The British Billionaire's Baby by Cristina Grenier

expected for her exhibition to be near the success that it had been.
    After Tristan had reprimanded her for sneaking out on her own event – something for which Gabby had felt not the smallest bit of guilt, still being wrapped in the glow of Sebastian’s sexual attentions – he had revealed to her that she had sold her paintings. Excited, the young woman had of course demanded to know exactly which paintings she’d sold.
    When Tristan had told her, absolutely deadpan, that all of them were gone, she’d been shocked beyond all belief. All twenty pieces! It was impossible! She knew she’d generated a buzz at Estelle’s , but for all the paintings to be sold? That was well over ten thousand dollar profit.
    She hadn’t been able to believe it until Phillip had presented her with the check. Even now, weeks later, she was over the moon about actually having some padding in her account. For once, she was able to eat more than instant noodles and honey buns. She only had to wonder if she’d ever be able to book another exhibition with the same success.
    Tristan hadn’t been able to tell her much about who’d bought her paintings; all he knew himself was that all twenty pieces had been bought by a solitary anonymous and very wealthy soul. As Gabby reviewed the faces she’d encountered at the event, she tried to guess who it might be.
    This was a bit difficult, as it was very hard to remember much else besides the time she had spent with the engaging Sebastian. The mere memory of the suave, sophisticated, gorgeous man was enough to break her out in goose bumps. And the things he’d done to her body? Positively sinful. Gabby wagered she was ruined for every man in her foreseeable future.
    “How’s work coming?” She looked over her shoulder to see Tristan entering with his customary tray. However, instead of inciting her hunger, the smell of the soup and sandwich he’d brought immediately turned her stomach. As it lurched, Gabby swallowed thickly. It had seemed as of late that her sense of smell and taste were inexplicably heightened. Things that hadn’t bothered her in the least before now sent her out of the room. She’d become very picky about textures – and the decadent deserts that used to tempt now made her queasy.
    It was an incredibly odd phenomenon, even effecting her at work. Right after she had eaten was out of the question, as most of the time she wasn’t sure whether or not the meal she’d consumed would stay down.
    “It’s…it’s fine.” She eyed the tray wearily as Tristan set it on a table nearby. For a moment, the room before her wobbled precariously and a low sound of dismay escaped her. Christ, what was the matter with her? She’d never been prone to sickness. She might have come down with a common cold three or four times over the course of her entire life. If this was some kind of stomach virus, it was damned inconvenient. She couldn’t work when she pleased and she was damned tired of her stomach being in perpetual disarray.
    “Are you alright? You don’t look well, darling.”
    As Tristan stepped toward her, a sudden weakness seeped through her and she swayed on the spot, clutching the table beside her for purchase. That only worsened the sensation, however, as the savory smell of the soup struck her head on and her stomach turned. Raising her hand to her mouth, Gabby rushed unsteadily down the stairs and into the toilet in the landing, where she proceeded to promptly empty the contents of her belly.
    Within moments, Tristan appeared in the doorway to watch her, his expression one of grave concern. “How long has this been going on, Gabby?”
    She couldn’t very well answer him while she was heaving up her breakfast, and so Gabby waited for a lull in the deluge before she spoke weakly. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ll be ok in a few minutes.”
    “You haven’t been eating lately. I would have thought you’d be going to dinner with Phillip and me every night after the success of