Chapter 109

Hannah

Noah stepped forward and placed the necktie over my eyes. I held it in place with one hand while he tied it in the back, the cool flesh of his fingers brushing against the nape of my neck as he did so.

“Thanks for complying with me,” he said once he had finished tying it. I heard his footsteps clicking against the tiled floor and his breath fanning across my exposed shoulder as he walked back around me. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“I hope so,” I said with a nervous chuckle. There was no denying the way my heart pounded in my chest, the way my pulse kicked up just at the thought of what he might have in store for me.

Noah… Why was he surprising me, and what was he surprising me with? I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but it was hard not to.

He hadn’t been spontaneous and romantic like this in… well, years, and a small part of me—the part that was still a young, hopeless romantic with stars in her eyes, just wanting to be swept off of her feet—hoped that whatever it was would just be the beginning.

And maybe, just maybe, there would be a way to rekindle what we had lost.

But that was just wishful thinking, right?

Finally, I heard the door to our private room creak open. I took a shaky step forward, my hands groping out in front of me—only for them to be met by a set of cool, steady fingers wrapping around them.

“Here,” Noah said softly, placing his other hand on my lower back as he steered me.

I felt a shiver of anticipation run down my spine at his touch. It was like ice cold water through the thin fabric of my dress, both shocking and exhilarating. I didn’t pull away, instead letting him gently guide me into the room.

And then…

“Voila.”

Noah pulled the necktie off of my face with a flourish, and instantly, a gasp escaped my lips. My hand clapped over my mouth, my eyes widening as I saw the spread in front of me, and it was all I could do to whirl around to face Noah with an incredulous look on my face.

“Noah, did you…?”

Uncharacteristically for the usually-stern and stoic Alpha, Noah grinned and nodded. He gently took me by the shoulders and guided me over to my chair.

“You like it?” he asked, gesturing to the array laid out in front of us.

“Like it?” I echoed. My eyes wandered the long white tablecloth, upon which was laid out a dizzying array of various small dishes—samples of shrimp, scallops, fine cuts of beef, saucy pasta, flaky spanakopita, vibrant vegetables, slices of cake.

It was a veritable feast, although each plate contained hardly more than a bite of each dish to be sampled.

“I love it,” I finally breathed.

Noah let out a soft breath that almost sounded like one of relief as he pulled my chair out for me. “Good,” he said, pushing my chair in once I had sat down. “I called the chef ahead of time and asked him to prepare samples of everything on the menu.”

He paused, eyeing a few plates of mussels and clams and other fragrant seafood that I couldn’t even identify. “Although, it seems he also took the liberty of making a few things that aren’t on the menu as well.”

All I could manage to do was blink owlishly as I took in the spread. Noah sat at the chair across from me, his gaze patiently fixed on me.

“But… why?” I murmured. “Why go to all this trouble?”

Noah simply shrugged. “I felt bad for not being the first to offer trying new foods with you,” he said, his voice shockingly soft. “So I thought it would be nice to surprise you. And…” He paused to push a plate of pasta over to me. “If there’s anything you really like, I’ve hired the chef here part-time to come and cook for you at home.”

“At home?”

He nodded. “Yep. Mondays and Wednesdays, he’ll come to cook you dinner at home. Whatever you like, and however much of it you like.”

I didn’t know what to say. The offer was quite possibly the sweetest thing I had heard come out of Noah’s mouth in a long time; and in fact, I could already feel the first prickling of tears behind my eyes.

But this was no time for crying—we had food to test.

Over the next couple of hours, Noah and I tried anything and everything from the menu. We hardly talked, but we didn’t need to; we were so caught up in the delectable flavors and textures and making notes of what particularly suited my fancy that it didn’t even occur to us to have a conversation about anything but the food.

And in a strange sort of way, that was comforting.

“I really like this shrimp scampi,” I said, sighing contentedly as I patted my slightly-protruding belly. “And the beef wellington.”

Noah nodded and jotted down the note on a pad of paper he had by his side. “Shrimp scampi and beef wellington it is,” he said. “An interesting combination, but so long as you like it… Here, you should try the brussel sprouts next.”

I grinned and took the proffered plate of roasted brussel sprouts, spearing one with my fork and waving it under my nose. It smelled sweet and spicy at the same time, a perfect amount of red pepper flakes and the smallest dusting of brown sugar to give it that signature caramelized appearance.

But it was as I popped it into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed, that it happened.

Oh no.

Something about either the brussel sprouts or something else I ate didn’t agree with me—or maybe it was the combination of everything that was just too much. Suddenly, I felt the urge to vomit.

And I had learned from being pregnant lately that when I felt the urge, there was no stopping it.

Covering my mouth, I abruptly rose from my chair, causing the legs to scrape back on the floor. “I have to use the restroom,” I said, my voice strained. Noah shot me a curious look, but I was already turning on my heel and heading for the door, intending on making a beeline for the toilet.

Oh no, oh no, oh—

“Two cappuccinos, coming right up!”

Before I could make it out the door, the waiter suddenly appeared with two cups of frothy coffees in her hands. I froze when she blocked my way, my stomach clenching violently, my throat so constricted that I couldn’t even tell her to move.

And then, suddenly, it was happening.

I barely made it to my knees in front of the nearby trashcan before the entire contents of my stomach—the entire meal we had just eaten—were coming up. Every last bit of it was expelled into the garbage, the only sounds in the room now that of my chokes and sobs.

When I was finished, the room was utterly silent.

Gasping, I gripped the wainscoting with one hand and climbed to my feet, still clutching my stomach with the other. Noah was standing now, his eyes wide, his hand outstretched. “Hannah, are you okay…?”

I felt my face turn the brightest shade of red known to man. Shaking my head, I stumbled backwards, murmuring, “I have to go… I’m sorry…”

Before anyone could catch me, I was out the door—practically knocking the cappuccinos out of the server’s hand as I bolted past. Noah called something after me and the other patrons stared at me as I ripped through the dining area, but I didn’t stop until I was out on the street.

Up ahead, a cab was idling at the curb. Panicking, I flung the door open and practically leaped inside, ordering the driver to take me away. Just… anywhere but here. Anywhere but with my husband, who was bound to realize that I was pregnant any minute now.

As the cab screeched away from the curb, I finally saw Noah burst out onto the sidewalk. His form faded into the distance, rapidly turning into a speck on the horizon.