Stolen Queen (Dynasty of Deception #4)

29. Ava

29

AVA

I wake up feeling nauseous again. The anxiety and queasiness in my stomach refuse to settle. I rush to the bathroom, barely making it before I'm sick. As I heave over the toilet, tears spring to my eyes. This is the third time today.

The cool tile feels good against my forehead as I slump against it. I can’t stop my mind from racing with anxious thoughts. What have I gotten us into? The stress of it all makes my stomach lurch again.

I drag myself back to bed, feeling utterly drained. My mouth is dry and I'm so thirsty, but I'm afraid to drink anything for fear it'll come right back up. The room spins a little as I lie down.

Hours pass in a haze of fitful sleep and trips to the bathroom. By late afternoon, I have nothing left in my system. My body aches from the exertion of being sick over and over. I curl up in bed, utterly spent.

I collapse into a troubled sleep, my mind swirling with fears and anxieties about our precarious situation. Visions of my father's rage, Matteo in danger, and an uncertain future plague my dreams. I toss and turn, unable to find peace even in sleep.

Suddenly, I feel a warm, comforting presence. A gentle hand rests on my forehead, slowly pulling me from the depths of sleep. I blink groggily, trying to focus my eyes.

Matteo's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. I struggle to sit up, feeling weak and disoriented. His strong arm supports me as I lean against the headboard.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

"I… I don't know," I manage to croak out, my throat dry and scratchy. "I've been feeling sick all day."

Matteo's hand moves to cup my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin.

"What time is it?" I ask.

Matteo glances at his watch. "It's just past noon. Have you been sleeping this whole time?”

“When I’m not barfing.”

He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, his touch cool against my clammy skin. "Have you eaten anything today?"

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as my stomach lurches. "I couldn't keep anything down."

Concern deepens the lines around Matteo's eyes. "You should have called me. I would have come home sooner."

"I didn't want to worry you. I thought it would pass. You know, maybe it’s something I ate.”

He gives me a cheeky grin. “You’re not saying my pancakes made you sick, are you?”

I smile, or try to. “No. I wasn’t feeling right before that.”

He pulls me close. “Your wellbeing is important to me. You need to call if you need me."

His words warm me, even if they’re not the ones I want to hear.

"Let me get you some water," Matteo says, starting to rise.

I clutch at his shirt, suddenly not wanting him to leave. "Stay? Just for a moment?"

He settles back onto the bed, gathering me in his arms. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

We lie together in the quiet. It’s nice. I can almost pretend this is normal. That he and I aren’t caught up in family drama that includes violence.

"How are you feeling now?" he asks a few minutes later.

I take a moment to assess my condition. "A little better, I think. I'm not as nauseous as I was earlier."

"That's good. Do you think you could try some water now?"

I nod cautiously. "I can try. I'm actually pretty thirsty."

“How about I make you some food? Crackers and broth?”

I've never had someone care for me like this. We had a nanny when I was little, but she was a stern woman, not motherly at all. My own mother might have wanted to soothe us during sickness, but my father always saw illness as weakness.

"That sounds nice.”

Matteo scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. I let out a small gasp of surprise but quickly relax into his embrace.

"I can walk, you know," I mumble, though I make no move to get down.

Matteo chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I know you can. But humor me, okay?"

I rest my head on his shoulder as he carries me to the kitchen. The gentle sway of his movements is soothing, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of being so tenderly cared for.

As we enter the kitchen, I breathe in the familiar scents of Matteo's cooking space. It's become a place of comfort for me over these past weeks, filled with memories of shared meals and laughter.

Matteo carefully sets me down in a chair at the table. "Comfortable?"

“Yes. I’m not an invalid. I just have a bug or something.”

I watch Matteo move around the kitchen. I remember learning he could cook and being so surprised. Now it seems normal that this lethal man is so skilled in the kitchen.

"How did things go with Elio?" I ask hesitantly, remembering his goal that morning.

Matteo glances over his shoulder, offering me a reassuring smile. "Better than expected, actually."

"Really?"

He nods, turning back to the stove. "Yeah. I explained everything to him. He understands why I did what I did."

“He forgives you?” I can’t explain the relief this gives me. The idea that I’d come between Matteo and his family was more than I could bear.

Matteo turns to face me fully, his expression serious but gentle. "It means you're safe, Ava. You're under the protection of both the D'Amatos and me now."

I blink, struggling to process this information. It seems too good to be true. "So… Elio won't betray you to my father?"

Matteo's brow furrows, and he puts down the spoon he was holding to come to me. "Is that what you were worried about?"

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. This stupid illness has made me emotional. "I thought… I mean, last night it seemed like…"

Matteo takes my hand in his. "Ava, no. Elio would never do that. And if he did, I’d still be one hundred percent committed to keeping you safe, helping you achieve your freedom.”

His words should make me happy, but they don’t. It sounds like he’s still planning on sending me away to forge a new life under a new name.

“Is there more you’re worried about?” he asks softly.

"I just… I feel so guilty. You and your family are taking such huge risks by protecting me. If anything were to happen to you or them because of me…" Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. "I'm not worth all this trouble. Maybe it would be better if I just?—”

Matteo cuts me off, his finger pressing over my lips. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Princess. You are worth it, do you understand?” His hand cups my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," I whisper, feeling a bit foolish for my earlier fears.

Matteo shakes his head. "Don't apologize. I understand why you were scared. But I need you to trust me, Ava."

I nod, feeling a surge of affection for this man who's risking everything for me. "I do trust you. More than I've ever trusted anyone."

His eyes soften at my words, and he leans in closer. His lips find mine. His kiss is soft, sweet. I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. I make a wish that what we have now won’t ever have to end.

The next morning, I wake with a start, my stomach churning uncomfortably. The familiar wave of nausea hits me, and I know I only have moments before I'm sick. I look over at Matteo’s side of the bed, but it’s empty save for a note.

Princess,

You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. Get some rest. I'll see you this evening.

-M

I clutch the note, savoring it. He still isn’t saying he loves me, but I feel it. Or I hope I do.

Another wave of nausea hits, so I swing out of bed and hurry to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before my stomach heaves.

After a few moments, I pull myself up and move to the sink. My reflection in the mirror looks pale and drawn. I splash some cool water on my face, hoping to bring some color back to my cheeks.

I reach for the toothpaste to wash away the vile taste in my mouth, only to find the tube completely empty. Sighing, I start rummaging through the bathroom cabinet for a new one. As I push aside various toiletries, I pick up the tampon box to look behind it when I freeze.

I pull them out slowly, a strange feeling of dread settling in my stomach.

When was my last period?

I rack my brain, trying to remember. It's been… over a month? With everything that's been happening, I hadn't even noticed it was late.

Panic sets in as I connect the dots. The missed period. The nausea and vomiting I've been experiencing lately. Could it be…?

No. No, it can't be. He uses a condom.

But as much as I want to dismiss the idea, I can’t. Not fully.

Pregnant? Me? Now?

I place a hand on my stomach, trying to imagine there's really a life growing inside me. A baby. Matteo's baby.

The thought sends a confusing mix of emotions through me. Fear, excitement, panic, wonder. How would Matteo react? Would he be happy? Angry? Would this put us in even more danger?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I don't know anything for sure yet. It could just be stress causing my symptoms. Or maybe I have the flu. I shouldn't jump to conclusions.

I finally find a new tube of toothpaste and brush my teeth as my thoughts race on what I should do next. I need a pregnancy test. I feel like I need secrecy in getting one, but I won’t dare defy Matteo and leave this place to get one. Not because he’ll be angry. No, I need to show him respect. I need to show that I understand how it scares him when I leave.

After a long internal debate, I decide to order some groceries to be delivered to the penthouse. Among the items, including a bottle of electrolyte water to rehydrate and replenish my body, I add a pregnancy test.

The store is overwhelmed with orders. The final page of the order indicates that it will be a few hours before they can deliver. That’s okay. I can occupy my time. I’ve gotten good at it. First, I nap because I’m so tired. Then I try to distract myself by reading, but I struggle to focus on the words. My mind keeps drifting back to the possibility of a baby growing inside me.

Finally, the intercom buzzes, announcing the arrival of my groceries. I hurry to collect them, bringing the bags into the kitchen.

As I unpack the items, I see that the water I ordered is missing from the delivery. I rifle through the bags again, hoping I've simply overlooked it, but it's definitely not there. I suppose it’s better that they forgot that than the pregnancy test which is sitting at the bottom of the bag.

I stare at the pregnancy test, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. On the one hand, I think I’m being ridiculous. I’m overthinking it like I did worrying about Elio giving Matteo over to my father.

But…

I can take the test and be sure. It can confirm whether I’m overly anxious.

I take the box to the bathroom expecting it to turn up negative. Then I’ll hide away the evidence of the test so Matteo never has to know of my scare.

I read the directions and then follow them. The next five minutes are the longest of my life. Finally, I look at the little stick sitting on the counter.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

I'm pregnant.

No. It has to be a false positive. I should have ordered two tests.

But even as I tell myself that, I know it’s a lie. I sink down onto the edge of the bathtub, my legs suddenly too weak to support me. I'm carrying Matteo's baby. Our baby.

I want to be happy. Taking away all the reasons this isn’t good news—the conflict with my father, the fact that Matteo still plans to send me off into the world—I am happy. I give myself a moment to believe in fairy tales in which Matteo and I are a family with this person growing inside me.

But this isn’t a fairy tale. There are so many reasons this isn’t good news.

What will Matteo think? We’ve never discussed a future, much less having kids. Will he be happy? Angry?

And while I feel mature and grown up, I know I’m young. I've barely had a chance to live my own life, and now I'm responsible for another. The weight of it feels overwhelming.

I know I need to tell Matteo, but how? Should I blurt it out as soon as he walks through the door? Plan a special moment? Wait until things are more settled with our current situation? How long before my stomach will protrude to reveal my condition?

I'm still reeling from the news of my pregnancy when I hear a knock at the door. At first, I can’t decide who’d be coming by. No one except my grocery deliveries have ever come to the door when Matteo isn’t here.

But then I remember my electrolyte water. It’s probably just delivery of the water they forgot earlier.

I make my way to the door and peer through the peephole. Sure enough, I see a bottle of water positioned right in front of it. Relieved, I reach for the doorknob.

Two men push through the door, one who grabs me and covers my mouth. Panic surges through me as I struggle against my attacker's iron grip. The arm around my waist tightens, lifting me slightly off the ground as my captor drags me backward into the apartment.

Fear courses through my veins. I think of Matteo, of our unborn child, and a new wave of desperation washes over me. I can't let this happen. I have to fight.

A third man appears. He shuts the door and turns to me. “My darling daughter, Ava. I’ve finally found you.”