Arranged Mafia Marriage

A day later

Karma

I bend over the ceramic bowl of the commode and throw up the breakfast that I’ve just eaten. I puke until there’s nothing left, then manage to flush away the disgusting mess before I sink back onto the floor. I push my head back into the wall.

Holy shit, this is the third morning in a row this has happened. Combined with my tender breasts, and the period that I’ve missed, that tells me that I’m probably pregnant. I stay there for a few more seconds as I will my head to stop spinning. I close my eyes, take in a breath, then another. A few more breaths, and I feel slightly better. I push up to my feet, and my knees don’t buckle under me. Score!

I walk over to the sink, rinse out my mouth, and splash some water on my face and wrists. By the time I leave the room, I feel much better. I walk over to my studio, which is just down the hallway from me, and push open the door. Andy glances up from his cat cave bed in the corner of the room. He stares at me as I cross over to where I have been sketching my latest creation. It’s for a bride in London.

Since the day I sold my first creations in Camden Market, the orders have been flooding in. They are growing at such a fast rate, I have had to both hike up my prices and turn down a few because I couldn’t meet the demand.

Michael suggests it’s time I expand. He’s offered to build me a separate studio on the grounds surrounding the house. Then, I can hire a couple of seamstresses to help me.

I’ve thought about it and decided that’s not right for me at this time.

The Karma label is my first baby, and I want to keep the creativity, the quality, and the attention to detail that it has come to embody as consistent as possible. Which means, I need to be hands-on, for now. Maybe later on down the line, I might think of expanding and getting help. For now, I’d rather work on it myself.

It’s a good thing Michael has been away on business the last few days, or my morning sickness would have sent him into a tizzy. For now, though, it feels right that I can hold onto this part of me-this feeling, this sensation of being a mother again-to myself. I flatten my palm against my stomach as I stare at the finished design on the drafting board.

I pull off the paper and carefully place it aside. Just need a little break before I begin translating that into fabric. Meanwhile, I pick up a pencil and begin to draw. This one is different. This one is unlike the designs I have created so far. Something softer, more fragile, smaller in size…

A Peter Pan collar, simple long sleeves, a slight gathering at the waist, opening at the back, so it’s easy to put on and pull off. I step back and glance at what I have drawn. It’s a bodysuit for a baby … a newborn. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I wipe them away. Shit, I’m not even, like, fully pregnant-is that even a concept? I mean, I just found out I’m pregnant, and already, the pregnancy hormones seem to be taking effect.

If Michael were here, he’d probably just wrap me in fluff, scoop me up, place me on the bed, and order me not to move until the baby is born. I scowl at the drawing. Not likely.

I intend to work until my last week. I intend to continue to design and sew and ensure that all the orders I have taken are fulfilled with Karma originals. No bride who orders a dress from me is going to be empty-handed. No, siree. I only need to convince my husband of that.

Speaking of…. I place my pencil on the table. There’s a much bigger discussion I need to broach with my husband. I wince. I’ve been putting it off for so long, and now, I really need to tell him. And if I don’t…

No. I shake my head. I can’t do this to him. It’s bad enough I haven’t brought it up with him so far. He deserves to know. It’s his right to know.

The sound of footsteps reaches me a second before the edgy scent of testosterone-musky, like leather with a hint of woodsmoke-envelops me. I draw in the fragrance of his aftershave, like fresh snow on earth. The cold rush of a winter’s wind, followed by the snap and crackle of a fireplace. The images flow over me just before his arms wrap around me. Goose bumps pop on my skin, and my core trembles. I turn around, tip-up my chin, and meet those brilliant blue eyes. Warmth flares in their depths, and silver flashes riddled with sparks of gold. The look he only wears when he is around me, as I have learned.

“Don,” I murmur, “I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”

“I missed you, Beauty.” His dark voice flows over me, coils in my chest, and sinks into my blood. A cascade of warmth flares out from my core to my extremities. My toes curl. I bite down on my lower lip, and he lowers his gaze to my mouth. “I missed my wife.” He tilts his head and replaces my teeth with his own. He tugs on my lip, and my pussy clenches. Moisture beads my center, and my stomach flip-flops. My pulse ratchets up. Sweat beads my forehead, and I tear my mouth from his. I tip up my chin and watch him watch me with a curious gaze.

“Everything all right, baby?” He frowns as he pushes the hair back from my face. He pauses with his palm on my forehead. “Your skin is clammy.” The lines in his forehead deepen. He peers into my face, no doubt, taking in my sudden pallor. My stomach ties itself in knots, the wave of sickness pushing up against my breastbone, my throat. Turning, I race to the bathroom.

I throw up into the toilet bowl. Michael comes up behind me and holds back my hair as I proceed to empty what little is left in my stomach-namely, bile-then dry heave. Finally, when my stomach stops roiling, I slump back against the wall.

He flushes the disgusting remains, then wets a towel and wipes my mouth with it.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully. He throws the towel aside, wets another one, and holds it to my forehead.

The coolness from the cloth sinks into my skin, and I sigh.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.