AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m so sorry. Your restroom?” I ask, panic filling me as the bile creeps up my throat.
“Down the hall, first door on your left,” Signora Romney says, her eyes widening. “Are you alright?”
I can’t even answer her. It’s taking all my willpower to keep the vomit in my stomach until I find the bathroom. Striding toward the dining room doorway, I break into a run as soon as I’m out of sight.
I barely make it in time, slamming the door behind me and throwing myself onto my knees as I shove my face toward the porcelain bowl and throw up violently. The contents of my lunch come up far too eagerly, and I pant as I catch a momentary reprieve, but I know I’m not done.
Groaning with frustration over my body getting in the way of my plans, I slump onto the cold tile floor, preparing to wait out my nausea. My hands are shaky as I wipe my suddenly clammy brow, and I breathe deeply in through my nose to try and steady my nerves.
The doctor assured me I would start feeling better in my second trimester, and I suddenly can’t wait for that day to come because it’s exhausting to be throwing up so constantly. Rubbing my sternum to try and calm the burning sensation, I lean my head back against the edge of the tub behind me.
A light tap comes at the door, and my stomach knots as I imagine Signora Romney on the other side, coming to check on me. What can I possibly say now? I wasn’t prepared to have to come up with a litany of excuses for all the signs of my pregnancy. And, of course, Leo and I haven’t discussed it at all. My parents’ solution had simply been to keep me hidden away from everybody but family.
“Someone’s in here,” I say shakily, praying that’s enough of a hint for the person on the other side of the door to go away.
“Tia? It’s Leo… Can I come in?”
I groan, closing my eyes as my situation keeps getting worse. I don’t want Leo to see me like this, the air around me reeking of vomit and making my stomach queasy once again.
But before I can work up the nerve to tell him to go away, the door handle turns, and a moment later, Leo comes into view. He fills the doorway in all his gorgeous glory, his curls falling casually across his forehead as his striking gray-green eyes take me in.
Tears sting my eyes at the mortifying contrast between us—Leo, a god among men, and me, a childish girl fallen from grace and at her worst moment.
“What do you want?” I ask miserably.
19
LEO
Ihadn’t fully believed the Guerra family’s story about Tia’s pregnancy until she bolted from the dining room like her tail was on fire. And now, as I stand in the bathroom doorway, observing her face, flushed with embarrassment, and her beautiful hair all mussed from her sorry state, I suddenly know it’s true.
“Oh, Tia,” I breathe, quickly stepping inside the modest bathroom to shut the door behind me. “Are you okay?”
I know she’s not by the hint of acidity in the air. I’ve smelled vomit enough times from the untried men who witnessed an execution for the first time to recognize it.
But Tia says, “I’m fine,” as she sits up.
She only gets halfway there before her face turns a dangerous shade of green, and she pivots, gripping the toilet bowl as she gets sick once again. Crossing the distance between us in one long stride, I kneel beside her, scooping her braid back over her shoulder and out of danger. Then I rest a hand on her cold, clammy back, hoping it will comfort her as I guide the loose strands of her dark hair away from her face with my fingers.
It’s my best attempt at being supportive, though I’m entirely out of my element here. Gore and violence, I’m used to. But seeing Tia be sick and knowing I’m the cause of it makes me feel both helpless and like a complete ass. How could she possibly forgive my abhorrent behavior these past few months when this is the result of what I’ve done?
“Don’t look at me,” she moans miserably over the toilet, then spits to try and clean her mouth.
I chuckle softly, brushing my knuckles across her temple. “What, are you worried I won’t take you home with me now?”
Tia snorts a laugh and reaches shakily for the toilet handle to flush the sick away. Then, she leans back against the side of the shower once more.
“Feel better?” I ask, grateful to see her coloring has returned to normal, if not slightly more flushed.
“I think so,” she says shakily, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
Turning to the cabinet, I dig in the drawers beneath the sink to find a washcloth and soak it with cool water, then ring it out.
“Thanks,” Tia says gratefully as she accepts it from me. Pressing it gently to her face, neck, and chest, she dabs away her perspiration without disrupting her makeup.
“Can I help you up?” I offer.
She nods, taking my hand, and I pull her to her feet, steadying her when I find her uncharacteristically wobbly.
