- ARIA
The leather seats of Luca’s SUV were comfortable, but right now, they felt like a torture device.
We were halfway to the restaurant to meet Hogan and his wife, and I was currently experiencing a special kind of hell known only to nursing mothers.
My chest felt like two over-inflated basketballs about to hit their breaking point.
The "postpartum glow" the magazines raved about was actually just a cold sweat brought on by engorgement.
"Aria? You’re turning a weird shade of green," Luca said, his eyes flicking from the road to my face. "And you’re gripping that door handle like you’re trying to rip it off. What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," I wheezed, adjusting my seat belt for the tenth time. "I’m fine. Just… peachy."
"You’re a terrible liar. Your scent is spiked with pa
