Page 52 of Savage Proposal

After a second, she pointed to a tiny blip on the monitor. It looked like an alien: vaguely humanoid shaped but with a head too big for its body. “There’s your baby.” She turned up the volume and a quickthud thud thudfilled the room. “That’s the heartbeat. It’s nice and strong.”

I blinked once. And then again. She really was pregnant. “How far along?” Isabella asked breathlessly. “Can you tell?”

The tech measured the baby and its limbs. “Judging by its size, almost three months.”

“That first test was wrong, then,” she said more to herself than to me. “I was pregnant.”

“False negatives are surprisingly common,” the tech said in a jovialoh, wellkind of way that made me want to break something. She did a few more measurements and then started printing pictures. “So far, everything is measuring right where we want it.” She handed the ultrasounds to Isabella. “Dr. Coleman will tell you when to come back in, but next time, we should be able to tell the sex if you’re interested.”

Isabella looked at the black-and-white photos in her hand. “Thank you,” she said, and her eyes looked shiny in the dull light.

When we stepped back out into the hallway, after Isabella had mopped herself off, I took the pictures from her. She didn’t let go immediately. “What do you need them for?” I asked, and her fingers reluctantly loosened.

She looked so forlorn that I grunted, annoyed, and tore off the bottom picture and handed it back to her. The smile that spread across her face only pissed me off further. I didn’t have to be nice to her. What the fuck was I doing?

After we set up her next appointment, I ushered her back to the parking garage. I watched as she climbed in before I did the same. When I got into the SUV, there were tears on her cheeks. She was practically petting the ultrasound I gave her, and I was half-tempted to take it back from her.

“There’s no use crying over things.”

She sniffled and swiped at her face. “Some people have an emotional range bigger than just rage and horniness. Besides, I’m pregnant and hormonal. Get used to it.”

“Dannato marmocchia, sono queste le cose che devo sopportare.”

Isabella didn’t respond, and the rest of the drive was blessedly silent. We got back to the estate, and I grabbed her arm before she could climb out of the car, bringing her eyes to mine. “If you so much as open a window without my permission, I’ll put you in one of the holding cells in the basement.”

After cowing to me all morning, she seemed to have reached her limit. She twisted her arm out of my grip and moved so that she was as far as she could get from me without actually opening the door. “I get it,” she said. “Can I get out of the car and go inside,DonVitali? I’m tired.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted blood. “Go.”

Isabella fled, the ultrasound picture still gripped in her fingers.

CHAPTER 32

Isabella

Iwas still in Lorenzo’s bed. Despite all of his anger, he didn’t say anything about me going back to the blue guest room, and I didn’t try to move my stuff. That was another fight that I was not interested in having after the day I’d had.

Instead, I tried to pretend to be asleep by the time he came through the door, squeezing my eyes shut and keeping my back to him. He didn’t say a word to me, just headed for the bathroom; I heard the shower turn on.

I rolled over onto my back with a sigh and tried not to think. My head was an absolute mess of fear and guilt and anger, and there was no point in trying to figure out what emotion was the strongest because it all ebbed and flowed without stopping.

The shower kept going, and I tossed and turned. I was desperate to find a comfortable position and actually fall asleep. Maybe that would erase this day enough for me to last the next seven or so months trapped under Lorenzo’s angry gaze.

Fuck, but it was no use. My mind was too busy to relax, despite the exhaustion pressing down on my eyelids. I sat up and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly midnight.

“I thought you were asleep.”

Lorenzo was standing beside the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist. I watched a water droplet trace down the length of his chest, his abs, only to absorb into that towel. “I can’t stop thinking,” I said, still staring at his nests of scars. “I’ll probably go downstairs and watch some TV in a few.”

“No.”

“I’m going to keep you up if I stay,” I said.

“You aren’t going wandering in the middle of the night,” he countered. “No.”

“Then you’re going to have to figure out a way to shut my brain off because I cannot sleep like this.”

Lorenzo stared at me, his mouth a tense line across his face. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

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