Page 43 of Where the Wind Whispers

“You could at least make it interesting for me, Papa.”

“Well, she is technically married,” Angelo said like it was an afterthought. “That is your type, it seems.”

What hell had Violet fell into?

She didn’t know if this was some kind of nightmare or just a sick joke. Hiding the pregnancy was one thing, but she was not going to fake marry someone just to please her father or stay in a safe haven.

The more she even had to consider it, the sicker it made her feel.

Violet’s morning sickness had finally decided to show itself at the proper time—for once. All the anxiety and panic she felt began to thump hard in the back of her throat as the bile spilled onto the back of her tongue. She spun fast on her heel, making sure to keep a tight grip on her messenger bag as she went. It was the one thing her father let her keep—though he’d gone through it, only not with a sharp enough eye to realize the white bottle of vitamins were missing their telltale wrapping. He’d never even questioned the prenatal vitamins, really, and she supposed that was sheer luck.

She barely made it out of the hallway, going back the way she had come, and into a spare bathroom in enough time to be sick without making a mess and exposing her eavesdropping. Somehow, she managed to get the door shut and the exhaust fan turned on—it offered just enough sound to muffle her vomiting, but not by much.

Violet leaned over the toilet, more sickness spilling into the porcelain, as her bag fell to the tiled floor, the contents falling out. She didn’t even care.

This was horrid.

By the time she was finished, the whole bathroom had smelled of vomit, and her cheeks were streaked with tearstains.

Just freaking wonderful.

That wasn’t the worst part, though.

No, that came when the bathroom door was pushed open with a certain care that said whoever was behind it had been listening to her the entire time and was wondering if she was dead or not. Frankly, she’d be wondering that herself had she needed to listen.

“Fuck,” Violet muttered.

Caesar stood outside the bathroom, arms crossed and a curious expression on his face as he watched Violet reach up to flush the toilet. “Well, then …”

“Get out.”

“In a minute.”

“Now,” Violet snarled.

“Sick?”

“Deaf?” she shot back.

On wobbly legs, Violet stood, turning to the sink to turn the tap on and cup water in her hand to drink and swish out her mouth. She only turned around when she heard a telltale rattle behind her. Caesar held the bottle of her vitamins in his hand, though it looked like he’d been refilling her bag for her.

She would have thanked him because it was a nice gesture, if he hadn’t been holding those pills.

Her secret …

Jesus.

“Caesar,” Violet started to say.

“Just a second,” Caesar said, holding up a finger as he looked the bottle over. Then he took the top off and looked inside, nodding as though the contents were exactly what he’d expected to find inside.

Shit.

This had just gone from bad to way worse.

“Question,” he murmured, “if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

Well, what options did Violet have at the moment?