Page 23 of Thiago (Family Ties #6)

Chapter Twenty-Three

S tartled, Thiago stared after her for a few seconds. Then he shot out of the dressing room, but those few seconds of delay had cost him, and India had moved fast. By the time he arrived at the bathroom door, she had already locked herself inside.

He wiggled the doorknob. “India?”

Then he heard her retching.

Thiago pressed his palm flat against the door, helpless in the wake of her obvious distress.

When she stopped, he tried talking to her again. “India, should I call a doctor?”

“No. Give me a minute,” she replied, her voice sounding weak and strained.

He heard her throwing up again.

Thiago stood uncertainly outside the door. He didn’t know what to do. It pained him to hear her suffering. He wanted to fix this. Should he ignore her and call a doctor anyway?

Backing away from the door, he went to the kitchen, filled a glass with room temperature water, and returned to the bedroom. He stood outside the bathroom again, listening. It sounded like she was throwing up a lung.

What the hell was wrong with her? They had both eaten the same meal, so it couldn’t be?—

Thiago stilled. He knew exactly what her throwing up meant.

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting the idea sink in. India must be pregnant, and he was going to be a father.

A father .

The word echoed in his head as his thoughts raced. There was so much more he wanted to do with the company. He had a five-year growth plan mapped out, and of course there was the IPO, which he hoped to launch in less than two years.

Was he ready for the responsibility of a child? Of course.

He was Thiago Santana, and he loved a challenge.

He would tackle fatherhood the same way he had tackled other challenges in his life—by seeking out knowledge so he could be the best. By honing in on fatherhood, he would become the best damn father possible.

And India, well… he already knew she would excel at motherhood.

Beneath the cool logic of his assessment, something stirred in his chest he hadn’t expected.

He smiled at the idea of her carrying a piece of him inside her.

An image of India with his child in her arms sent a sharp surge of emotion through him.

She wouldn’t simply be the woman who shared his bed.

They would have a permanent connection, and the thought filled him with… a possessive sense of satisfaction.

Thiago heard water running in the bathroom, and then the door creaked open. India leaned against the frame.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze. One hand fluttered to her stomach while the other gripped the frame as if she needed the support.

Thiago stood and approached. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

“I’m fine, but I need a new stomach.” Her voice sounded small and pained, so the joke didn’t land.

She looked up at him with baleful eyes, and he handed her the water.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

After she had drunk half of it, Thiago asked, “Do you care to tell me what is going on?”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Nothing at all? Nothing you want to tell me?” Thiago prodded.

India stared at him in confusion.

“India, we were having a conversation, and then you ran out here to throw up. Do you think I don’t know what this means?” No point in beating around the bush. He’d go straight to the point if she didn’t want to broach the subject herself.

“I got sick. What do you think this means?” India asked slowly.

Thiago straightened his shoulders, slightly annoyed at her fake display of confusion. “Do not play dumb with me. When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” she asked.

Thiago stepped closer. “That you’re pregnant.”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

“Are you carrying my child?”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh my goodness, I’m not pregnant, Thiago!” She moved past him.

“You can deny it all you want, but I know the signs,” he said in a firm voice, following her.

“Do you now?” She tossed the question over her shoulder as she continued toward the kitchen.

“What are your plans?” Thiago asked.

India drained the water from the glass and then dropped it with a heavy hand onto the island. She swung to face him. “I’m not pregnant.”

“I do not believe in abortion. I am Catholic.”

“When was the last time you stepped foot inside a church?” she demanded.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me since you obviously think you have a say in my decision about my body.”

He stepped closer and jabbed a finger at her belly. “That is my child you’re carrying.”

India sighed. “Before either of us says something we’ll regret, let me tell you again, for the third time. I. Am. Not . Pregnant.”

Not . Pregnant.

This time, the words landed like a roundhouse kick to the jaw, knocking the wind out of him.

The earlier rush of anticipation bled from him like an open wound, leaving him feeling drained and empty.

He had leaped so far ahead, already making plans for the son or daughter who would carry his name and both their DNA.

The dream dissolved as quickly as it had arrived, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.

“Not pregnant.” Repeating the words didn’t take the sting out of them as he’d hoped.

His jaw tightened as he forced his face into neutral lines. This was better anyway. The timing was off. He had big plans, and a child would derail them and preoccupy too much of his time.

“If you’re not p—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word again. “If you’re not, what happened back there?” Thiago demanded in a gruff voice.

“I was sick,” India answered.

“We ate the same meal, so it was not the food.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Thiago folded his arms across his chest. “What do you think?”

She sighed, as if the world had been placed on her shoulders.

“Fine, I don’t feel like arguing, and I know you won’t stop until you get an answer.

I have lupus, and I started a new medication a few weeks ago, where I have to inject myself once a week.

One of the side effects of this new medication is nausea, though I had no idea it would be this bad.

” She rubbed her belly as if trying to eliminate the remnants of her nausea.

“I thought I would only feel queasy, but apparently not.”

Slowly, Thiago unfolded his arms and examined her. She looked more exhausted than before. “You never told me you had lupus.”

Why had she never shared such an important piece of information about herself? Had he not pushed, it was obvious she wouldn’t have told him now, either.

“The topic never came up in conversation.” India shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “So anyway, what were we talking about before?”

“You cannot tell me you have lupus and then change the subject, India. I don’t know much about this disease, but I know it can be very debilitating.”

“My lupus has been under control for years.”

“If it is under control, why are you taking new medicine?” Thiago asked.

“I was trying a new drug my rheumatologist suggested, and we hoped it would work in conjunction with my other meds so my lupus would eventually go into remission. Then I’d be off prescription drugs.

But this is the second time I’ve been sick and thrown up, and the only change is I started injecting myself with the new medication.

It doesn’t agree with me, I guess.” She looked defeated.

Thiago was angry at her for not telling him sooner and angry at the medication for not working the way she needed it to.

He swore softly, running his fingers through his hair, and India eyed him warily.

“I cannot believe you never told me this,” he said in a low voice.

India wrapped her arms around herself. “We don’t—didn’t have that kind of relationship.” She spoke in an equally low tone and looked away first.

“You said your lupus has been under control for years. When was the last time it was… out of control?”

“About five years ago. I was in the hospital for about a month.”

“I remember you took a leave of absence around that time. I believe you were gone for two months or so?”

She nodded. “A total of ten weeks. Your father was very kind and gave me time off to recover. He held my job for me, and I’ll forever be grateful.”

“Well, this conversation has been eye-opening. I certainly did not know you had lupus, and I have been pushing you and pushing you.” He shook his head.

She touched his forearm. “I’m fine, Thiago.

I’m not solely dependent on my medication.

I’ve learned to minimize the symptoms in other ways.

I meditate in my office. I do yoga, get massages, drink herbal tea with anti-inflammatory properties.

There are so many options to help keep it under control.

I’m obsessed, really, because that’s how my mother died.

She also had lupus, and it damaged her heart. ”

“I am so sorry.” Thiago had heard her talk about her mother and grandmother but never her father. “What about your father?” he asked tentatively.

He saw an immediate change come over her. “My father and I haven’t had much of a relationship since I turned eighteen and he was no longer responsible for my support. He barely provided support anyway. Eventually, we fell out of touch.”

Pain flitted across her face, so fleeting, he almost missed it. She stared at the fingers of her left hand spread out on the island countertop. When she spoke again, he could tell by the lack of emotion in her voice that she was in another world—a world filled with pain and disappointment.

“He was an artist. My mother said that’s where I got my talent from because she couldn’t even draw stick people.

” She smiled faintly. “As an adult, it made me feel connected to him, though… though we didn’t have much of a relationship.

Two years ago, I saw my father at a gas station, and he didn’t recognize me, Thiago.

He walked out of the convenience store and walked in my direction, where I was pumping gas.

He had an unlit cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth.

I was about to greet him when I received the shock of my life.

He used to call me Indy, but he never said a word.

He… he nodded and walked by me to his truck.

So much time had passed he didn’t recognize me, his own daughter. ”

He couldn’t bear to hear the thick pain in her voice. “And then you stopped drawing.”

She nodded, and he pulled her into the safety of his arms to shield her from the horror of the memory.

“ Dios , I’m sorry, mi amor ,” he whispered.

“His own daughter,” she said again, her voice quivering.

Thiago easily lifted her from the floor and walked back to the bedroom with her cradled in his arms. Under the covers, she remained curled up against him, her tears leaving damp spots on his shirt.

When she finally stopped crying, she lifted her head from his chest and wiped at her wet cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Thiago swept his thumb across her jaw to remove a teardrop she had missed.

“I’ve never told anyone about that incident. It’s so embarrassing.” She kept her gaze lowered.

“You could still have a relationship with your father.”

Thiago and his father didn’t always see eye to eye in business, but he couldn’t imagine not having a relationship with him at all, and it was clear India wanted to be closer to her father. One of them needed to make the first move.

“I will never have a relationship with him,” India said with iron in her voice.

Thiago propped up her chin, forcing eye contact. “Never say never. You don’t know what the future might bring. Reach out. It is not too late.”

“He’ll have to make the first move. I’m not setting myself up for any more hurt.”

By the resolve in her voice and the firm set to her jaw, Thiago didn’t doubt she meant every word.