Without another word, he leaves the bedroom with Bellamy in his arms, the attendants following him. I ring Lady Althea, who tells me she has the children and will take them to the big playroom after breakfast. I promise to join them shortly. I send a large group message with a change of schedule for today without stating why, then with a pit clogging my throat, call Rowan.
It rings and rings, but he doesn’t pick up. I leave him a message asking him to call me immediately and get to work on cleaning up the vomit that’s little more than bile. I’m going against everything Signoria and Antonia want. It feels good. I helped the queen when they would have wanted me to brush off her symptoms and keep her here, potentially putting her life or the life of her unborn children at risk.
It was instinct that had me helping her.
But I’m not the monster they tried to make me. I won’t ever be her again.
A sense of pride rolls through me. Where there is kindness, there is goodness. I have to believe that.
Once that’s finished, I head toward the playroom when my phone rings.
“What’s wrong?” he asks the moment I answer.
“Your Highness, the queen was very ill this morning and is currently on her way to the hospital with His Majesty. He requested that I call you to inform you of the situation.”
“Fuck,” he swears. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know any of the details, sir?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Marcella, don’t speak to me like that and tell me what the fuck is going on!”
“One moment, sir.”
I open a random door, which turns out to be a small parlor, and shut it behind me.
“I don’t know if she’s okay,” I tell him honestly. “She had a horrible headache and was still in bed when I came in to clean the room. She complained of abdominal pain and generally not feeling well. Then she started vomiting, and I hit the emergency alert on my phone. I don’t think she wanted me to, but I had to. She was so sick and didn’t seem right. By this point, she’s likely in the ambulance. Lady Althea and I are going to watch the children and keep them occupied until we get further word.”
“Jesus. I can’t…” A loud breath echoes through the phone. “I’ll leave for the hospital now. You might have saved her, you know.”
“I hope there’s no saving required. I hope it wasn’t anything more than a migraine.”
He’s moving around, things banging, zippers zipping. “Not quite the evil woman you want me to think you are.”
“Rowan, don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything other than stating a fact.” A pause, but I hear him moving, likely leaving the hotel. “Hold on. Don’t hang up,” he says to me before speaking to someone in French about how they have to leave immediately. “Okay, I’m back. Are we still broken up?”
“What?” chokes past my lips.
“You broke up with me last night. I was checking if you’d come to your senses while you were tossing and turning all night.”
I close my eyes and lean heavily against the door. “What makes you think I was tossing and turning?”
“A hunch. I was, too, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re smiling.”
Damn him.
“I am not.”
My smile grows.
“You are. I can hear it in your voice. I make you smile. I bet I even make you happy.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
