Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
He sits back down with his drink and takes a long sip, considering all of this. I still have no idea what he’s thinking. His reaction so far has already been so different from what I would have expected from him. We are in truly uncharted waters, and I feel like I’m drowning.
“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” I can’t help but ask, feeling strangely bare in front of him.
He nods once, resets, and his tone becomes much gentler. “What do you need?” he asks.
I’m so taken aback by the question that I can’t even answer at first. I actually have to think about it for a second. What do I need?
“I don’t know yet,” I finally admit. “It’s all really new.”
“Are you sick? Nauseous? Dizzy? Are you having headaches?” He scoots closer. “Any strange cravings?”
I can’t help but laugh at his hovering. For once, it doesn’t feel like an overreaction. I’m literally growing a baby in my body, and the sincere look in his eye tells me he’s considering that too. It’s a little magical, and completely overwhelming.
“I’m okay right now,” I tell him honestly, still touched by his thoughtfulness. “I have everything I need for the moment.”
“Well, if and when that changes, just tell me. I’ll make sure all your needs are taken care of,” he says firmly. “And you’ll be working from home from now on.”
I stop short at this.
“What? Why?” I can’t help the edge in my voice. This is so typical of him.
“Given your current condition, it’s for the best,” he answers, taking another long sip of his drink as if he’s trying to calm himself.
“I’m not fragile, Lev,” I argue. “I can go to the office every day and work. It’s not like it’s a physically taxing job. Plenty of pregnant women go into the office every day all around the world.”
“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he says with a sigh, as if he’s already gearing up for an argument. “And I’m not worried about you overdoing it at work. But you are carrying my heir and that makes you an even bigger target. I’ll keep the two of you safe no matter what it takes.”
His words land like a heavy weight. I can only stare at him in disbelief.
“It’s a six-week-old embryo,” I say, starting to feel a little sick. “I think calling it your heir is a little much right now.”
“That’s what it is to my world,” he says. “That baby is the most important thing to my future. And my enemies would feel the same. They wanted you as leverage before. Now they’ll want you and the baby dead.”
The room goes quiet. For a second I can’t get my lungs to work. Hearing it put that way makes my skin go cold.
“Stop,” I say.
“You need the full picture,” he replies flatly. “This increases the risk tenfold. We’ll have to crack down even more on your security detail.”
“No, seriously,” I say, standing up and holding my stomach. “I can’t hear this.”
“You need to hear this,” he says, standing up and looming over me. “You need to understand how serious the danger is for both of you. If you couldn’t believe that about yourself, at least believe it about our child.”
My stomach flips. Heat hits my throat. I turn and head for the hall.
“Mari?” he asks sharply.
I make it to the bathroom, drop to my knees, and retch. It’s violent and fast and leaves me shaky. I sit back, press a hand to my belly, and breathe, the tile cold against my knees. Lev hovers in the doorway, one hand on the frame like he’s bracing himself.
“Should I call a doctor?” he asks, sounding a little panicked.
“No.” I swallow and let out a sarcastic laugh. “This is pretty standard for a pregnant woman. You don’t need to call a doctor every time I throw up.”
“Nothing about this is standard,” he says.
He wets a washcloth, kneels, and uses it to wipe my forehead. It feels unbelievably good. I didn’t realize until this moment how hot my skin had gotten. This apartment, as big as it is, is starting to feel claustrophobic.
“What can I do?” he asks softly. “Do you need medicine? Water? I’ll go get you water.”
Before I can protest, he’s gone. He comes back a minute later with a cold bottle of water. I take it gratefully and take sips, feeling the chill of the water move through my body. All the while, he watches me carefully, concerned about what will happen next.
“I’m okay,” I tell him truthfully. “It passed.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“That’s going to happen a lot, huh?” he asks, wincing.
“Pretty much every day for the next couple months.” I shrug. “At least from what I’ve read. Everyone’s different.”
“I don’t like it,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m worried about you. I’m taking you to bed.”