He Asked For Space I Left With His Baby Chapter 01
Roman DeLuca started to notice that I’d stopped telling him things.
When I bought new jewelry, I no longer asked for his opinion.
When the DeLuca family’s annual gala came around, I went alone.
When I needed knee surgery at the family’s private hospital, I arranged everything myself.
No phone call.
No text.
Not even a note.
Roman only found out because we ran into each other at the hospital.
“What are you doing here?”
His brows drew together.
“Are you sick again?”
He took the medical file from my hands and scanned it.
“I’m busy tomorrow. Reschedule the operation. We’ll do it next week.”
I reached for the file.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I can handle it myself.”
“But thank you.”
The words hung in the air between us.
For a few long seconds, neither of us spoke.
Just two weeks earlier, I couldn’t have picked a dress without texting him.
I’d message him during my lunch break.
I’d call just to ask when he was coming home.
Every insignificant detail of my life had revolved around Roman DeLuca.
But he’d told me he was my boyfriend.
Not my caretaker.
He wanted me to stop being so dependent and make my own decisions.
So, finally, I did.
I stopped telling him how much it hurt when my sister, Vanessa, had only to whisper that she felt unwell for him to rush to her side.
Especially after he’d dismissed my own pain, telling me to call a doctor instead of bothering him.
I wouldn’t tell him I was eight weeks pregnant.
And after my surgery, I wouldn’t tell him I was leaving Boston for Dublin.
By the time Roman realized I was gone, his girlfriend and unborn child would be thousands of miles away.
…
“Tomorrow?” The family doctor looked up from my chart, his expression surprised. “That soon? Are you sure you don’t want to give it a few more days?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Mr. DeLuca flies back tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll want to be here with you.”
I quietly closed the folder. “My mind is made up. It’s just knee surgery. I can handle it.”
The doctor stared at me.
Everyone in the DeLuca organization knew how I used to be.
If I had a cold, I needed Roman by my side. I’d once cried over a paper cut I got opening one of his files. I had always, always relied on him.
So to hear me say I could handle this alone must have sounded like a foreign language.
I stopped short as I stepped out of the office.
Roman DeLuca was walking into the hospital, one hand on his suitcase.
His other hand automatically reached back, helping Vanessa over the marble steps.
She was bundled in a black cashmere coat.
My anniversary gift to Roman—the coat I had spent months hunting down.
His gaze landed on me, and his brows pulled together. “What are you doing here?”
He paused. “Are you sick again?”
Again. As if I were just another problem on his desk.
Before I could stop him, he took the folder from my hands.
His eyes swept over the report. “I have meetings tomorrow. Reschedule. We’ll do it next week.”
The words left my lips before I could think.
“That’s all right. I’ll handle it myself. Thank you.”
Silence.
Roman actually looked taken aback.
Two weeks ago, I couldn’t choose a dress without texting him.
Now I was arranging major surgery without even telling him.
If we hadn’t run into each other, he never would have known.
As I reached for my file, something fell from Roman’s pocket.
A hormonal medication—the kind used to suppress pregnancy symptoms.
He bent to snatch it up.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said evenly.
“Vanessa hasn’t been feeling well. I was just picking this up for her.”
Vanessa quickly lowered her gaze.
“I’m sorry, Nora. He was supposed to go home first, but I wasn’t feeling well enough to come alone.” She gave an embarrassed little smile. “I wish I were as independent as you. Then Mr. DeLuca wouldn’t have to keep looking after me.”
Independent. The word was so absurd I almost laughed.
A month ago, I’d been awake all night with searing stomach pain and called Roman.
I thought he’d be concerned. Instead, his first question was, “Is it really that bad?”
I told him I didn’t know. I was scared and just wanted him to come home.
But Roman had just said, “Nora, call one of the doctors. You don’t need me for every little thing.”
When I accused him of being cold, he shot back, “You’re an adult, Nora. Can’t you handle something this simple on your own? You rely on me for everything. I’m your boyfriend, not your caretaker.”
How ironic. The most powerful man in Boston could solve anyone’s problems—except his girlfriend’s.
Yet my sister only had to murmur that she felt ill, and the feared Don of the DeLuca family personally escorted her to the hospital.
To any outsider, Vanessa looked like the woman he was married to.
Months ago, I would have argued with him, demanded answers, cried until he gave in.
This time, I just nodded.
“Okay.”
No anger, no jealousy, no tears.
Just that one quiet word.
Because there was still one thing Roman didn’t know.
I lowered my gaze, my hand instinctively resting against my coat.
The life growing inside me would never have to hear me beg him for help.
My baby would be raised by me, and me alone.