His Private Chef (by Amycee) novel Chapter 125

Chapter 125

Chapter 125

288 Vouchers

Later, after we’d rinsed off the travel in the rainfall shower, there was a soft knock at the door. Dinner had arrived- gourmet plates carried in by staff who moved so quietly they might as well have been part of the breeze.

Within moments, the table on the terrace was set. Then they were gone, leaving only the sound of

the sea.

We ate as the sky deepened to twilight. The candles on the table flickered in the wind, casting warm light over Liam’s face. The food looked perfect, colors bright, sauces smooth, each detail like it had been painted.

The first bite melted on my tongue, technically flawless, perfectly balanced. But somehow, it fell flat. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was me.

“Tasteless,” I murmured, setting the fork down.

Liam looked at me, brows lifting. “Easy, chef. You’re insulting a kitchen people book a year advance for.”

“So I’m not allowed to have an opinion now?” I shot back, meeting his eyes.

“That’s not what I…”

“I don’t want it,” I snapped, pushing my chair back.

in

I caught the confusion on his face as I stormed into the bathroom. Closing the door, I leaned over the counter, staring at my reflection. My pulse was racing, my chest tight.

Why was I overreacting?

I inhaled, exhaled, then decided to go back out and apologize.

But I only made it three steps into the room before the world tilted. Everything went black. The last thing I heard was Liam’s voice, raw with panic, calling my name.

Salt and cool air moved across my skin as I drifted awake. The ceiling fan hummed. Somewhere outside, water touched the shore in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Emily.” Liam’s voice was right beside me, cracked at the edges. “Open your eyes.”

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Chapter 125

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I did. His face was too close and not close enough. Hair messed, knuckles white where he held

my

hand. Fear sat in his eyes like it had been there a while.

“You’re safe. We’re in the suite,” he told me, like he was coaxing the memory out. “You fainted. The medic’s here.”

A woman in linen stepped into view with a blood pressure cuff and a calm smile. My mouth was dry. My head felt light, as if it had been hollowed out.

“Your blood pressure’s low,” she said after glancing at the monitor. “You’re dehydrated. We’ll start fluids. Any chance your period’s late?”

I looked at Liam, then back at her. “Maybe. I… haven’t been paying attention.”

She nodded, matter–of–fact. “That can do it. Early pregnancy can make you lightheaded, especially with travel, heat, and not enough water. Sip this slowly.” She passed me a cold electrolyte drink. “Rest for a few hours. If you feel dizzy again, we can start an IV, but let’s try this first.”

When she left, the room fell quiet except for the ocean’s pulse. Liam was still looking at me, like the words about a late period were stuck somewhere in his head, turning over and over.

“Pregnant,” he said slowly, as if the word might bite.

“It sounds impossible,” I whispered. “But… what if.”

He squeezed my hand. “We’re not guessing. We’re going home. I’ll bring you back here, I promise, but I need an answer I can hold in my hands. We should see a doctor I trust in L.A.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

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