His head snapped up, brows crinkling with worry. He pushed off me at once and slid off the bed. The moment I was free to move, I scrambled off the bed and rushed toward the bathroom. I barely managed to reach the toilet before I threw up my tea. Shivering and feeling faint, I sank down to my knees.LUCAFor a moment I wasn’t sure what to do when Aria fled into the bathroom, but then I moved to follow. I heard her throw up, yet when I entered the room, she knelt on the ground, trembling, her fingers lying limply in her lap and her blonde hair curtaining her face. She looked small and vulnerable, and fierce protectiveness flooded me. My eyes lingered on the small bump as I moved toward her and flushed the toilet. Aria carried our baby. How could she ever consider that I didn’t find her attractive with her bump? She was the most beautiful woman on this planet. The love of my life, and I had almost lost her, given her up. I was a fucking fool.
I took a washcloth out of the cupboard and held it under warm water for a couple of minutes before I returned to Aria, crouched beside her and held it out to her. She took the cloth with an embarrassed “thanks,” then wiped her pale face. She didn’t have to be embarrassed; I had seen so much worse in my life than a pregnant woman throwing up. I rubbed her back gently, worry filling me as I felt her spine protruding too sharply. “Principessa, we should let the Doc take a look at you.”
She tilted her head up, perspiration glistening on her forehead. “But he isn’t even a gynecologist, Luca. I doubt he could help.”
Perhaps she was right. The Doc could patch up knife and bullet wounds faster than anyone I knew, but he usually didn’t deliver babies. “Who’s your gynecologist?”
“Dr. Max Brightley,” she said, and possessiveness reared its ugly head. She had a male gynecologist? The idea that any man saw Aria like that drove me up the walls with jealousy.
Soft laughter bubbled out of Aria, her pale cheeks flushing. “Oh Luca, don’t tell me you are jealous of my doctor?”
“You know I’m a possessive bastard. Why does that still surprise you?”
She shook her head. “Can you help me stand?”
I straightened and lifted her to her feet, supporting her weight. She swayed lightly. “We’re going to that Dr. Max now. I want to have a word with him.”
“Luca,” Aria chided. “I won’t go if it’s only so you can intimidate my doctor.”
“Not only to intimidate. I also want to know why he isn’t capable of stopping you from losing weight.”
“Some things can’t be changed, Luca. Pregnancy isn’t something you can influence. You have to trust in my body.”
I trusted Aria, and I loved her body, but it was obvious that she needed help. I was used to finding a solution to problems, and if I wasn’t able to find a solution myself, I forced people to find one for me—and I was going to make Dr. Brightley see what kind of man he was messing with.
“I need a shower but I’m worried I’ll faint,” Aria said. I led her toward the shower, then turned on the water and waited until it turned warm before I gently led Aria inside and took the shampoo. I squirted a small amount on my palm, but Aria shook her head. “That’s not enough.”
“That’s double of what I’m using,” I said.
Her eyes darted up to my short hair. “If I had short hair like yours, I’d need less shampoo as well.”
“No,” I said with more force than intended.
She rolled her eyes but I could tell that she still didn’t feel well. I doubled the shampoo amount and began massaging it into Aria’s hair. I loved her blonde strands, but cleaning them was a hell of a bother. In the time it took to get every trace of shampoo out, I would have been dressed and on my way to the doctor, but I enjoyed touching her like that. Aria closed her eyes as the warm water streamed down her face, and again my eyes slid lower to the proof of her pregnancy. “How far along are you?”
“Fourteen weeks,” Aria murmured as she glanced up at me. I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. A pregnancy took nine months; that was pretty much all I knew. I wrapped her in it then lifted her out of the shower, careful not to hit her head on the glass.
“I can still walk,” she said with a smile, but I carried her back into the bedroom and set her down on the bench in front of our bed. I took my time drying her, enjoying the feel of her soft skin as my fingertips brushed over it. To think that I had denied myself this for so long.