Sighing, I hung up the phone with our ‘family’ physician, Stefan. In the twenty four hours since Bella had been home, she'd been unable to keep any food down. She was exhausted, sleeping almost the entire time. Though he assured me it was normal for the ordeal to have taken a toll on her physically, and that there could be lingering effects from whatever they'd drugged her with, he was still coming to look at her personally. He'd be a fool to ignore my insistence.
Bella had barely spoken to me, or anyone for that matter. She'd stayed in the tub until the water grew frigid, staring at nothing. I drained the water and refilled it, bathing her as if she were a child, scrubbing carefully to remove the dried blood. It terrified me to see her headstrong personality diminished. After washing her long hair, I stood her and wrapped it in a towel and then grabbed a few more to bundle her in before carrying her to bed. She'd remained curled there for hours until she’d sprung out of bed, running back to the bathroom to throw up.
My team and I had successfully taken care of the Volturi family and their minions. Aro had tried to run and wound up with my bullet in the back of his head. As far as Caius, Bella had killed him when he came for her in the safe house. Marcus was the only Volturi left to be hung in my warehouse alongside Black. I should be there, breaking the small bones first, before moving on to taking a sledgehammer to each knee cap. Then I would start filling them full of bullet holes, using a .22 to slowly and painfully let them bleed out. I personally wanted to watch the life drain out of Black, to see the minute his brain shut down his vital organs, and then to celebrate his death by taking shots of vodka with my men.
None of that would happen while Bella was sick. It didn't matter how furious I was with her or her actions; I wouldn't leave her side. I paced the bedroom while I waited for the doctor. He'd assured me he'd be over as soon as he was finished stitching up one of our soldiers that had caught a bullet in his side this morning. As tempting as it was, I couldn't insist he let that man die to come and check on my wife.
Was she still my wife? On paper, of course. But had she meant what she'd said when she'd thrown divorce in my face? Whether or not she'd been right, I had to know how she felt, if she still loved me and wanted to be married to me. I would gladly hand the reins back over to Father if that was what she asked of me. I would walk away, move to Alaska, whatever she wanted. I simply didn't know what I'd do with myself if she told me she truly didn't love me anymore.
The buzzing of the intercom informed me that the doctor had arrived. I stood in the hallway just outside my room, my hands tucked into my pants pockets as I waited impatiently for Stefan to come up the stairs. He was older than me, with dark hair and ice blue eyes. He'd been the family physician since I was in high school, and we all trusted him.
He asked me to wait in the hall while he examined her; apparently my hovering annoyed him. I anxiously moved back and forth, going into my office only to return to standing outside the bedroom. I ran my hands through my hair, I beat a rhythm on the wall. I walked down to the spare room, standing in the doorway and staring absently at the boxes along one wall. We'd thrown around ideas about a game room, TV room, or even Bella's suggestion of what she called a ‘man cave’. We had a guest room downstairs, in the finished basement. We had a den there, too, filled with books and overstuffed chairs.
The door behind me closed, and I spun to look at Stefan. He held up his hand to stop the tirade about to spill from my mouth.
“I've given her Zofran for the vomiting. I've spoken with her, and we agreed she simply has exhaustion from her ordeal. Once the medicine works, she'll be able to keep down broth, rice, toast, things of that nature. I've wrapped her wrist, which doesn't appear to be broken, just bruised, and treated her cuts with ointment. She truly just needs to rest.”
I felt tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and I didn't even feel embarrassed. I put my hand on Stefan's shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you very much for coming.”
He nodded, patting my back before heading down the stairs. I debated letting Isabella sleep, knowing that I wasn't strong enough to stay away from her. Pushing the door open, I quietly closed it behind me and walked to the bed. Our bed.
Her eyes were open, anticipating my arrival. She made no move except to track me with those depthless eyes. I sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her. “Bella,” I said softly, and I was horrified at the tears that started to leak down her face. I hadn't even begun the tirade that had been on the tip of my tongue since finding her in that warehouse, ready to take on the world if they came at her.
“Don't be nice to me now, don't pretend that you have any feelings left for me besides hatred,” her coarse voice implored me.
I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut and digging my fingers into the lids. “I don't hate you, Bella.”
“You say that now, because of what the doctor said. That's not love, that's possession.”
I was so confused at her words. “Stefan said it was exhaustion and to let you sleep, and that you could eat soft foods after the medication works.” A panicky feeling raced through my body. “Is there something wrong with you and he didn't tell me?”
She studied me, frowning. “No.” I took a shaky breath, relieved. “He said- I mean, I'm- I- oh, fuck, Edward. I'm pregnant.” I gasped at her admission. Her doe eyes were wet with hovering tears, her fingers trembling against her brow. “I know how the family is about an heir, and I know I have no choice but to give you your child, but-”
“Jesus, baby, stop talking. What do you mean, you have no choice? What are you thinking? I love you, and I just want to be absolutely sure you're not sick after everything that happened. Is the baby going to be okay after they drugged you? How does Stefan know that nothing is wrong?”
Without a word, she sat up in the bed and threw her arms around my neck, sobbing.
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