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The door swings open without a knock. I’m expecting Dr. Saeder, but in walks a Greek god wrapped in an Armani suit and a permanent scowl.
I stop short. “What are you doing here?”
“You have an appointment in a few minutes,” Dmitri says, as if I’m not painfully aware of that fact. He walks over to the chair in the corner of the room and drops down like he owns it. “Where is that old turtle?”
I snort with laughter, if only because I’ve made the exact same comparison in my head countless times before. I cover it up with a cough and try to act stern. “If this is about the results of the paternity test, I haven’t got them back yet.”
“I’m aware. We’ll get them in a second.”
My knees buckles, so I decide to sit down before someone has to scrape a puddle of Wren off the floor. It was probably naïve of me, but I genuinely hadn’t expected Dmitri to show up today. Wishful thinking, I guess.
Mine. The way his mouth looked as he pronounced that word flashes in my mind again. I shudder and shake the image away.
The fluorescent lights crackling above us feel almost ominous now. I could almost swear they’re getting louder. I close my eyes for a moment and press my fingers against my temples.
“Are you alright?”
I drop my hands and look up. “Who, me?”
One eyebrow arches imperceptibly. “Do you see anyone else in the room with us?”
“I don’t—no. I mean, yes, I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”
Dmitri’s resting face is usually a trademark blend of arrogant impatience and brusque steeliness that borders on apathy. But right now, there are lines at the corners of his eyes that I’ve never noticed before. He’s leaning in just a little bit, too, almost as though he’s concerned.
“Getting what you want is not all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”
“Gee, aren’t you just a fount of optimism?” I mutter.
His lips twist upwards, but before it can morph into a proper smile, the door opens and Dr. Saeder slinks in, looking like he’s one harsh sneeze away from peeing his pants in fear.
He offers me an uneasy smile and then he spots Dmitri, at which point urine becomes even more imminent. I’m pretty sure even his nose hairs are standing on end.
“Good evening, Ms. Turner.” He directs one of those dramatic bows in Dmitri’s direction. “Mr. Egorov.”
“Are those the results?” Dmitri asks, cutting right to the chase.
“I-it is. Er, they are. Yes. Indeed.”
“Well, go ahead. We don’t need a fucking drumroll.”
Clumsily, the doctor unfolds the paper in his hand and scans through the results. He pales visibly. That tiny little hesitation is all I needed. I close my eyes so the sound of blood rushing through my ears like a flash flood doesn’t overwhelm me.
“Congratulations, Mr. Egorov,” he mumbles weakly. “You’re the father.”
The blood thrums louder. “Maury Povich doesn’t have shit on me,” I whisper.
I peek at the other person whose life just changed irreversibly. Dmitri’s jaw clenches tight. One hand curls into a fist as he gets to his feet and strides over to the examination table.
Is he going to throw a punch? Dr. Saeder certainly seems to think so, because he takes a few stumbling steps back and almost topples right into the sonogram machine.
“I want to know the sex. Today.” Dmitri’s voice is curt but quiet. Calm before the storm, if I had to guess.
“Er, well, uh—yes, yes, we can find out today.”
“What?” I gasp. “As in—right now?”
“Right now,” Dr. Saeder confirms, clearly relieved to still be standing with an intact nose. “Would you lie down for me, Ms. Turner?”
