Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 Carol Marinelli (ebook reader computer txt) 📖

Being a guard had given her something real and lasting to do for the first time in her life, a sense of duty and responsibility that the charity rebellions of her youth had lacked—the sense of independent self she’d been so desperately seeking. It had shored up her wobbly, childish hope to undo the ill her father wrought in the world, and made it a full-fledged adult goal and given her the power to enact it.

And, for a short time after the nightmare of her engagement, it had been the only reason she got out of bed and got dressed every day.

Becoming a guard and making a promise to protect those who needed it was the reason she didn’t just let the Tierrza duchy fall into disrepair in order to tarnish her father’s legacy. The neglect would have been satisfying, but that satisfaction would have come at the expense of her tenants and the people who depended on her.

Being a guard was the reason she had female friends. She and Moustafa had been partners for nearly seven years, graduating together from the royal security academy. They were an unlikely pairing—the priory girl and the rebel heiress. After her cousin, the king, Jenna Moustafa had quickly become Hel’s second-best friend in the world.

And from the moment she had watched Dr. Mina Aldaba, now Queen Mina d’Argonia, proud and disheveled academic that she’d been, walk through the chapel doors to become queen not long ago, she’d known she’d gained her most important responsibility and another dear friend.

Knowing that Mina was safe under the protection of the specially trained summer-palace security unit was a deep relief.

Even if it left Hel with nothing but time on her hands and too much to think about, an upset stomach and no idea where her partner had gone.

Tracking down Moustafa was the obvious best choice of her options. But short of calling her family, which she was hesitant to do, she had exhausted her resources with no luck.

And knowing that her resources were...considerable, that pointed to Moustafa actually being with her family.

Hel felt like an idiot. If anything truly terrible had happened to Jenna, her family would have been hounding Hel’s heels like Cerberus.

Jenna’s family was large, ever-growing, it seemed, and deeply interconnected. They were absolutely wonderful, incredibly tight-knit, insatiably nosy and unparalleled at ferreting out information. Hel liked to tease that the terrier spirit was what made Moustafa such a good guard. It was also the reason Hel had avoided calling. It wasn’t wise to call on the Moustafas with heavy secrets on your heart.

But now that the idea had occurred to her she was certain that was where Jenna would be. The Moustafas were members of a long-rooted religious minority in Cyrano. They believed in big families, which made living close in the capital a challenge. Jenna herself came from a farm on the outer edges of a suburb that bordered the city.

Satisfied with at least that one thing in her world, Hel rolled onto her stomach, hoping the pressure might ease the persistent nausea.

“Darling, are you all right? Liza said you weren’t feeling well. And do you mind putting a shirt on?”

Hel’s mother, Seraphina d’Tierrza, stood at the entryway of her quarters, wearing, notably, loungewear. Seraphina d’Tierrza did not wear loungewear. Her hair, also, was not as it usually was, perfectly coiffed without a strand out of place. Instead, it was tousled and pulled back into a messy French twist, strands falling loose around her face, which itself looked...tired, rather than its typical perfect polished pearlescent.

Sitting all the way up, and then regretting the motion, Hel sent her mother a weak smile. “Just a stomach bug,” she said. “And what’s the point?”

Seraphina eyed her for a moment, her deep blue gaze drifting down to her daughter’s exposed breasts before traveling back up to her face. “Helene Cosima d’Tierrza. The point is that once a daughter has breasts, her mother doesn’t want to see them. Now put this on. I want to talk to you.” Mildly indignant, ever proper, and eternally loving, Hel’s mother held out a hand that held a blue cotton T-shirt.

Hel pulled it over her head, unable to ignore the comfort of the soft, thin material, despite the fact that her skin had become so sensitive lately that she’d taken to going shirtless in her room just to ease the chafing.

Her mother knew her well, though.

The shirt was made from the softest cotton, had no tag, was lightweight and breathable. Everything she looked for in a T-shirt, and the only thing she could stand right now.

Joining her daughter on the bed, Seraphina pushed the bangs out of her eyes, tucking them behind her ear the same way she had since Hel had been a little girl and her hair much longer.

Searching her daughter’s eyes with her own matching pair, Seraphina said, “Tell me your symptoms.”

Hel shook off the concern. “I’m fine. Really. Just a bit off. I’ll be right as rain in no time.” She smiled the same smile—the one that said, “Don’t worry, everything’s fine, I’m strong”—that she’d been giving her mother since she was in elementary school.

This time, however, Seraphina wasn’t to be put off. “Your symptoms,” she repeated firmly.

Hel sighed before offering her mother a brisk rundown. “Primarily nausea, but also elevated temperature, sensitive skin, mild vertigo.” She tried the smile again. “Just your garden-variety flu.”

Her mother closed her eyes and took a breath, then opened them again. “Helene. You’re pregnant.”

Sapphire blue locked with sapphire blue, and Hel had the strangest sensation of panic rising in the back of her throat, slick and oily. She fought the nausea and shook her head. “No. No. That’s not possible.”

Seraphina nodded, her expression a strange blend of happiness and sadness. “I suspected it when you asked Liza to tone it down on air fresheners.”

Still shaking her head, Hel said, “It can’t be...”

Seraphina smiled, her expression turning soft and distant. “I was the same. Couldn’t stand artificial