I weakly reached a hand up, flushing the toilet before collapsing to the cool tile beside it. After the fourth or fifth time I’d lurched off the mattress to puke, I decided it wasn’t worth the back and forth anymore and had set up camp on the floor. My muscles ached from lying on the hard surface for so long, my stiff back beginning to spasm, but I couldn’t find the energy to move.
Morning sickness had tapered off months ago, and while draining, it had never made me feel like I’d been run over by a bus, so this had to be something else.
“What the fuck?”
Gio’s voice was accompanied by rapid footsteps. When I cracked my eyes open, I found him crouched before me, his face filling my entire field of vision.
He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up.”
Licking my lips, I croaked, “That’s because I’m halfway to Hell. Who would have guessed I’d beat you there?”
My husband wasn’t the least bit amused. “We need to get you into bed and call the doctor.”
Strong arms lifted me, and I whimpered. Everything fucking hurt.
The softness of the mattress molded around me, and I let out a moan. The sweet relief that unconsciousness would provide beckoned, but before I could sink into it, hands roved over my body.
I slapped them away, my eyes still closed. “Stop.”
There was a grunt. “Your clothes are soaked through. I need to get you into something dry.”
Giving up the fight, I let him maneuver me out of my pajamas before he tugged a loose-fitting garment over my head.
The comfort of his smell surrounding me was overwhelming, flooding me with memories of all the times he’d held my hair back while I’d been hunched over the toilet in my tiny little apartment in Colorado.
Before I passed out, I murmured, “You take such good care of me, John.”
“Can you give me a rundown of her symptoms?”
An unfamiliar feminine voice nearby stirred me from sleep.
“She was pretty delirious when I found her,” Gio replied. “But from my own observations, she’s been suffering from a fever and vomiting. Sudden onset. She was fine when I got up this morning.”
The woman hummed. “It’s likely she picked up norovirus somewhere.”
“We were at a children’s birthday party a couple of days ago.”
Laughter sounded. “That’ll do it. Kids aren’t the best at keeping their hands clean.”
“Should I be concerned about the baby?”
My eyes rolled beneath their shut lids. Of course he was more worried about his heir. Gio viewed me as nothing more than a human incubator.
“The virus itself isn’t known to cross the placenta. Though she’s likely suffering from dehydration, and if that becomes severe enough, it can lead to preterm labor. At twenty-three weeks, you’re riding the line of fetal viability. Some hospitals might be willing to use life-saving efforts on a baby of that gestational age, but the odds of survival are slim.”
There was an audible swallow before Gio’s voice came out rough. “What can you do?”
“After I take her vitals and check on the fetal heartbeat, I’ll start an IV. One bag of saline solution should be enough, but I’ll leave an extra in case she gets sick again.”
I felt the pressure of a cuff being tightened around my bicep. Then my shirt was lifted, and a cool rush of air flowed over my exposed belly.
Blinking the sleep out of my gritty eyes, I asked, “Who are you?”
A strikingly familiar hazel gaze lifted to my face, and the beautiful woman with a stethoscope hanging around her neck—signifying that she was a medical professional—smiled. “You can call me Arianna.”
I frowned, craning my neck so I could see Gio. “What happened to Dr. Corsi?”
My husband shoved both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I expressed my desire to have a female physician attend to you while pregnant, and he sent Arianna.”
