The morning light bled gently through the curtains, softening the edges of the room, casting everything in a golden glow. It was the kind of light that made the world feel new, untouched, reborn. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt like my world had finally found life.I sat at the edge of the bed, unmoving, afraid that even the smallest shift might disturb the fragile perfection of this moment. My gaze was fixed on her—my Emily. Her chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep, her lashes fanned against her cheeks, strands of hair spilling over her pillow. She looked so peaceful, so impossibly beautiful, that my heart ached with the force of it.Pregnant.The word still thundered through me, echoing in places I didn’t even know existed inside me. It was surreal, as though last night had been some dream conjured by a desperate man. But it wasn’t a dream. She was here. She was carrying my child.My throat tightened as I reached for her hand, careful not to wake her.
I don’t know how long I stood there in the bathroom, clutching the little stick in my trembling hand, staring at the two faint lines that had altered the very fabric of my life. Seconds? Minutes? An eternity?The tears wouldn’t stop. They slid hot and steady down my cheeks, dampening my lips, dripping onto the test I held so tightly I feared I might break it. My reflection in the mirror was blurred through the mist of them—me, but not me. Me, but new. Me, but more.Pregnant.The word had been repeating in my head like a song, like a prayer. Pregnant. With Lorenzo’s child. With the man who had cracked me open, put me back together, and made me believe in love again.I pressed my palm to my stomach, barely daring to breathe. Was there really life there? A heartbeat waiting to be formed? A future growing quietly inside me? It felt impossible and yet… so true.And then another thought struck me, one even stronger. I needed to tell him.Lorenzo.The father of this child. The man whose arms
The doctor’s presence in our suite should have comforted me, but instead it only made the knot in my stomach tighten. I sat on the edge of the bed, pale and trembling, Lorenzo’s hand never leaving mine. His thumb traced slow circles against my skin, grounding me, even as the world tilted on its axis around me.The doctor, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes softened by years of practice, had already taken my vitals and listened to my chest. Her brow furrowed as she pressed the cold stethoscope against my stomach, then straightened with a thoughtful hum.“You’ve had nausea more than once, yes?” she asked gently, slipping the instrument into her bag.I swallowed hard, my throat raw from retching. “Twice. This morning. Last night too.”Lorenzo’s grip tightened at my answer, his jaw clenching. He looked like he was fighting the urge to demand she fix me instantly. I squeezed his hand, silently begging him to stay calm.The doctor nodded slowly, as if she had already pieced together a puzz
The first thing I registered when I woke was the sour taste in my mouth. My body felt heavy, sluggish, as if I had been swimming through smoke all night. For a moment, I thought maybe it was just exhaustion. After all, Lorenzo and I hadn’t exactly taken it easy last night. My body still throbbed in places I didn’t dare acknowledge out loud.But then the bitter tang coated my tongue again, and I groaned, rolling onto my side. My stomach clenched hard, a sharp warning that had me bolting upright before I could think.Oh God.The bile surged up my throat without mercy. I barely managed to fling the sheets back and stumble toward the bathroom. My knees almost gave out as I hit the tile floor and clutched the toilet, retching violently. My entire body convulsed as wave after wave tore through me.I was dimly aware of the heavy thud of footsteps—Lorenzo’s footsteps—crossing the suite in seconds. Then his hand was there, firm and steady, sweeping my hair away from my face with a tenderness t
The look in his eyes when I knelt between his legs was enough to undo me. Hunger. Possession. That sharp, almost feral edge of restraint about to snap. His shirt hung open, the crisp white fabric dampened by the humidity, clinging to the hard lines of his body. He was the kind of man who could command a room with silence alone, yet here he was—breathing hard, pupils blown wide, undone by me on my knees. I let my palms slide slowly up his thighs, savoring the way his muscles tensed under my touch. The air was thick, heavy with salt and heat and something far darker—the tension thrumming between us. “Emily…” His voice was rough, low, threaded with warning. My name on his tongue sent a shiver racing down my spine. “Shh,” I whispered, tracing my nails lightly over the seam of his trousers. “Let me.” The sharp inhale he made almost broke me. I loved that sound, the way it stripped away the control he wore like armor. Slowly, I tugged at his zipper, brushing my knuckles deliberately
The moment the jet touched down on the private strip in the Maldives, my chest ached with disbelief. I had seen pictures online, glossy postcards of endless turquoise water and white sand that looked too perfect to exist in reality. But now, stepping down the stairs of the jet with Lorenzo’s hand steadying me, I realized the truth: none of those images compared.The air was warm, salted with the scent of the ocean, and the horizon stretched endlessly in shades of blue that melted into each other like paintbrush strokes. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their fronds whispering secrets of paradise.Lorenzo’s palm pressed low against my back, guiding me toward the sleek boat waiting for us. His sunglasses masked his eyes, but I didn’t need to see them to know he was watching me, gauging every reaction, soaking in the awe that left me nearly speechless.“This…” My voice cracked, too small against the vastness before me. “This doesn’t feel real.”His lips twitched, almost a smile, b