Chapter 10: The Morning Sickness
[Sarah]
The city lights blurred through unshed tears as I stood on the penthouse terrace, my phone displaying the last photo I had of Dad.
The soft whir of Theodore’s wheelchair cut through my reverie. I quickly locked my phone,
but his reflection in the glass caught me those sharp eyes that seemed to see straight through every defense I’d built.
“That Romanée–Conti was a hundred and eighty thousand dollars a bottle.”
The casual mention of such an astronomical sum made my stomach twist. That brought
fresh tears to my eyes – tears I refused to let fall.
“I…” My voice caught. “I’ll reimburse-”
“Interesting.” Theodore’s voice held an unexpected warmth that made my pulse jump. “Your first instinct wasn’t to apologize.”
I turned to face him, fighting to keep my voice steady even as emotions warred inside me
– grief, defiance, and something else I couldn’t name. “Would an apology change
anything?”
“No.” His lips curved slightly, but there was no cruelty in it. Instead, his expression held something almost like admiration. “But it’s telling that you didn’t offer one.”
The autumn wind picked up, carrying the spicy notes of his cologne. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how thin my evening dress was. The gesture felt oddly vulnerable under his intense gaze.
“Your father.” His voice gentled in a way I’d never heard before, making my heart stutter. “The service was yesterday?”
The unexpected tenderness in his tone broke something loose inside me. I could only nod, a lump forming in my throat.
“Mrs. Thompson mentioned you haven’t been eating.”
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Chapter 10: The Morning Sickness
“I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter. My stomach churned treacherously, though whether from grief or pregnancy, I couldn’t tell anymore.
“Maybe.” His voice dropped lower, intimate enough to make me shiver. “Or maybe you’re carrying more weight than you’re letting on.”
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach before I caught myself. But Theodore’s attention had shifted to the city below, giving me a moment to compose myself. My heart hammered against my ribs – did he suspect? Was there something knowing in that gentle tone? Or was this just his usual calculating observation, softened by what might have been concern?
“Get some rest,” he said finally, and for a moment, his hand brushed mine on the railing – so briefly I might have imagined it. The touch sent warmth spreading through my entire body, dangerous and comforting all at once.
Sleep proved elusive. I spent the night alternating between memories of Dad and worries about the future, until dawn painted the room in shades of grey.
Breakfast in the formal dining room felt like a continuation of last night’s performance, with Mrs. Thompson hovering anxiously as I pushed eggs benedict around my plate. The smell that usually made my mouth water now made my stomach revolt.
“You’re not eating.” Theodore’s observation carried a weight beyond simple concern.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Your father wouldn’t want you to neglect your health.”
My fork clattered against fine china. “Don’t.” The word came out raw, ragged. “Please… just don’t.”
His eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Mrs. Thompson appeared with fresh toast. “Miss Sarah, at least try a little…”
“Later, Mrs. Thompson. I just… I can’t right now.” My voice cracked embarrassingly.
Her eyes softened. The kindness in her eyes nearly broke me. I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping against marble. “I should get to class.”
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“Take the car,” Theodore ordered, something unreadable in his expression.
“I need the air.” The walls felt like they were closing in.
“Sarah.” His voice stopped me at the door. “Whatever you’re not telling me… remember that I prefer unpleasant truths to comfortable lies.”
I couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped. “Do you? Then maybe you should start with
some truths of your own.”
I didn’t wait for his response, fleeing into the crisp morning air. The medical district was
busy with the morning rush – doctors hurrying between rounds, nurses changing shifts,
med students clutching coffee cups. A young doctor in a white coat rushed past, and for a moment, he looked so much like Dad that my steps faltered.
The wave of nausea hit without warning. I barely made it to a decorative planter, retching painfully while trying to maintain some dignity. A familiar black Maybach glided past, Theodore’s silhouette visible through tinted windows. I straightened quickly, heart pounding, but my phone buzzed almost immediately with a text from Mrs. Thompson:
“Mr. Pierce asked about your breakfast habits this morning. Should I tell him you’ve been unwell?”
My hands shook as I typed: “No. Please.”
The response came quickly: “He worries, in his way.”
“His way involves control, not concern.”
“Perhaps. But he noticed you didn’t touch the eggs you usually love.”
I started to type a response, but another wave of nausea forced me to close my eyes. When I opened them, a street vendor was extending a cup of ginger tea.
“On the house,” she said with a knowing smile. “My sister was the same way, first trimester with twins.”
“I’m not―” I started automatically, then stopped. What was the point of denying it? Soon enough, everyone would know.
“Thank you,” I said instead, accepting the tea. Its warmth helped settle my stomach.
Chapter 10: The Morning Sickness
My phone buzzed again – Theodore: “Dinner tonight. We need to talk.”
Before I could respond, Mrs. Thompson’s message appeared: “He’s been making calls to your OB–GYN’s office.”
My hands went cold. Of course he had. Theodore Pierce didn’t wait for truths to be offered – he hunted them down.
“Tell him I’ll be there,” I typed to Mrs. Thompson. Then, after a moment: “And… thank you. For everything.”
I watched a group of medical students hurry past, their white coats bright in the morning
sun.
“Miss?” The tea vendor’s voice pulled me back. “You might want to sit down. You’re looking a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” I started to say, but she was already pulling out a chair.
“Honey, I’ve seen that look before. First baby?”
“Babies,” I corrected without thinking. “Twins.”
“Lord help you.” She laughed. “Does the father know yet?”
I took another sip of tea, buying time. “He will. Tonight.”
“Scared?”
“Terrified.” The admission surprised me. “He’s… complicated.”
She patted my hand. “Men usually are. But babies? Babies have a way of simplifying
things.”
I thought of Theodore’s penetrating gaze, his carefully constructed walls, the photos of that mysterious woman I’d found on his computer. “I doubt anything about this situation will be simple.”
–
“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But you’ve got that look my sister had like you’re ready to fight the world for those little ones.”
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My phone buzzed again – another text from Theodore: “Don’t be late. And Sarah? I dislike surprises almost as much as I dislike lies.”
I finished the tea, squared my shoulders, and stood. “Thank you for the tea and the talk.”
“Good luck, honey. And remember – sometimes the scariest conversations end up being the most important ones.”
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