Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Hi.” I swallow the thick lump in my throat, pull my shoulders back, lift my chin, and even though there’s nobody else in the room with me, I straighten my posture. “My name is Romy Laurent. I need to schedule a follow-up appointment, please.” My voice slightly cracks on the first syllable until I clear my throat and push forward, my tone becoming steadier and stronger than I expected.
“Of course, Romy. Are you an establish patient or are you a new patient?” Tracy asks the standard question.
“I was there a few weeks ago.” My fingers trace a small circle on the countertop. “For a confirmation appointment. I, um, need to set up a regular follow-up. I’m pregnant and I’d like to get a plan in place going forward.” Saying the words to another human being feels like breaking through a wall of glass. This is real now. My hand lowers to my abdomen, cradling the space where my unborn child rests.
“Alright, I’ll pull up your chart,” Tracy says. The gentle click-clack of a computer keyboard echoes over the line. I give her my full name, date of birth, and a day of the week that will work for me. “Perfect. Dr. Charles has an opening next Thursday at ten o’clock or three o’clock. Which works best for you?”
“Three o’clock, please,” I reply instantly. Taking off for the rest of the day before and after my appointment is much easier to handle than starting late.
“Great, we’ll get you scheduled for you first prenatal checkup. Come hydrated. Routine bloodwork will be involved, plus an ultrasound and a meeting to map out your care plan for the coming months. Bring any questions you have, okay?”
“I will. Thank you, Tracy.”
“You’re very welcome, Romy. We’ll see you next Thursday afternoon at three o’clock,” she reiterates the day and time before the line clicks, followed by the steady beep of a dial tone. I lower the phone from my ear, keeping it gripped tightly in my hand. I stand in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment, listening to the absolute silence of my apartment. The heavy, suffocating air that has hung in the room for weeks seems to have lifted, replaced by a cool, clean stillness. I don’t have all the right answers. I don’t have any answers, really. I don’t know how I’ll afford everything, and if I’m completely honest with myself, I’m absolutely terrified. I walk to the other side of the kitchen, grab the notepad off the side of the refrigerator, and write down my appointment date and time.
Thursday, 3PM, Dr. Charles
My penmanship is neat, deliberately cursive, and I smile a tiny, fragile script. Another memory of my grandfather sitting at the kitchen table practicing my handwriting on a Sunday morning after we read the paper together. He’d be proud, maybe not that my child will grow up fatherless, but he’d be proud all the same, and that makes me smile for the first time this week.
CHAPTER TWO
vik
Istare at the city skyline from my office chair, my desk to my back, as is the rest of the world. A sprawling grid of millions of twinkling lights plays across the floor-to-ceiling glass, but tonight, it feels like a mockery of my life. My fingers tighten around the heavy crystal tumbler that holds a generous pour of premium vodka. I didn’t bother with ice or a mixer, the burn is all too welcome on a night like tonight. I swallow a mouthful for a second time since making the drink, and it does absolutely nothing to dull the miserable ache in my chest.
It’s been a long time, too damn long, and I’m not admitting how many days I’ve counted since I’ve seen Romy. I gave her space, telling myself she only needs a minute to breathe, to think. Except the minutes turned to hours, the hours into days, and the days into weeks. I’ve texted her, but the messages go unanswered. I call and am sent directly to voicemail. She’s muted my contact. At least she hasn’t blocked me yet.
Worst of all, she’s been entirely scarce at Sterling Capital, along with all of the other events after Rafe and Seraphina’s wedding day. And believe me, Romy is usually a fixture here in the building, visiting the girls, having meetings with the head of marketing department, and stopping by my office when no one is looking. The brightness she usually carries with her is now gone. My office feels hollow, and for a man who’s used to control, it’s driving me out of my fucking mind.
The heavy mahogany door to my office clicks open, cutting through the silence. I don’t need to spin around in my chair to realize who’s here.
“Well, well, well,” none other than Dante says, his words echoing through the room. “Look at this surprise. A billionaire behind his desk, drinking vodka like it’s water and looking like something the cat dragged in.” I don’t have the energy to put up a mask or to bicker back and forth with him. Dante makes his way through my office. Trailing after him are Nolan and Dom. They stop along the way, helping themselves to a drink of their own, and when Dom looks at me, it’s with a look of understanding. Fucking fuck, I really don’t need my friend to examine my head tonight.