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"Just pull over, please," she says, her voice shaking.
I nod, my mind whirling with thoughts. This can't be good. What's happening to her?
I instruct the driver to pull over, and once we reach a safe spot, I help her out of the car. She's still shaking, and her face is as pale as a ghost.
"What's wrong?" I demand, my voice harsh with concern.
“I think I might be sick,” she says, leaning forward. I hold her hair back while she throws up. Once she’s done, I give her some water and go back to the car.
I tell the driver to drive back home despite her protests about being fine. Today, I’ll work from home.
***
I make sure Robin is settled and decide to make her some lunch. I find her asleep, so I leave it by her side and return to my study.
I check my email and see an update request from Ivan on the investment from Russo.
In the midst of all this, I had completely forgotten all about Russo. In exchange for the investment, he demanded I marry his daughter, Genevieve.
I’ve delayed making a decision for far too long, and Russo is probably waiting for answers.
I sigh and place my head in my hands, rubbing my temples. My head hurts at the thought of making this decision. In another world, I would have chosen to marry her in a heartbeat.
Not because I love her. I’ve never even met her. But simply because the state of my company depends on this one decision.
But now, with Robin…
What about Robin? The rational mind screams at me. She’s probably got a lover already. We’ve been living under the same roof for weeks, but nothing has happened.
The truth is, I’m using her as a crutch to delay the decision. But there’s no point. I shouldn’t put this decision off any longer. In my heart, I know what has to be done.
Arranged marriages are the foundation of great Bratva families, and I plan to be the head of one someday. I don’t have to love her. I simply have to respect her, keep her happy, and perhaps someday, make a mother of her.
With that in mind, I pick up the phone to call Gerald Russo and let him know that I accept his daughter’s hand in marriage.
***
The following morning, I walk into the kitchen, and as usual, Robin already has breakfast prepared. It’s simple today: toast, fruit, and cereal.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Absolutely perfect,” she sings, as if she’s walking on sunshine.
“Good,” I smile. I am relieved to know she’s doing alright.
I walk over to the counter.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I think I want some eggs,” I say. I grab two and crack them on the pan. The heavenly aroma of eggs and butter fills the air.
From behind, I hear a groan. “Oh, that smell,” Robin moans.
“Smell?”
“I think those eggs are spoilt,” she mumbles.
“The eggs are fine,” I state.
