By the time dessert arrives—tiramisu—I feel sick. When this dinner is over, I'll be expected to go upstairs.
"I should go," I say, standing abruptly. "I'm not feeling well."
Antonio frowns. "You barely ate any dessert, and Lydia is famous for the tiramisu."
"I'm not feeling well."
That damn smile—again.
Saint stands too. "I'll walk you back."
We leave Antonio alone at the table, and I can feel his pleasure. Is it because I came and ate or because Saint is attending to me? I can't think enough to focus on it.
The walk back to the bedroom is silent. My stomach churns with every step, the food sitting heavy and wrong.
We reach the door, and Saint opens it for me. A mockery of chivalry.
"Thanks for the escort," I say, moving to close the door. I go to slam it.
He stops it with his hand. "It's eleven."
"What?"
"It's eleven. Time for our...appointment." He gives me a sly smile.
My stomach drops.
"Can we skip tonight? I'm not feeling well."
"No."
"Saint—"
"Get on the bed, Gemma."
There's something different in his voice. Harder. Crueler. The detachment is gone, replaced with something that makes my skin crawl.
I back into the room. He follows, closing the door behind him.
"You know," he says, unbuttoning his shirt, "Antonio is worried about you. He’s been on my ass because he thinks yourdepression will keep you from having a kid. He wants me to ‘make you happy.’" His eyes rake over me. "But I think you're full of shit."
"What?"
"You’re being a bitch on purpose.”
“Excuse me!” I want to punch him in his ridiculous face, but instead, I stare there, incredulous. “Do you seriously think I want to draw this out?”
“I think you’d do anything to defy me.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart pounds in fear. Where the hell is this coming from?
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm doing everything I can. It’s been five fucking days, Saint. I can’t just magic a baby.”
"Bullshit." He's shirtless now, moving toward me. I hate how his abs ripple. God really fucking hates me because Saint is physically attractive, and a complete nuisance. "You're not even fucking trying. You just fucking lay there, and then, walk around this place like a ghost. Antonio thinks I’m fucking torturing you.”
"I'm not?—"
"Save it." He crowds me back against the bed. "And let me make something clear. My uncle doesn't give a fuck how you feel. He'll pretend he does, but he wants a baby, and Adrian wants an alliance, which means he needs to give Antonio what he wants. Neither of them are going to save you from this.”
