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I shook my head. “I’m not holding it against you.”
His head lowered and our lips met, feverish and needy. There was urgency in our kiss, but also exquisite tenderness. Killian kissed me like he feared I would disappear. My arms tightened around him, while he clung to me.
A tear slid down my scarred cheek.
I found both my redemption and salvation on his lips.
I woke up, my body exhausted, but my mind completely rested. For the first time in three years, I felt peaceful. Like I finally belonged.
The urge to hurt myself wasn’t there. The guilt and despair that used to gnaw at my inside was silent. I stretched before rolling over to grab Killian’s pillow. I pulled it against me and tucked my head into it, inhaling his lasting scent.
A grin spread over my lips, but it fell away when I noticed something different. Something that wasn’t there before.
I blinked, staring at my left hand. Was this–?
My eyes widened and I gasped, sitting up straight. My humongous diamond ring was gone. Replaced by a cushion-cut halo diamond ring. The very same one that Killian gave me the first time we became engaged, before the accident.
When Gracelynn died, I was forced to give up my ring too. Killian had taken it away, thinking that his fiancée was dead and there was no need for the Romano family to keep the engagement ring.
I stared at my left hand, my heart stammering in my chest. Killian must have exchanged the rings while I was asleep.
I missed that side of Killian – the considerate and romantic side of him.
Tears of joy flooded down my cheeks and I clutched my aching chest, not knowing if I should be happy or fearful.
Because whenever I was happy and each time I found solace in the arms of Killian… something bad always happened. Tragedy after tragedy.
I guessed I was afraid to be happy.
But for once, I just wanted to forget all the bad and think of all the good.
So, I quickly shoved away the feeling of dread.
A knock rapped against my door. After securely wrapping the sheets around my naked body, I called for the person to enter. Malay, the housekeeper, walked inside with a tray. “Killian asked me to deliver your late breakfast to you in bed. He said you might be too exhausted to come down,” she said smoothly.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat, fighting back a smile. He was right. I was pretty sore after last night’s activity. Killian took me twice before we fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arm. And then he woke me up in the middle of the night, for a quick fuck. It was hard and fast – the reason why I was sore this morning.
“Is he home?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
She shook her head. “He left for an urgent meeting an hour ago.”
“Okay, thank you.” I smiled.
Malay placed the tray on the coffee table and then excused herself, shutting the door behind her.
The bling on my left hand caught my attention again and I sighed, falling back against my pillows. Today was going to be a good day, I firmly believed.
The smell of warm butter and toast filled the room, teasing my nostrils and I gagged.
What the hell?
Since when did the smell of toast make me want to retch?
I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand and took a big gulp, hoping that it would alleviate the sick feeling in my stomach. But it only made it worse. Bile rose in my throat, tasting acidic on my tongue.
Oh God, I was going to puke.
I sprung out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, kneeling by the toilet – just in time for me to vomit my dinner from last night. I gagged, letting out a pitiful cry.
God, I hated puking.
My stomach churned and I continued gagging, even though I was done vomiting. There was nothing left but bile and an empty stomach. After flushing the toilet, I brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of vomit on my tongue.
It wasn’t until after I had pulled on a dress over my head and the room swayed under my feet that realization dawned on me.
The reason behind my constant exhaustion over the last two weeks; my breasts being extremely sensitive, me being overly emotional and now… puking.
No.
This couldn’t be happening, right?
I quickly counted the dates in the back of my head, only to realize that I was ten days late for my period. I was never late. My period was regular, always on time or some times, a day early. But never late. And especially not by ten freaking days!
How did I miss all these signs?
Rushing to the bathroom, I fumbled through the cabinets and drawers to find the pregnancy test I always kept on me. When my marriage began with a contract, stating that I was practically a walking womb for the Romano and Spencer family, I had to be always prepared.
