Page 58 of Thiago
He heard her throwing up again.
Thiago stood uncertainly outside the door. He didn’t know what to do. It pained him to hear her suffering. He wanted to fix this. Should he ignore her and call a doctor anyway?
Backing away from the door, he went to the kitchen, filled a glass with room temperature water, and returned to the bedroom. He stood outside the bathroom again, listening. It sounded like she was throwing up a lung.
What the hell was wrong with her? They had both eaten the same meal, so it couldn’t be?—
Thiago stilled. He knew exactly what her throwing up meant.
He sat on the edge of the bed, letting the idea sink in. India must be pregnant, and he was going to be a father.
Afather.
The word echoed in his head as his thoughts raced. There was so much more he wanted to do with the company. He had a five-year growth plan mapped out, and of course there was the IPO, which he hoped to launch in less than two years.
Was he ready for the responsibility of a child? Of course.
He was Thiago Santana, and he loved a challenge. He would tackle fatherhood the same way he had tackled other challenges in his life—by seeking out knowledge so he could be the best. By honing in on fatherhood, he would become the best damn father possible. And India, well… he already knew she would excel at motherhood.
Beneath the cool logic of his assessment, something stirred in his chest he hadn’t expected. He smiled at the idea of her carrying a piece of him inside her. An image of India with his child in her arms sent a sharp surge of emotion through him. She wouldn’t simply be the woman who shared his bed. They would have a permanent connection, and the thought filled him with… a possessive sense of satisfaction.
Thiago heard water running in the bathroom, and then the door creaked open. India leaned against the frame.
“Sorry about that,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze. One hand fluttered to her stomach while the other gripped the frame as if she needed the support.
Thiago stood and approached. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.
“I’m fine, but I need a new stomach.” Her voice sounded small and pained, so the joke didn’t land.
She looked up at him with baleful eyes, and he handed her the water.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully.
After she had drunk half of it, Thiago asked, “Do you care to tell me what is going on?”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Nothing at all? Nothing you want to tell me?” Thiago prodded.
India stared at him in confusion.
“India, we were having a conversation, and then you ran out here to throw up. Do you think I don’t know what this means?” No point in beating around the bush. He’d go straight to the point if she didn’t want to broach the subject herself.
“I got sick. What do you think this means?” India asked slowly.
Thiago straightened his shoulders, slightly annoyed at her fake display of confusion. “Do not play dumb with me. When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” she asked.
Thiago stepped closer. “That you’re pregnant.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“Are you carrying my child?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh my goodness, I’m not pregnant, Thiago!” She moved past him.
“You can deny it all you want, but I know the signs,” he said in a firm voice, following her.
