Royal Elite Epilogue (Royal Elite 7)
“And I love you, wife.”
IV
The Pregnancy
16
Levi
Age Twenty-three
I throw my bag on the sofa and head to the kitchen to grab some water.
The practice was fucking exhausting today. I satisfied my usual need for adrenaline and more.
Now, I just want to snuggle with my beautiful wife and watch one of those gory films she loves so much. Other women enjoy romcoms, but mine is obsessed with weird shit. I love her even more for her eclectic taste.
After taking a sip of water, I stop with the bottle halfway to my mouth. The door to the art studio is open.
Usually when I return home early, I have to mope in front of it like a fucking idiot until she comes out. I respect her need for alone time so that she can create masterpieces. Besides, Astrid always says I’m distracting, so I try to stay out of the way. The keyword being ‘try’.
The fact that the door is now open is wrong. I place the bottle on the counter and go inside. Did Daniel come by? But he’s in the States. He and Knox, Ronan’s brother-in-law, formed some sort of friendship that’s based on shagging their way through the American female population and decided to stay in the States even after they finished college. Astrid would’ve told me if Daniel was coming back, and even if she hadn’t, I would’ve sensed it, considering she spends the entire week out of her skin with excitement.
That means Daniel is out of the way.
I don’t think it’s Elsa or my uncle’s wife either since they’re with Aiden and Jonathan at the latter’s island. Astrid and I skipped because I had practice and Astrid was...unwell.
That’s what she told Aurora, my uncle’s wife, when she talked to her on the phone last night. I vaguely remember the word ‘unwell’ and I thought it was a dream.
My feet are heavy as I step into the art studio. The smell of paint and charcoal hits my nostrils, and I stop at the threshold to catch my breathing.
It’s nothing. It’ll be nothing.
My Astrid is stronger than the world and everything in it. There’s no way she’s that unwell.
I stop when I find her standing in front of the mirror. She has one here for when she sketches my nudes. She says it’s so she can get all possible angles. Usually, I end up fucking her in front of it because I want her to see us from all possible angles.
Right now, though, she doesn’t seem to be sketching or anything.
Her face is pale as she holds her tank top to underneath her breasts and gazes at the mirror with a blank stare.
“Astrid…” I murmur, my voice low and translating the turmoil that’s whirling inside me.
She startles before she releases her tank top and faces me, a faint smile on her face. It’s still pale, her cheeks missing all their colour.
I reach her in two steps and cup her chin, then look at her intently. Has she been getting sick and I didn’t notice it?
That shouldn’t happen. I watch her more than I watch anything in this world — myself included.
Her well-being comes before anything else.
“What’s wrong, Princess?”
“I didn’t hear you come in.” She’s still smiling.
“Don’t try to escape this. What’s wrong with you?”
“Why would you think there’s something wrong with me?”