, a pain that vanished too quickly.
“Yes, I know,” he said, his voice soft.
He picked up another piece of toast, holding it to my lips. I should have refused. I should have maintained my anger, my distance. But my body betrayed me once more, my mouth opening to accept his offering.
“Have you thought of names?” he asked, feeding me another bite and I begrudgingly let him.
I chew slowly, considering his question. In truth, I have thought of little else these past weeks. “I’m not sure yet,” I admitted, swallowing. “But I’ll think of something soon for him.”
“You still think it’s a boy?”
I can’t help the small smile that curved my lips. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, cradling the small swell that had begun to form. “I have a feeling it’s a boy. What about you?”
“I think it’s a girl,” he said, and the pride in his voice caught me off guard.
I had expected him to want a son, an heir to carry on his name, his legacy. The Salvatore name demanded a male heir, didn’t it? That was how it worked in our world.
But Adrian seemed almost eager for a daughter. The thought unsettled me, confused me. Nothing about this man was as simple as I once believed.
“I do like the name Aurelia,” he added, and his voice was almost reverent as he spoke of the name.
Aurelia.
The name echoed in my mind, beautiful and melodic. I liked it.
Maybe our baby was a girl. A daughter.
Aurelia.
Another pain slid through me, and this time it wasn’t dull. It was sharp, a knife twisting deep in my abdomen. I flinched, my hand flying to my stomach.
“Serafina?” Adrian’s voice changed instantly, concern replacing the tenderness from moments before.
My stomach tightened again and this time I gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. I gasped, doubling over as severe cramps seized my body.
He lurched to my side, gripping my arm to steady me. “Serafina!” Adrian said my name again, panicked.
I clutched at the counter, my knuckles turning white as another wave crashed through me.
“Something’s wrong,” I whispered, the words barely audible through my clenched teeth.
Adrian didn’t hesitate.
The world tilted as he swept me into his arms, rushing up the stairs. Each step jolted through me, intensifying the pain that has taken hold of my body.
“Hold on,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking. “Hold on, Princess.”
I clung to his neck, my face pressed against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent as another contraction ripped through me.
He laid me gently on the bed and immediately reached for his phone. I heard the ringing as he waited for someone to pick up, his hand trembling as they hovered over me, uncertain where to touch, how to help.
I curled onto my side, arms wrapped protectively around my stomach as another cramp wrecked me. Each one stronger than the last, more violent, more terrifying.
“Dr. Patel,” Adrian said, controlled despite the panic I saw in his eyes. “It’s Adrian Salvatore. My wife is experiencing severe abdominal pain. She’s almost eleven weeks pregnant. Yes, right now. I need you here immediately.”
I watched him through a haze of pain as he paced the length of the bedroom, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gripping his hair so tightly his knuckles turn white, a gesture of helpless frustration I had never seen from him before.
His eyes were dark and haunted, shadows of fear dancing across his features.
Adrian ended the call and dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering over mine before he gripped them, interlocking our fingers. “The doctor is coming. She said to try and stay calm,” he said, his voice softer now, trying to reassure me. “Just hold on. Everything will be fine.”
But I could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe himself.