Page 165 of Salvatore

Lorenzo walks for the hall,turning toward the front door. Three of his guards follow behind, the other three who came from the backyard wait until he’s out of view before they retreat through where they came.

Everyone is quiet as the footsteps withdraw. The front door opens then closes. Then a sense of relief seems to take over the room. Over everyone. Except for me and my dread-filled stomach and Salvatore, who remains stock still in front of me.

“You knew she was fucking pregnant?” Abri slaps Bishop’s chest. “And didn’t tell me?”

He pulls her against him. “It wasn’t my place to share the happy couple’s news.”

“Ivy?” A low, elderly grumble echoes faintly, making Salvatore’s head snap toward the hall.

I lean sideways, away from the protection of his broad frame to find the doctor standing in the archway, a stern look on his face.

“You should be resting.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Get back to bed so I can monitor your vitals.”

I don’t move. It’s safe here, hidden behind my muscled wall of protection.

“He’s right.” Salvatore turns toward me, not meeting my gaze as he jerks his chin toward the hall. “Go. I’ll check on you later.”

The banishment stings. The thought of being alone does, too.

“Don’t worry.” His jaw ticks as if he’s fighting internal demons. “Lorenzo won’t come back.”

“Are you sure?” I tilt my head, edging into his line of sight.

“Positive.” He walks away, heading for the kitchen.

“Can I come join you when the doctor’s finished?” Liv asks.

I nod absently at her as I stare after Salvatore. The urge to follow him and fix whatever’s wrong claws my chest. If only we didn’t have an audience.

Instead I accept defeat and shuffle into the hall, continuing to my room where the doctor is waiting by the bed.

He rummages through his medical bag. “You need to spend more time lying down and not galivanting around the house.”

“That was the plan until a life-or-death situation came calling.”

“Everything is life and death here.” He flings back the covers. “Now come.” He pats the mattress and I obey, cautiously climbing onto the soft sheets while grasping the lapels tight at my chest to save from flashing him.

He runs through the same to-do list he performed earlier—temperature, blood pressure, bandage checks etcetera, etcetera. Then he packs up his things, grabs his bag, and pauses to peer down at me.

“I obtained your hospital report.” His expression is chastising. “Your health is no longer just your own. Think about that every time you want to leave this bed if you plan to keep the child.”

I settle farther under the covers, wishing I had a choice in focusing on anythingotherthan that. The only reprieve I get is when my thoughts divert to the memory of Liv’s shocked face when she heard about thefuck trophynews.

There’d been fear in her expression. Pity, too.

Both leave me hollow.

A light tap sounds at the door.

I raise my head from the pillow, and there she is, standing in the doorway, smile forced, eyes pained.

I don’t know what to say to her, and that’s unsettling enough. Words always come easily with me and Liv, and shame is something I can usually brush off with a witty one-liner. But not now.

I throw back the covers on the other side of the bed and she takes the silent invitation, making her way across the room, kicking off her shoes, then sliding onto the mattress beside me.

We remain quiet. Contemplative.

From the outside looking in one might assume we’re comfortably silent, allowing the news space to settle. But that’s not it.

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