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WHAT IN THE ever-loving fuck was she doing?
My mind scrambled; a terrible lancing pain stabbed my temples.
Was she pregnant?
Did she miscarry?
What the fuck did it mean if she was pregnant? What would the contraceptive do?
I shook my head, trying to get my erratic breathing under control. I couldn’t think about those things—not while the reporters were here, watching our every move.
Pills.
I need another pill.
Nila suddenly nuzzled into my chest, wrapping her bony arms around my waist. Collecting her last night, I’d noticed she looked skinnier than normal. But I knew her well—I knew she would’ve run every night on her treadmill, knew she would’ve overworked herself to forget.
But what if she’s telling the truth and was sick?
Did that become an extra issue with what my father had planned? And why did I even care? I shouldn’t care.
Do something about it.
Shoving her away, I fumbled in my pocket and yanked out the bottle. Tapping two tablets into my palm, I threw them down my throat and swallowed them dry.
My heart raced as I tucked the bottle back into my pocket and jerked my hands through my hair. Knowing I had something that helped—that the drug’s fog wisped through my blood—allowed me to regain control on the flapping mess Nila had created.
“Headache?” George asked, his eyebrow raised at my pocket.
Nila narrowed her gaze, too, incorrect conclusions filling her sniper glare. With the way she was behaving, I didn’t want her anywhere near my newfound cure.
Slipping back into welcome numbness, I gathered her close and smiled for the damn journalists. “Yes, sorry. While Nila has been going through some terrible ordeals lately, I’ve suffered my own stress.”
Sylvie came closer, her eyes pooling with sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
See, Nila, two can play at this game.
I waved it away as if I was a martyr only focused on the love of his life. “Only a few headaches, but I can’t tell you how happy I am to have her home.” I jostled Nila closer, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I missed you so much.”
Nila squirmed, her lips thinning with frustration. “Me, too. I just wish you’d been there when I lost the baby instead of on business.”
Our eyes locked—the challenge in hers made my fingers dig into her side harder than I intended.
Watch what you bloody say.
I hoped she got my message because I was at the end of my patience. Cut would be watching somewhere—making sure I didn’t fucking fail. Once we were free of our audience, she had a shit-load of explaining to do.
Ignoring Nila, I smiled at George and Sylvie. “But that’s all in the past, and we’ve dwelt too long on that already.”
George looked like he might argue, but I used the same trump card Nila had. “Let’s discuss something a lot more exciting.” I narrowed my eyes on my target: Sylvie would help guide the conversation to safer ground. “We’re getting married. Let’s talk about that.”
