Page 53 of His Obsession
They all shake their heads. Fuck. I look over at Val, who’s clutching her middle and sobbing. My anger is instantly replaced by worry.
“I’m fine,” she says, like she can read my thoughts. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, though. It’s fucking unacceptable.
21
VALENTINA
Ipace the guest room like a lunatic. I’ve tried sitting. That lasted maybe thirty seconds before my skin started crawling. I’ve tried lying down. That was worse. The second I close my eyes, I see the sedan rounding the corner, hear the crack of the gunshots all over again. I’m not sure if the baby can feel adrenaline, but I feel guilty for putting it through this.
Sebastian appears in the doorway.
He pauses on the threshold instead of coming straight in. He already understands me better than I thought.
He’s changed his shirt, too. The one from earlier had makeup on the collar and a torn button from when I grabbed him outside the doctor’s office. This one is clean, white, and crisp. No hint of anything amiss.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I stop pacing and stare at him. “Do I look okay?”
“No.”
That almost pulls a laugh out of me, which is deeply unfair. I cross my arms instead and look away before my face betrays me. The ultrasound pictures are still sitting on the dresser where I dropped them when we got home. I can’t stop looking at them. I also can’t bring myself to pick them up.
It’s such a weird, horrible contrast. This morning, I was staring at a blurry little shape on a screen, barely able to believe it was real. Now I’m standing here wondering how close I came to never meeting that little person.
“The doctor called,” Sebastian says. “She wants you to come back tomorrow so she can check you again.”
My stomach drops. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he says quickly. “She just wants to be careful after everything that happened. She said you should rest tonight, hydrate, and call if you have cramping, bleeding, pain, dizziness—anything at all.”
I narrow my eyes. “Did you write that down?”
“Yes.” A smirk. “I also put it in my phone.”
“I don’t need you taking care of me.”
His expression shifts, and for a second I regret saying it. I start pacing again because that feels too intimate to deal with head-on.
“Did you find the car?” I ask, changing the subject.
“We’re working on it,” he answers carefully.
“That means no.”
He steps farther into the room, but not too far.
“Matteo’s pulling every camera within a ten-block radius of the doctor’s office. Nico’s checking the property logs from the clubs and restaurants to see if the same car turned up anywhere else. I have men watching your house and your office.”
“My office?”
“Yes.”
I can feel the reflex to argue clawing up my throat. I want to tell him he can’t just send people to lurk around my business without asking me. Instead, I rub both hands over my face and exhale. “Fine.”
“Fine?” he repeats, surprised.
