you like to speak to one of our counselors? It might help you process this. I know it’s a lot to deal with, so just try to relax.”
I nod, frowning. Relaxing doesn’t exactly seem like a viable option right now. My pulse is thundering through my thighs, and I can’t make any sense of the thoughts swirling around my head.
I watch the nurse close the door, and my cell phone chimes in my bag. Grunting through my labored movements, I drag the purse over to my bed and dig through it until I find my phone.
There are dozens of notifications. Georgie left me a message saying she left the hospital to go close up the bakery, and she and Giselle will be back later. I sigh, leaning back in my bed.
Then, my phone chimes again. I have an alert set up, so whenever Spoonful of Sugar shows up in a news story or is tagged in something online, I get notified.
For the past month, getting those emails has been a source of joy.
Not today.
Dozens Ill. Spoonful of Sugar to Blame?
My eyes widen. My hand is trembling so hard I can hardly read the screen, and it takes me three tries to tap the news story to read it. When it finally pops up, I have to blink half a dozen times to clear the haze from my vision.
The headline comes into focus, and a chill courses through my body. My breaths become shorter and shorter as I read the news story. Panic laces my blood. Another headline screams at me.
Spoonful of E. coli: New Bakery Might Be Cause of Outbreak
Over twenty-five people have been hospitalized after eating at the bakery today. They’re saying it’s caused by a dangerous strain of E. coli bacteria.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Or maybe poo my pants.
In fact, I know I’m going to throw up—and that’s exactly what I do.
All over the hospital room floor.
A nurse bursts through the door at the sound of my retching. I wipe my lips as tears sting my eyes.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, honey,” she says, laying some paper sheets on the floor. She presses a button on the wall and hands me a glass of water.
I lay back in my bed as tears fall from my eyes, trying to process everything that’s going on. A hospital worker shuffles in and starts cleaning up my mess.
It’s too much. My heart starts beating faster, and my hand begins to tremble. The water sloshes all over my hand as I try to bring it up to my mouth.
Swallowing doesn’t work, so I cough all over myself, spilling water down my front. It hurts to inhale. It feels like a giant hand is squeezing my ribcage, and my lungs might collapse.
Pregnant.
E. coli.
Pregnant.
E. coli.
Margot. Hunter. Luca.
Pregnant.
My heart is a runaway train. I can’t stop shaking. The nurse is saying something, but it sounds like she’s speaking to me underwater. I can’t make out the words. I frown as my vision goes blurry. An alarm goes off, and another nurse comes in.
They inject something into my IV, and I slip into sweet, blank oblivion.
36
Luca
“I need to go.”
“Sit. Down,” Theo spits.
“Ivy needs me.”
I’ve read the news reports on the E. coli outbreak, and I have to get back there. I haven’t heard from her at all, and even from thousands of miles away, I know she’s in trouble.
The King slams his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back into my chair. Pain scatters across my ribcage where mottled bruising is already starting to appear.
Groaning, I lean back.
“What the fuck is going on?” Theo’s eyes are blazing. I’ve never seen him this angry.
“Beckett tried to poison me, that’s what’s going on.”
Theo pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been back one day, Luca. One day.”
“Are you blaming me for this?”
“Why is it that trouble seems to follow you around?”
I stare at my brother, fuming. A part of me agrees with him. Everywhere I go, things seem to fall apart. Isn’t Ivy in trouble, too? Deep down, I think that might be because of me.
Shaking my head, I let out a huff. “I haven’t done anything wrong, Theo. You know that.”
Theo sinks down onto a chair. He lifts his gaze up to mine, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t go public with this. If the media catch wind of Beckett’s attempts, it’ll throw everything we’ve worked for out the window. All the