I lick the sticky cinnamon off my fingers as I chew the last big bite of dough and sit back in my chair. My stomach gurgles violently, and I wrap my arms around my abdomen.
Yet another sharp pain passes through my gut. I groan, leaning back in my chair.
The stress is getting to me.
When another dagger twists in my stomach, I frown. That doesn’t feel like stress.
Standing up, I immediately double over as pain shoots through me. Gasping, I clutch the desk. A hot poker jabs my stomach over and over again. I need a bathroom.
Stumbling to the doorway, I tremble as I reach for the door. I’m still chewing, and it feels like glue in my mouth. I can’t grip the doorknob properly. My vision doubles, and I blink to try to clear it.
Every breath feels difficult. Another hot dagger slices through my stomach, and I let out a low groan. I try to inhale, but my throat feels tight.
Too tight.
Panic wells up inside me, churning in my gut along with more sharp pains. Finally, I’m able to grip the doorknob and pull it open, but the effort makes me fall to my knees.
At the same time, I try to swallow the lump of dough in my mouth.
Why don’t I just spit it out? Why do I try to swallow it?
The dough lodges itself in my throat. A little bit of apple—my signature—goes down the wrong hole.
Black spots dot my vision, and I clutch my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I wake up in a hospital bed with a tube sticking out of my arm. Blinking, I try to bring the room into focus. My head feels hazy.
“Good, you’re awake!” a nurse says as she enters the room.
I try to speak, but all that comes out is a gargled groan.
“Shh,” she smiles, patting my arm. “You’re in the Farcliff General Hospital. You came in after passing out. Your friend Marcus found you and was able to get the obstruction out of your airway.”
I nod, trying to swallow. The pain in my throat is intense.
The nurse pats my arm. “You had an accident—your bowels evacuated when you passed out.”
My eyes widen. I shit myself?
She continues as if I’m not lying here, dying of embarrassment. “We’ve determined that you ingested E. coli bacteria and developed an infection. We’ve given you antidiarrheals, and everything seems to be improving. You might feel weak over the next few weeks, though. You were lucky that your friends brought you in so soon.”
I groan, nodding, but I still don’t understand.
“And your baby is fine,” she adds with a smile.
I blink.
Baby?
“What?”
“We’ve run some tests, and everything seems to be fine. Of course, we’ll have to keep an eye on you in the coming weeks. Who’s your obstetrician?”
“Baby?” I croak.
The nurse tilts her head. She frowns at me, and I frown back at her.
“Miss LeBlanc,” she says slowly, “were you not aware that you’re pregnant?”
If this nurse had told me that I was Tinkerbell’s granddaughter, I would be less shocked than I am now.
“No,” I say, coughing. “That’s not possible.”
She takes a deep breath. “Have you had unprotected sex in the past few months? The doctors estimate that you’re about fourteen weeks on.”
I shake my head, every movement sending pain shooting through my neck. Everything feels heavy. Thoughts move sluggishly through my head as I try to understand what the hell is going on.
Pregnant.
Sucking a breath in through my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut.
It’s not possible. It can’t be. The Prince and I were careful. We used protection.
The nurse stares at me, her eyebrows arching expectantly.
I shake my head. “I was careful. We used condoms. I…” My eyes widen as I think of the very first time.
The condom broke.
How did I not think about that? How did I gloss over that fact when Luca mentioned it?
I was too busy thinking about the fact that I’d lost my virginity to even think about the fact that the condom broke. Pregnancy didn’t even cross my mind.
My mouth drops open, and horror starts bubbling up inside me. I bring a hand over my stomach, staring down at the pudge around my hips.
I thought I was tasting too many pastries with the bakery opening up. I thought the tiredness was because I was run off my feet.
This whole time…I was pregnant?
The nurse pats my arm again and gives me a sympathetic smile. “The doctor will come in and talk to you. Would