15. Gabriella

15

GAbrIELLA

A fter Enzo drops me off, I run into my apartment and puke my guts out. The moment I stepped out of his car, it hit me out of nowhere and I barely made it up to the bathroom in time. Breathing hard, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass, I hold my hair back and a sheen of sweat covers my forehead.

Once I think I’m done being sick and my stomach settles down, I drop back onto my butt and swipe a hand over my face. “What was that all about?” I wonder aloud. Since I’m feeling better, I get up to wash my face and brush my teeth. At least I didn’t throw up in Enzo’s car. That would’ve been humiliating.

Speaking of whom, I can’t stop thinking about him as I get ready for work. He’s wedged himself so deeply into my thoughts that it’s scary. What did I think about before him? I suppose only work, but everyone knows the old saying about all work and no play.

Until Enzo, I had been living a very dull life. It’s the truth and I can admit it because now that I know how it feels to have Enzo in my life, I don’t ever want to go back to what it was before. Sad and lonely.

Our weekend together was perfect in every single way, but now that it’s over, I have no idea what to expect when I go to the office. Will he turn back into his cool, ruthless self? Are we going to fall back into our old ways and start arguing and pushing each other’s buttons again? Or, will he turn up the heat and expect a quickie in his office?

I wish I could just call in sick for the next three weeks. It’s hard to believe that’s all the time we have left together before Doug makes a permanent decision and chooses who he’s going to sell Holloway Corp. to. The competitor in me has to win. But, win at what cost? And, is it really worth it?

After applying my makeup and brushing out my hair, it occurs to me that I can’t have both. If I want Holloway’s company and I win it, then I’m going to lose Enzo. How could I not? He’s going to be pissed.

Conversely, if Enzo is chosen, won’t I be angry, too? I’m a competitor, so yes, I will be upset. At the same time, I’m so ready for a decision to be made and for all of this to finally be over. There are other companies out there to buy, I suppose.

I hate thinking about it. Not seeing Enzo every day is going to be so strange.

Unless we can get over our egos and take a chance on each other outside of work. Like we did this past weekend. When I wasn’t viewing him as the competition and we were able to relax and live in the moment, it was all so wonderful.

Maybe I’m not being realistic. But, I’d like to think we have a chance together. A part of me wishes we would’ve discussed what happens next. Unless that’s just wishful thinking. God, I’m so confused and now my stomach is starting to rumble again.

I have a feeling today is going to not be a good day.

And, I’m right.

First off, I get to my office late because the moment I arrive, the nausea hits again…and hits hard. I spend another fifteen minutes puking. Afterwards, I rinse my mouth out with some water, but all I have is an old gooey mint at the bottom of my purse. No toothbrush or mouthwash. Ugh. I suppose I could run down to the corner drug store, but that’s going to make me even later and I hate being late. With a passion.

So, I suck it up and decide to show my face for a bit then sneak out on an errand to get some goodies to freshen my breath. I finished the mint and my mouth still takes like crap when Enzo appears in the doorway of my office. He looks as unsure as I’m feeling.

“Hi,” he says, voice quiet.

“Hi,” I respond.

He squints, studying me far too closely, and I squirm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I manage to force out just as my stomach starts churning again. Oh, God. Hoping it’ll go away, I smile. Unfortunately it feels all wrong. Fake as hell. I look away, pretending to be searching for something on my desk when I know I’m going to have to make another run for the bathroom. Shit. I must be getting a stomach bug or the flu.

Getting up, my heels wobble slightly and I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself. Of course, Enzo doesn’t miss a thing and he frowns. Since when did he become so detail-oriented? I wonder crossly.

Okay, now I need to move and I walk quickly to the door and try to skirt around his large frame, but he stops me. “What’s going on?” he asks in a low voice, grabbing hold of my elbow and squeezing lightly. “You look pale.”

Our faces are close and I know my breath must reek, so I discreetly cover my mouth with the back of my hand and turn away from him. “Nothing.”

“Stop saying fine and nothing, Bri. Tell me?—”

My stomach gurgles and I pull my arm free and bolt down to the bathroom, barely making it into the stall. As I’m retching for the freaking third time this morning, my brain almost explodes as one ominous thought goes crashing through it…

Am I pregnant?

“Oh, God,” I groan and throw up again. But there’s nothing left inside my poor stomach and my throat burns with the taste of bile. Leaning my head against the stall wall, I close my eyes and wait for the nausea to fade.

My eyes pop open when the bathroom door opens and I almost cry when I hear heavy footsteps enter. “Gabriella?” Enzo asks. “Are you okay, honey?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can’t he just let me puke in peace?

I reach out, grab a wad of toilet paper and wipe my mouth. The last thing a woman wants is for the man she likes to associate her with any kind of bodily function. Yes, I know that’s silly and every human being burps, farts and poops. But, I do not need Enzo Rossi knowing that right now. Maybe if we’d been going out for a while or living together, I wouldn’t be so self-conscious. But right now I feel like Carrie Bradshaw the moment she first farted in front of Mr. Big in Sex and the City .

Kill me now.

“No,” I whisper, deciding to be honest. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

I can hear him walk right up to the stall I’m locked in and see his shiny leather shoes when I look down.

“Will you open the door?”

“No! Go away, Enzo,” I moan. “Let me die in peace.”

“Honey, you’re not dying. Open the door and let me help you,” he coaxes.

“I feel like crap and I smell like puke.” Maybe I have food poisoning. That seems like a much better and safer conclusion than being pregnant.

“Okay, if you aren’t going to open the door then how about I get you a ginger ale and some Saltines? To help settle your stomach?”

My chest tightens. He’s being so sweet and I’m being a pain in the ass, but I can’t help it. I’m embarrassed and hate showing any kind of weakness.

“And a toothbrush?” I ask softly.

“I can do that. I’ll run down to the drugstore. Anything else?”

A pregnancy test? I don’t dare say that, of course, but I ask for some toothpaste, too. When he finally leaves, I have to admit it’s pretty nice having someone help me when I need it. Usually, I do everything myself. There have been times that I’ve been so sick and had to run to the store to get soup, gatorade and medicine, and I almost passed out before I could make it to the cash register. Having the luxury of someone taking care of me like this when I don’t feel well…it’s priceless and makes me wonder what it would be like to have Enzo in my life as my boyfriend.

It would be really damn nice. No doubt about it.

Once I drag myself up off the bathroom floor and swish some water around in my mouth, I dab my face off with a paper towel. Balling the paper towel up, I study my pale face in the mirror above the sink and try not to grimace. No doubt about it—I look like death warmed over. Feel like it, too.

After I get myself back into some semblance of order, I walk back down to my office and lay down on the small couch, curling up and tucking my hands beneath my chin. Enzo is back in record time, carrying two bags full of stuff. I pull myself up into a sitting position and frown.

“What is all that?” I ask.

“Everything you might want or need,” he says and strides over. While he reaches into a bag and plucks out a bottle of water with electrolytes, cracking it open for me, I peer into the other bag. I think he bought everything from Pepto Bismol to sore throat lozenges. Trying not to smile, I take the bottle her offers.

“Thank you.”

“You need to stay hydrated,” he tells me. Then he opens a package of crackers. “They didn’t have Saltines, but these are pretty close. They should help settle your stomach.”

He kneels down next to the couch and tilts the package toward me. I gratefully take one and nibble the corner.

“My mom always gave us crackers when our stomachs hurt,” he says, and I nod.

It’s weird because I’m starting to feel perfectly normal again. Like nothing was ever wrong and that’s a very big red flag. Could I be having morning sickness? The idea of being pregnant is enough to put me in a panic.

As I’m finishing my cracker, Enzo reaches for my foot and slips first one heel off followed by the other. Then he starts massaging my feet and I lean back against the couch, allowing myself to get more comfortable.

“Mmm, that feels so good,” I murmur, trying not to moan and failing miserably.

“You still look a little pale. It’s possible you could be coming down with something—” He leans closer and presses his palm against my forehead, “or you have food poisoning. Could even be a case of nerves and exhaustion. These last five weeks or so have been insane.”

For a moment, we’re both quiet as he continues kneading the arch of my left foot.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been the cause of any of that stress,” he says. He sounds so sincere and I want to pull him into my arms and kiss him. But then I remember my rank breath and decide I’d better not.

“Who knew Enzo Rossi could be so sweet?” I ask softly.

“Not very often. And only with you,” he adds, mouth edging up in an adorable smile.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, then sets my feet down on his thigh. “I have something to say, so will you hear me out? And consider my suggestion?”

“What?”

“I want to take you home, get you set up in your bed and then I want you to rest. To sleep because I know we didn’t get much sleeping done the last two nights.”

My cheeks flush and normally I would fight him over leaving the office early, but I think I puked all my fight out. I am tired. Exhausted even, and his suggestion sounds heavenly.

“If you want me to stay, I can, but then I’ll be tempted to touch you and…” He sends me a very seductive smile and shrugs his shoulders.

“Same,” I murmur, reach out and brush my fingers through his hair. It’s a little crispy with gel and I want to make fun of him, but I’m too tired. “Will you take me home, Enzo?”

For a moment, he looks surprised that I agreed so quickly. But then he nods, slips my shoes back on, grabs the bags and helps me down to my car which he drives back to my place. He tells me he’ll Uber back to the office and, again, I don’t argue.

Seeing this softer side of Enzo has me liking him even more. He manages to get me undressed and into a t-shirt and comfy lounge pants without even making it sexual. Then he tucks me into bed and kisses my forehead.

“You need anything, call and I’ll come back. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Honestly, honey, I think all you really need is a good, long nap and you’ll be just fine.”

After another quick kiss, he says goodbye and I watch him walk out of my bedroom. The moment he’s gone, I sit up and lay a hand over my heart. Right now, it’s currently tripping in my chest, beating so hard for that man. And, I know for absolute certainty that I am falling head over heels for him. It’s terrifying, too, especially because there might be an addition to this little party.

A baby?

I’m the kind of person who needs answers immediately. There’s no way I can fall asleep or sit here and wonder if I’m pregnant and not go absolutely bonkers. Sliding out of bed, I slip into a pair of sweatpants, grab my purse and head down to the drug store. I buy three pregnancy tests and hurry back home.

After carefully reading the directions, I take the first test and wait, my heart in my throat. After the allotted time, I look down at the stick and it’s very clearly positive.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper and immediately proceed to tear open the second test. After getting the same result, I take the third and final test because I’m thorough like that.

All three tests indicate I am pregnant with Enzo Rossi’s baby.

A whirl of emotions tear through me and my entire world starts spinning like I’m on some kind of out-of-control carnival ride. How am I going to tell Enzo? What is he going to think? Will he run or stay?

My family is going to freak out because they hate the Rossi’s. Well, my mom will support me because she loves me. Everyone else—my cousins and my Uncle Sal—will probably have a conniption fit, though.

And will I have the time and energy needed to work? Especially if I acquire Holloway Corp.?

It’s all too much to think about right now, so I do what Enzo suggested. I go lay down in bed and curl up into a small ball, wanting to go to sleep and forget about my life for as long as possible.