His Ring Her Rules

They fail to mention that morning sickness is more like a freight train that hits you in the stomach at five in the morning than a mild wave.

With one hand gripping my stomach and the other frantically searching for the closest surface that wouldn't cost ten thousand dollars if I puked on it, I startled awake in bed. In case you missed it, there wasn't. Everything in Ethan's penthouse appeared to be marked "dry-clean-only."

The sickness also arrived in waves because the cosmos enjoys a good joke. harsh, violent, and rhythmic.

Ethan was already up, shirt half-buttoned, phone in hand, when I stumbled out of the en suite and fell on the edge of the bed.

"Grace?" He hurried over, his brows knitted. "You look—how are you?"

I made an effort to grin. ended up looking dismal. I just received a heartfelt greeting from your unborn child. There is a lot of interpretive vomiting going on.

He blinked. "Should I give someone a call?"

"No, just water, perhaps?"

Thirty seconds later, he came back with a glass and a worried frown that was totally inappropriate for Mr. Suave CEO. It's like watching a lion attempt knitting.

I sat quietly and drank the water carefully after accepting it with gratitude.

Then I sensed that he was watching me. Not professional. Not a show.

Worried.

With no space for argument, he declared, "I'm taking you to the doctor."

"Ethan—"

"I'll ask the driver to move the vehicle around." You're trembling and pallid.

"The majority of reality stars still go out to clubs."

He was not amused. simply rose, clenching his jaw, and called his assistant already.

The OB-GYN office had a gentle lighting and a strange lavender and antiseptic scent that made me want to panic and take a nap.

After escorting us into the sonogram room, the nurse gave me a paper gown that had clearly never been worn by a high-end brand. Ethan remained outside, presumably discreetly evaluating the pleather chairs, while I changed.

His face changed when he entered and spotted me on the examination table. He sat next to me, close but not quite touching, without saying anything.

The technician grinned. "How about we have a look at your child?"

I shivered from the icy gel as I nodded anxiously.

Then it took place.

For a brief moment, the screen appeared to be motionless before flickering to life. Next, a form. A flutter.

a beating heart.

The technician grinned and said, "There." "Your baby is here and healthy."

I looked across at Ethan.

He was looking.

No, taking it all in.

He had eyes that were wider than I had ever seen. He opened his mouth, but made no sound. Not a well-crafted comment. No legalese. Just silence.

Complete and utter quiet.

The sight made something in my chest crack.

Finally, he murmured, "Is that…" and gestured at the TV. "Is that the pulse?"

The technician responded softly, "Yes." "Stable and powerful."

He let out a slow, trembling breath, as if he had been holding his air for too long.

His voice was hardly heard as he said, "I didn't expect to feel this."

I didn't either.

On the way back, we didn't talk much.

However, there wasn't much silence this time. It wasn't cold.

It was packed.

brimming with something novel. Something beautiful and scary.

New beginnings, or something else.