Page 146 of Peasants and Kings
Without waiting for his reply, I fled the library and returned to the illusion of refuge in the confines of my bedroom.
I was trapped by my Moretti blood.
Power, bloodlines, archaic alliances…that is all my family—and the other four families—care about.
My mother had tried to warn me. Nothing else mattered to these people.
As soon as my wrath had come, it leaked out of me like a deflating tire. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin before leaning over to turn off the bedside lamp.
I slid my hand over my belly and let it rest there.
I didn’t care about the Moretti legacy.
I cared about my own.
I slept deeply and without interruption. Long after dawn had come and gone, I finally awoke. I stretched leisurely in bed, wincing at my sore and bruised body. When I got up, I sucked in a quick breath, feeling a cramp low in my stomach.
Padding my way to the bathroom, I focused on breathing and trying not to panic. But concern gave way to horror when I saw drops of blood in my underwear.
Had Raphael gotten his way? Was I having a miscarriage?
My mother had been a devout Catholic. She had turned to The Church when she needed help. I turned to her God now, praying for the safekeeping of my baby, praying for strength.
There was a subtle knock on the bedroom door. I expected it to be a servant with a breakfast tray, but when I called, “Come in,” it was Gisella who entered. She was dressed in expensive riding clothes and her glossy dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
“Good, you’re awake,” she said with a shy smile. “I was worried that you were still sleeping.”
Forcing my expression placid, I shook my head.
“You look like you slept. Did you?” she inquired.
“I did.”
“Do you want to go riding with me this morning?” she queried. “It’s a gorgeous day.”
I would’ve loved nothing more than to go with her, to feel the wind on my cheeks and the warm scented air in my lungs. But I was too fragile to entertain the idea of fun.
“I’m not in the mood to ride, but I think I’d like…” I frowned.
“Sterling?” she pressed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I inhaled a shaky breath, but it did nothing to calm the nausea. I turned quickly and dashed for the bathroom, making it to the toilet and throwing up bile.
I vaguely realized that Gisella had followed me into the bathroom and shut the door. “Oh, Sterling… Are you—”
“No. It’s just nerves.” I looked her in the eye. “Do you understand, Gisella? It’s only my nerves.”
She nodded slowly. “Nerves. Got it.”
“No one can know about my nerves,” I stated. “It would be catastrophic for me.”
“Does your fiancé,” she whispered, “know about your nerves?”
“Yes. He knows.”
Gisella leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes. Finally, she opened them and stared at me. “Get dressed and meet me in the gardens.”
Before I could reply, she ran out. I brushed my teeth and then splashed some cold water on my face. I was already having morning sickness, which meant I was farther along in my pregnancy than I had realized.
