Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Except I’m not.
“No.”
The look the doctor gives me says she didn’t think so, and she turns her attention back to the computer. She types notes into my chart slowly and deliberately.
“I’ve been busy.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but the excuse sounds as lame coming out as it had in my head. I didn’t want to tell her the real reason, that I’ve been trying my best to pretend I’m not pregnant at all, that the sickness in the afternoon is stress. Maybe if I ignored the problem, it would go away. And I certainly can’t tell her the baby’s father is a Russian mob boss, or that I waited until he was out of town to go to the doctor so he wouldn’t find out.
Except now the morning sickness I thought was mild is ramping up. It’s so bad in the middle of the afternoon that I have to tell Evgeny not to disturb me so I can throw my guts up in private for an hour.
Alona knows. I’m sure of it. She brings me tea and crackers daily, silent as I heave up the little I’ve eaten. Both help settle my stomach so I can go on pretending I’m okay for the rest of the day. And I’m pretty sure the older woman hasn’t told a soul. Yet, anyway.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this a secret.
The OB/GYN gets up from her stool and crosses the room to retrieve a rolling cart with an instrument and a small monitor. “We’re going to do an ultrasound to check the baby and make sure everything looks good.”
“Okay.”
“And then I’ll give you a prescription for prenatals, although you can take whatever brand you want as long as it contains folic acid and not a lot of sugar, and order blood tests for you. Have you ever had genetic testing done?”
“No.”
The rush of information whirls around my head as the doctor has me lie back on the upright end of the exam table and lift my shirt.
“This is going to be cold,” she warns, but I barely feel it as she squirts gel onto my still-flat stomach.
My mind is still stuck on the genetic testing question. Do I need to get it done? Does Evgeny need it, with known issues in his family’s imperial history?
Jesus, this kid is half Evgeny and three-quarters Russian, with ties to the last Russian dynasty and Queen Victoria herself. Never mind their father’s occupation, both legal and illicit.
What the hell am I doing bringing a kid with all that on their shoulders into the world?
“Okay. Let’s see what we see.”
I gulp as the doctor sets the wand on my abdomen. At first I hear a soft whooshing, like ocean waves, followed by a steady pulse.
“Is that—”
“The baby.”
The doctor smiles for the first time since she walked into the room, and a sense of wonder creeps in with the fear.
There really is a baby in there, a growing being I can hear.
The doctor lets me listen a moment more, then pauses when the sound shifts. It’s as if the baby’s heart has an echo. Her brow wrinkles, and she cocks her head, listening hard. She stares at the screen in front of her, which is still turned away from me.
I almost ask her if everything is okay, or if the sound means bad news. But I’m too afraid to ask, too afraid to know.
“Well, that’s interesting.” The OB/GYN shifts the screen so I can finally see it.
“What’s interesting?” I gulp.
“It looks like you’re having twins. See?” She points to the screen.
At the word twins, my brain stops.
“Do twins run in your family? Or your partner’s family?” the doctor asks, calm as ever, as if she announces multiple babies to expectant mothers all the time.
“No,” I manage faintly, my brain still stuck. “Not on my side, anyway. I’m not sure about the father’s side.”
A prickle hits the backs of my eyes without warning, swelling into a thickness in my throat and a burn in my nose before I’m gulping back tears. I can’t force them away fast enough, and they slip down my cheeks, turning into a torrent and leaving me a sobbing mess.
What do I really know about Evgeny? How will he react to the news? Does he want children? Will he turn me out, leaving me to raise two children on my own? Will he take them from me and raise them to become Bratva leaders like he is?
The doctor hands me a tissue without a word, and I only cry harder.
My panic spirals wide to include the disastrous morning. With Evgeny out of town for some kind of Bratva business back East, I’ve finally taken myself to the doctor. Alone. But not before going to my family home to fight it out with Jordan.