Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“She’ll need some rest,” he says.
“What was it? Did you find out why she fainted?” I ask. “And what about the blood?”
I sound like a madman asking this many questions, but I’m more concerned about her than about my own image right now.
“She …” He pauses to clear his throat and says, “You might want to sit down.”
That sounds bad. Very bad.
I clutch the chair and sit down, bracing myself for whatever he says next.
“The bleeding she experienced only happens to women when the uterus is developing more blood vessels in a particular area, and some straining could’ve caused her to lose some blood. But it’s stopped now, so I don’t think there will be any more problems as long as she takes her rest.”
“Blood vessels?” I mutter. I’ve never heard of this before. “So it’s not a period or anything?”
He sits down beside me and sighs out loud. “Marcello … she’s pregnant.”
I get up from my seat and stand there for a second to catch my bearings.
Pregnant?
Harper is … pregnant?
How did I not know?
My gaze is absent as I stare at the doctor in complete and utter shock, my jaw dropping lower with every passing second. “Wha … how?”
The doctor laughs. “Well, you should know, of course. She’s your … um … girlfriend.”
When I try to step past him, he blocks my way, and I throw him a deadly glare.
“Please don’t,” he says, clearing his throat. “Best not to disturb her. She still needs to rest. The bleeding said enough. If you care about her and the baby, of course.”
My hand, which was tightened into a fist, relaxes again, and I look away, blowing off steam through my nostrils.
“Is it mine?” I ask without looking at the man.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “You should ask her yourself when she’s awake.”
Then he walks off, leaving me seething with anger at my own stupidity and hers. How could I not have seen or known this? She was in my clutches this entire time, yet I didn’t notice a thing. But she didn’t tell me either. Why?
Is it not mine?
Rage overflows at the mere thought that another man had what was mine.
No, I can’t think that way. Harper would never. She fawns over me. She adores me, even if she hates it. She would never cheat.
But what if someone forced his way in?
She was out there all by herself with no one to protect her.
I slam my fist into the wall. “FUCK!”
The outburst leaves a mark, and a few bits of paint chip off when I retract my fist.
If anyone hurt her, I will fucking rip their throat out.
But I can’t fucking ask her now. It’ll have to wait until she’s awake, and who knows how long that will take. Meanwhile, I’m churning with questions that I don’t know the answer to.
Because if that is my child growing inside her, that means I’m going to become a father.
Am I ready for that? Would I even make a good father? And how do I bring a child into this violent world?
After glancing one more time at the door behind which she lies asleep, I march off and go downstairs. Only one place can calm down the turmoil in my body and the storm raging in my head.
I head straight for the rose garden and pluck one of them, smelling it while I sit down on a bench to catch some much-needed fresh air.
Fuck. There’s so much to deal with. First, I’m ambushed by the very mobsters who want me dead, then lose my consigliere to them, and now I find out Harper is pregnant. What do I focus on first?
I stare at the path behind the house that leads to the shed, and after a while, I get up and saunter toward it. The path has been taken over by weeds, so I remind myself to tell my gardener to clear the area soon. I push the door open, which creaks with age and blows aside a few inches of dust coating the wooden floor.
I haven’t been here in so long that it feels like ages have passed.
I go to my knees in front of the dodgy-looking planks, which, surprisingly, have less dust on them. I push them aside and pull out a small lockbox, fishing the key from my pocket so I can open it.
Inside are dozens of papers of my past, things I never wanted to look at again but knew I had to keep safe in case I would ever need them again. Or have the courage to look at it once more.
Because at the very bottom of that little box is a photograph of the girl I once loved a long time ago. The one who perished in a shoot-out. The one I once thought I would marry … and who would give me an heir. Alannah.