When I opened my eyes once more, the whole room was like it had been covered in—no, drowned in—gold. The ceiling, walls, furniture, even the gawd awful curtains. Gold is fine, don't get me wrong. Rich. Luxurious. Royal, even. But this? So much gold just hollered tacky rich aunt who believes glitter is sophistication.
As I quietly critiqued the interior design of whoever had invited me here, I finally caught something else: someone was gripping my hand. Gently, but firmly. The grasp was from behind the wispy bed curtain that draped around me like I was the leading lady in a historical drama.
I blinked through the transparent material and glimpsed a man bending forward, feeling my pulse with practiced ease. Before I could pull my hand back or demand to know who in the world he was, he simply replied:
"The lady is pregnant."
…Pardon me? Pregnant?
What lady? Which lady? Me lady?!
My jaw hit the floor. I thrashed to sit up, almost drowning in a puff of silk and lace. A million thoughts careened in my head, the most insistent one ringing out: WHO did I come back as?!
"Settle down, Your Grace," the man instructed, forcing me back onto the pillows as if I were a swooning Victorian widow. "You shouldn't move too much. The baby is still fragile."
What baby?! Who's the father?! I haven't even been on a date in years!
I surveyed my world once more, searching for some sort of hint. Was I a noblewoman? A duchess? A queen? And most importantly, was this gold fixation her idea or someone else's?
And then it struck me—this was not just any reincarnation.
This was one of those reincarnations.
The melodramatic, over-the-top type where you're either a villain or one of those doomed secondary characters who will perish by chapter five.
And on my luck?
I was likely both.