Page 502 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Mira

"I’m fine. It’s probably because I didn’t stop for lunch today." I try to sit up, the room tilts, and I find myself flat on my back again.

"You’re not okay." Adela places a palm on my forehead. Demand for spaces in the preschool has spiraled so quickly, I need more help. When she volunteered, Ed signed her transfer to my department immediately.

"You’re burning up," she murmurs.

"My throat did feel a little scratchy this morning," I admit.

"You need to see a doctor."

"Nothing some paracetamol won’t sort out." I cough. "Just don’t tell my husband."

"I called your husband," she says at the same time.

I gape at her. "Why did you do that?"

She blinks. "Uh, he’s your husband? Also, he happens to be the CEO of the company, and I want to keep my job, and—"

"How is she?" Ed bursts into the reception area of the nursery, which is where my legs chose to give way from underneath me. He moves so quickly, his feet don’t seem to touch the ground. He sinks to his knees next to me and rakes his gaze over my features. "Why is she so pale?"

"She has a fever…and mentioned a sore throat, and—"

"Call Dr. Weston," he orders her.

Adela looks between us, then nods and excuses herself.

He continues to stare at me, the look in his eyes so intent, that when he reaches for me, I flinch.

His throat moves as he swallows. He raises both of his hands, palms facing me. "I won’t hurt you."

"I know."

"When I heard you’d fainted—"

"I was out for barely a few seconds."

All the color drains from his face. "A few seconds."

"It’s probably because I’m dehydrated."

"Dehydrated?" He sways.

"Ed? Eddie?" I touch his hand, and he trembles, then seems to get a hold of himself. "I’m going to move you to the couch, Belle." He hesitates. "If that’s okay with you?"

I blink. He's asking me for permission to move me? He didn’t just scoop me up and march me over and sit down with me in his lap.

And I’m grateful he queried me first, but also…

I want him to do what he thinks is right for me, because I do enjoy it.

I do. My head spins, and it’s not just because of whatever bug I’ve caught.

It’s this constant warring inside of me where he’s concerned that’s tearing me up inside.

I want to hold onto the independence I’ve fought so hard for all of my life.

I want him to not give me a choice where my wellbeing is concerned.

I want him to manipulate my body as he’s always done because he knows what I need.

And because I know when I tell him no, he’ll stop.

It’s because he wanted me so much, because he couldn’t stand the thought of me belonging to anyone else, that he masterminded events so I ended up married to him.

And while I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven him for that, the fact that he had such a strong yearning for me, that he desired me and longed for me enough to pull strings until I became his, is a powerful turn on.

"Belle?" His voice softens, "Please? I can’t stand to see you lying on the floor."

"It's carpeted," I point out, then cough. And he seems to grow even more pale. His fingers curl into fists. "Belle, I’m begging you."

"Yes." I stop my lips from twitching. "You may carry me, but you can’t place me on the couch."

"Where then?"

"Your lap would be better."

He draws in a sharp breath, then nods. "Your wish is my command.

" He scoops me up, then prowls over to the couch and sits down, gathering me close.

I curl into his broad chest, turn my nose into his vest, and breathe deeply.

That dark, spicy scent of him settles in my blood, and some of the tension drains out of my shoulders.

He balances me with one arm, then pushes the hair off my flushed forehead. His fingers tremble. Because I can’t stop myself, I reach up and twine my fingers through his. "I’m fine, really."

"Really, you’re not."

He places our joined fingers over my heart, as if to reassure himself that I’m here and alive.

"When I got the message that you’d collapsed, I felt like I was going to die. I felt like everything inside me had dissolved and was floating away into the ether. I felt so helpless. It’s all my fault."

I stare. "How is it your fault that I’m sick?"

His lips flatten. "I should have taken care of you. I should have paid more attention to you. I should have made sure you were taking your vitamins—"

"Why would you want to make sure I’m taking my vitamins?" I shake my head. "Honestly, the last thing I want is a helicopter husband."

"A helicopter husband?" He frowns.

"Yeah, a husband who constantly hovers over you and wants to make sure you’re fine."

"What’s wrong with that?"

"It can be stifling?"

"It’s a way of showing I care for you."

"There are other ways of showing it… Like not trying to control everything in my life."

His jaw tics. "I’m trying, Belle, I swear. I’m trying to be the kind of man you’d be proud to call your husband, but I'm a little short on practice and—"

"What seems to be the problem here?" A man bustles in. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and is wearing a tux.

"Wes." Edward jerks his chin.

"You do realize I’m a heart specialist." The man stares at my husband.

"You’re a doctor. I trust you. End of story." Ed sets his jaw.

"You’re a heart specialist?" I blink.

"A cardiologist," he confirms.

"There’s nothing wrong with my heart."

"Of course, there isn’t. My friends prefer I take on the role of family doctor, when it comes to their loved ones.

" He gives a long-suffering sigh. "And I can’t refuse. It’s almost routine they call me whenever I’m at a social occasion.

So much so, I never leave without carrying everything I need to attend to these house calls. ”

"I’m so sorry he pulled you away from whatever event you were at." I gesture to his tux.

"I don’t mind, and I know the only way to put this wanker’s mind at rest is if I examine you quickly." He places his bag on the floor, pulls up a chair, then reaches for my wrist and takes my pulse.

"Uh, I fainted," I offer.

Ed interjects with, "She collapsed and was out for a few seconds, and—"

The doctor glares at him. "I’m talking to my patient."

"And she’s my wife," he snaps.

"And if you want to see her well and on her feet again, you’ll let me have a conversation with her," the doctor says in a steely voice.

To my shock, Ed lapses into silence.

I stare at the doctor with respect. "I’m Mira."

"Dr. Weston Kincaid." He half smiles. "Let’s look at your throat." He does a quick examination, then reaches for his bag and pulls out a thermometer.

He takes my temperature, then makes a hmm noise. Gosh, I hate it when they do that. Like they know something you don’t. Which they do. But does that make me nervous? It does.

My nervousness must communicate itself to Eddie, for his arms around me tighten. "You’re going to be okay," he whispers.

"Yes, she will. Her tonsils are enlarged, and the lining of her throat shows signs of redness. She probably has a strep infection," the doctor declares.

“A strep infection?” Eddie frowns.

"It’s been going around. Some of the children had it; I probably caught it from them." I shrug.

“I need to take a throat swab to confirm it.”

“Go on then, what are you waiting for?” Edward pulls me into his side.

The doc reaches for his bag, then gestures toward us, while looking pointedly at Ed. “If you can give us some space—?”

Edward only holds me closer.

“It’s okay.” I pat his chest. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitates, then kisses my forehead, places me on the couch gently, and backs away.

The doctor takes the throat swab. A few minutes later, he reads the test results and nods. “It’s as I thought. Any allergies I need to be aware of before I issue the prescription?" he asks me.

"No allergies," I say at the same time that my husband snaps, "She’s not responsive to penicillin."

I turn to him. "Oh, I forgot about that, but how did you know?"

He merely tilts his head. "I made it my business to acquaint myself with your medical history.

Of course, he did. He knows everything about me, and I should definitely be pissed, but in a roundabout way, I’m also pleased he remembered.

"Oh, that’s good to know. I can prescribe something in its stead." The doctor completes his examination and sits back. "I’d like you to come to my clinic tomorrow so I can draw some blood and run some tests."

"Blood? Tests?" Ed stiffens. "What’s wrong with her? What are you not telling me?"

The doc sighs. "It’s routine; nothing to worry about. I want to make sure she’s not anemic."

"Anemic?" Ed’s gaze narrows.

"It means lack of iron in the blood," I say in a soothing voice.

"I know what it is."

"Then you’ll know, it’s not serious, and I am prone to it. My vitamin D levels may have dropped, as well."

"What?" Ed looks down at me, then cups my cheek. "Oh, my god, that’s not good."

"It happens when you're a woman." I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Especially due to my, uh, heavy cycles."

"When did you last have your period?" the doctor asks in a casual voice.

"Uh, three… No, four weeks ago, now." I hesitate. "Maybe longer." Now, it’s my turn to gulp. "You don’t think… No… I, uh, I’m on the pill."

"Best to take the guesswork out of it and take a pregnancy test."

"A pregnancy test?" My head spins.

Behind me, Edward’s chest hardens. "Why don’t you give her a full check-up when we see you tomorrow?" Ed growls.

I slap at his chest. "Excuse me, you could ask me if I want a full check-up done."

He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, there’s remorse in them.

"Would you get a full check-up done? Please?" he adds in a cajoling tone. His eyes are soft, and there’s a plea in them. One I can’t turn down.

Especially since I can feel the tension strumming under that massive chest of his.

"Okay." I turn to the doctor. "What time do you want me there?"

"There’s no way I can be pregnant." I wring my hands.

The doctor had emailed the prescription over to the pharmacy and he’d sent his team to pick it up. He’d also warned them that it had better have reached his home before we did. I exchanged glances with Adela, who merely shrugged and told me she would lock up the place before leaving for the night.

Ed called for his car, then carried me to it, placed me gently in the back seat and got in with me.

I was surprised he wasn’t driving but I kept quiet.

Best not to add to whatever gamut of emotions he seems to be experiencing.

For a man who, until a month ago, had trouble conceding he felt anything—let alone, giving voice to his feelings—he seems to have done an about-turn. I’ve never seen him this perturbed.

Now, he makes me lay down in the backseat with my head in his lap. Then, he proceeds to caution the driver to go slowly, until we’re barely crawling along. He made sure I downed a bottle of water and some fruit before we left the office. And only because I insisted I couldn't eat anything else.

I try to sit up, but he coaxes me to lay down again. His thigh feels like a column of steel covered with the smooth fabric of his pants.

"I really can’t be. I haven't missed a day of my contraceptive pills."

"Maybe you did, and you don’t realize it.” He strokes my hair. I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat. He’s so tender, so gentle. So everything I need.

"I’m strict about it. I need to take them to regulate my cycle and manage my cramps.

But then, I’ve never been late, either…" My voice fades. Which means, I might be pregnant. The realization sinks in. I might be carrying a child. His child. Ed’s child.

A family. I might have a family of my own. The family I’ve always wanted.

But Ed… He wasn’t very receptive when we spoke about children.

But then, he also said we wouldn’t be sharing a bed, and that there would be no sex—both of which haven’t held true.

Of course, there are other things he didn’t tell me, either.

All of which now seem secondary to the fact that I might be pregnant with his child.

When I look up, he’s staring out the window.

"Eddie," I whisper, "how do you feel about it?"

"About what?"

"My possibly being pregnant? My—us having a baby?"

"How do you feel about it?" He looks down at me, and his voice is cautious. His features are back to being that bland mask I can’t read.

“You know how much I want a child.”

He lowers his chin, “Does that mean you’d be happy?”

“It means if I am pregnant—and that’s a big if, but if I am—I’d be very happy." I search his features. "And you?"