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But now she was back.
She was just a few rooms away.
And maybe it was breaking all my rules, but I wasn’t going to let her go so easily this time.
8
Kenzie
I was forming an escape plan when Sebastian returned. He hadn’t been gone for more than fifteen minutes, by my guess.
He came directly to the side of my bed, looked down like he was about to yell at me, then frowned. I could see whatever he’d been about to say die on his lips. Concern creased his forehead. “You look pale. I’ll go get Dr. Willows.”
“I look pale because I don’t get much sun.”
“Paler than usual,” he added over his shoulder before rushing out of the room.
I lifted my forearm and tilted my head, inspecting it. Had I really gotten that pale?
I gave escape one last fleeting thought. It’d probably be a minute or two before he came back. The windows to my room looked easy enough to open and they led straight to a beautifully landscaped, but traversable seeming garden. I imagined I could use my lack of athletic abilities to bumble, crash, and thump to some sort of freedom.
So why did I feel anchored to the bed?
Maybe it was the potential concussion. But there was a burning curiosity, too. A curiosity to know what was going on in that gorgeous head of Sebastian’s. And, yes, even some guilty part of me that thought I probably should let the guy know I was carrying his baby. Eventually. It would be probably best to let him know from a safe distance—like lobbing a little ball of news over his castle walls from the safety of the tree line. And then running for my life.
Fifteen minutes of solitude had brought me that far. I would tell him about the baby. I just didn’t know when. I also wasn’t exactly looking forward to the inevitable part where he’d laugh in my face and tell me it was my problem. Or more worrying, the possibility that he’d use all the money I didn’t have to legally try to take the baby for himself.
I may have just found out about the little critter growing inside me, but I already was ready to go full blown mama bear on his ass if he tried to take it away from me. I also thought I knew why I’d woken up a few mornings with random bouts of nausea and recently developed an obsession with kimchi.
I drummed my fingers on my thighs until I heard approaching footsteps. Dr. Willows and Sebastian came back in the room and she moved to my bedside, checking my vitals. Sebastian loomed behind her, forehead still furrowed. An older man in a suit briefly appeared in the doorway behind them. His suit looked more like the kind a waiter at a fancy restaurant would wear.
Actually… He looked a hell of a lot like a butler. Did Sebastian have a freaking butler?
The older man was gone before I could give it much more thought, replaced by Sebastian’s dreamy eyes scanning me with concern.
For an uncaring bastard, he sure did seem to be good at worrying. Then again, maybe he was just upset he wouldn’t get to off me on his own terms. That, or he was thinking my worsening condition would make me want to sue him.
Dr. Willows pulled her stethoscope away a couple minutes later. “She’s still in very stable condition, Mr. St. James. No offense to Miss Rosenthal, but I believe her pale complexion may be a result of proper skin care. You might want to consider a Vitamin D supplement if you’re going to avoid the sun as much as you appear to, though,” she added to me in a soft voice.
Sebastian nodded, looking mollified as he waited for Dr. Willows to leave the room.
He cleared his throat once she was gone. “Rosenthal, huh?”
“You didn’t know my last name? I’m surprised you haven’t creeped on all my medical records by now.”
Sebastian stared, apparently deciding my dig didn’t need a response. “I know you and I haven’t exactly made the best first impressions on each other, but…”
“Wait a second—” I said. “My first impression was great. It was my second impression that could’ve used some work.”
He raised a thick eyebrow. “You slapped me across the face the first time we met.”
“And you deserved it,” I said. “The part after was the questionable decision.”
That earned me a twitch at the corner of his mouth, which might’ve signaled amusement, though I wasn’t willing to bet on it. “Then consider what I’m about to offer an apology, of sorts.”
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
“I need someone to keep an eye on my cat—Mr. Meatball.”
“You have a cat named Mr. Meatball?”
“There’s a writer’s retreat in a week. Mr. Meatball will be lonely, so I need someone I can trust to stay here and keep him company. Full time,” he added with a slight downward tilt of his chin.
