“Mr. Conti,” a woman says, standing in the doorway separating the emergency room from the rest of the hospital.
“Here.” I blow out a breath and walk toward her. “Can I see her now?”
She nods. “Only one person for right now, and Ms. Gallo is asking for you.”
Mr. Gallo shoos me forward. “Go. Be with her. We’ll be waiting for you. Your father and I aren’t going anywhere.”
I follow the nurse down a long corridor of what seems like endless rooms filled with moaning patients and annoying beeping monitors. “She’s resting now.” The nurse motions toward the door. “The doctor will be in soon to give you an update.”
My footsteps are quiet as I walk into the room, trying not to wake her. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are covering her stomach in a protective way as she lies on the gurney, covered in a thin white blanket. I slide onto the chair next to her, scared to touch her and doing my best to let her rest.
“Leo,” she whispers and moves her hand to her side. “They won’t tell me anything.”
“Shh,bella.” I grab her hand, squeezing it tightly. “The doctor’s coming.”
“What if something’s wrong?” I can hear the panic in her voice.
“Everything will be fine,” I lie because it’s easier for me to believe that everything will work out. “I know it will be.”
A doctor walks in, looking no older than a high school kid, and studies a folder of papers. “Ms. Gallo,” he says before looking up at us.
“Yes.” I answer for her.
He flips another page, drawing out the agony and oblivious to our terror. “First off, the baby’s perfectly healthy.”
I finally exhale, feeling relieved and like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. "Were you under any stress when you started cramping?”
“A little,” she says as she pulls herself upright a bit more on the gurney.
A little stress is sitting in traffic on the Kennedy when you’re late for a meeting. What just happened in my penthouse rises to the level of a red alert during the Cold War.
“You’re going to need to cut down on your stress as soon as possible. Also, add some fiber to your diet. You’re constipated, which made the cramping worse than normal.”
I laugh, covering my mouth with my free hand.
Daphne shoots me a death glare. “That’s funny?” she asks and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Ha-ha. I’m constipated.”
“Bella.” I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead. “I always knew you were full of shit, but now the doctor’s confirmed it.”
She swats my arm, not feeling the same sense of playful relief I am. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He closes the folder in his hands and tucks it under his arm. “Maybe take it easy for a few weeks just to be safe.”
“I’ll make sure she rests,” I tell him because I won’t allow Daphne to put her life at risk as well as our baby’s.
“The discharge nurse will be here soon.”
“Can I get dressed?” she asks before he has a chance to walk out the door.
“Yes, but get up slowly.”
Daphne blows out a breath and rolls her eyes.
I know this taking-it-easy lifestyle isn’t going to sit well with her. I’m going to have to find ways to make her relax and be creative about it. If she thinks I’m handling her in any way, I’ll be fucked.
She starts to sit up, and I grab her by the shoulders. “What are you doing?” Her eyes narrow as she glances down at my hands.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, but I don’t pull away. “I’m just helping you.”
