Page 21 of Oops Baby for the Billionaire
“I know. I didn’t tell you…” I try to take a deeper breath, but it doesn’t help. I need more air.
He leans forward. “Please don’t hyperventilate.”
“I’m not,” I say faintly. Except my shirt feels too tight, because itistoo tight, because I can’t afford maternity clothes and a new apartment at the same time.
My head spins, and I gasp desperately.
I tug at my shirt, and then he’s moving across the limo toward me and everything is fading away.
When I come to,I’m cradled against a hard, unmoveable wall—his chest, I realize—and a woman is talking about me.
To me, sort of, but also to him.
I blink my eyes open, disoriented.
But we’re still in the limo, and we’re alone.
“She’s waking up,” Roman says, his chest shuddering against me. “Willa, you gave us a good fright.”
“Have you had any light-headedness in your pregnancy so far?” the woman asks.
“Who is that?” I ask, groggily, because I’m not answering disembodied questions without more context.
He shifts his hold on me, showing me his phone screen. A woman in a white coat smiles at me. “Hi Willa. I’m the chief of obstetrics at Memorial Hospital.”
I try to scramble to sit up, but Roman has a very firm hold on me. “No, that hasn’t happened before. I think I’m fine.”
She smiles. “I can see that. Your husband was just worried?—”
“Oh, no, Mr. Thorne isn’t my—” Roman ends the video call before I finish the protest. I puff out my cheeks and glare up at him. “Hey!”
“Me taking care of you when you have a health emergency is not negotiable,” he growls.
“Cool. I don’t think I’m having a health emergency anymore, though.” I wriggle. “Maybe let me go now?”
He frowns, but loosens his grip, and helps me sit on the seat next to him.
His body is warm, and I’m still cold, so I don’t move over. I don’t want to admit how much I like his size, the thick tree trunk thigh beside me, the solid, heavy arm reaching across me to hold my hand.
But I don’t like the idea that he thinks I’m fragile. “That really hasn’t happened before, you know.”
He tugs at his beard. “So it’s just my presence, then. Good to know.”
“You didn’t need to call a doctor.” I frown. “How did you get her on the phone so fast?”
“I spoke to her earlier.”
“When?”
“After I found out the mother of my child is currently travelling across the city to be treated at a student health clinic.”
“Staffed by doctors,” I say dryly.
“That’s what she said.” He shrugs. “But she was also agreeable to being put on retainer in case you had any questions.”
“I don’t.” Because I’ve known about this pregnancy for four months now.
And it’s brand new information for him.
