Chapter 10 A Body That Survived
The pain hit her in the elevator.
One moment she was standing, leaning against Dorian’s chest, his arm around her waist holding her upright. The next moment her knees buckled and a sharp, twisting cramp ripped through her lower belly.
She gasped. Her hand flew to her stomach. The baby. Oh God, the baby.
Dorian caught her before she hit the floor. His arm tightened around her. His other hand came up to her face, tilting her chin so she had to look at him.
"What is it?" His voice was sharp and not cold. Sharp with something that might have been fear.
"My stomach," she managed. "It hurts. The baby—"
She did not finish the sentence. She could not. The pain came again, harder this time, and she doubled over. Her vision went gray at the edges.
Dorian did not hesitate. He scooped her up like she weighed nothing. One arm under her knees, the other around her back. She curled into him instinctively, her face pressed against his chest, her hands still clutching her belly.
"Call the hospital," he said. He was not speaking to her. He was speaking to one of the bodyguards who had followed them out of the apartment. "Tell them we’re coming in hot. And get my car. Now."
The bodyguard was already on his phone.
Dorian carried her down the stairs. Not the elevator. The stairs were faster, even with her in his arms. He moved like a man who had done this before, like his body knew exactly what to do even if his brain was still catching up.
Behind them, Veyra heard Xiomara’s voice, high and hysterical. "I didn’t touch her stomach! I didn’t! You can’t prove anything!"
Dorian did not look back. But he spoke, loud enough for everyone in the stairwell to hear.
"If anything happens to her," he said, "if anything happens to that child, I will execute every single person in that apartment. Starting with you, Xiomara."
The stairwell went silent.
Then the door slammed, and they were outside, and the cold air hit Veyra’s face, and she closed her eyes and held on.
*
The hospital was a blur.
White lights. White coats. Voices that floated in and out of her consciousness like boats on a foggy river. Someone put a needle in her arm. Someone else pressed something cold and round against her belly. A machine beeped in a rhythm that she tried to match with her breathing.
Beep. Breathe. Beep. Breathe.
Dorian was there. She could feel him. He did not hold her hand or stroke her hair or any of the things Caspian would have done to make himself look like the concerned husband. He just stood by the wall, his arms crossed, his jaw tight, watching the doctors work.
Every few minutes, he would ask a question. "What’s her blood pressure?" "Is the fetus in distress?" "What is the prognosis?" The doctors answered in medical terms she did not understand. He seemed to understand them perfectly.
After what felt like hours, a doctor in blue scrubs turned to Dorian and smiled.
"The baby is fine," she said. "The cramping was caused by dehydration and stress. We’re giving her fluids and monitoring her overnight, but there’s no sign of fetal distress."
Veyra felt something loosen in her chest. A knot she had been holding for three days. Three days without food. Three days without water. Three days of thinking she was going to lose this baby the same way she had lost the first one.
She started crying.
Dorian looked at her. For a moment, his mask slipped. Something moved across his face. Something soft. Then it was gone.
"The doctor said the baby is fine," he said. "You’re fine. Stop crying."
She laughed through her tears. It was a wet, broken sound. "I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m not sad."
He stared at her. She could see him trying to understand. He could not. That was okay. She did not need him to understand.
*
They moved her to a private room and it was a suite. It was the type of room that had fresh flowers and a couch and a television bigger than the one in her old apartment.
Dorian stood by the door. He looked like he was about to leave.
"Thank you," Veyra said. Her voice was still raw from crying. "For coming back. For getting me out of there. You didn’t have to."
He looked at her. His gray eyes were unreadable.
"I didn’t do it for you," he said. "I did it for the child."
The words hung in the air between them.
She nodded. She had expected that. She had known, from the moment she proposed the deal, that he was not doing this because he cared about her. He was doing it because he needed an heir. Because his grandmother was dying. Because the child in her belly was a means to an end.
It still hurt to hear it out loud.
"Of course," she said. "I understand."
He nodded once and it was short and final.
"The villa is ready for you. You’ll stay there until the baby is born. My staff will take care of everything you need." He paused. "I’ll be back in three days. Don’t leave the property."
Then he turned and walked out the door.
She watched him go. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
She was alone.
*
The villa was not just a villa but it was a mansion, a very big compound, like a small city disguised as a house.
Veyra stood in the foyer with her mouth slightly open, her cane in one hand, her other hand pressed against her belly. The floors were marble. The ceilings were two stories high. A chandelier hung above her.
A woman in a gray dress appeared. Her name was Lin. She was the housekeeper. She had a kind face and efficient hands and she did not ask questions.
"Mrs. Thorne," Lin said. "Your room is ready. I’ll show you the way."
Mrs. Thorne.
Veyra almost corrected her.