Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 52.

Well, that's just fantastic. Another fifteen or so degrees is just what my nausea-ridden body wants right now.

I sigh it off and relax into the feeling of his hand trailing up and down my spine. The warmth from his palm seeps through my skin and eases the tension in my muscles, even as we lift off.

"Water?" he asks softly.

I shake my head.

"You need to try, Liv. It's hotter in California. You'll dehydrate."

"Fine."

This is going to be a long few months.

        -:-:-

I climb out of the cushy hotel bed and open the balcony doors. We have an incredible view of the beach from our room. The only thing that interrupts it is a few palm trees, their leaves swaying in the gentle sea breeze.

My stomach has somewhat settled, and although I know it could come back at any moment, I call down for some toast and water.

My stomach might be settled, but it's clawing at me for some kind of food.

I rifle through my suitcase and pull out a light, cotton dress. Today was supposed to be for us, but Harry got dragged into another shoot almost the second we landed. Naturally, I did what any woman would do and headed straight to bed.

Well, any pregnant woman, that is.

If I'm sleeping, I don't have to think about him being around half-naked models. I don't have to consider him staring at them, even if it is through a camera lens.

It's my number-one insecurity, something that's now increased tenfold. So instead of thinking about him working, I'm going to sit here, aimlessly nibble on toast, and sip water while staring at the waves crashing on the beach.

How fucking romantic of me.

I twist my hair into a knot on top of my head and secure it with a tie. The door knocks, and I answer it. A cart is wheeled into the room for me and left by the table.

The toast is hot, and the scent of melted butter assaults my senses. My stomach growls and I breathe it in. For the first time in three days, I want to eat.

I grab the plate of toast and bottle of water and walk out onto the balcony. There are two chairs and a small table in the corner shaded by a large umbrella. I take a seat in one of the chairs, ensuring that I'm under the shade but leaving my legs in the sun.

I pick at the toast and look out at the beach. I'm not looking at anything in particular. I'm just letting the sounds roll over me and relax me.

Before I know it, I've eaten the whole slice of toast and am reaching for the second. I blink and shake my head. Eating a second slice is just asking for trouble. I reach for the water instead, sipping slowly, letting the coolness of the liquid soothe my throat.

No one ever tells you how raw your throat gets when they talk about morning sickness.

Sure, they mention how horrible it is and whatever, but they never tell you the little bits.

My eyes move from the beach to my stomach. It's still flat—aside from some light bloating that probably isn't even visible to anyone else. I wonder when that bloat will become bump—when it'll be obvious to everyone else that there's a tiny baby in there.

I lift my dress up over my hips and run my finger across the skin above the waistband of my bikini briefs. It's smooth, hot, perfectly unmarred.

How long do I have until it changes? Until the beauty of what's inside reflects in permanent markings that will only ever fade?