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“The agreement uses disbursement.”

“Right.”

Her gaze drops, again, to my stomach. Just for half a second, but I see it. Of course I see it. Women like me always see it. The flicker. The weighing. The little silent calculation people do before they decide what category to put us in.

I am not thin. I am not delicate. I am not the kind of woman wealthy men usually select for delicate arrangements, unless the arrangement involves catering.

Maybe that’s why Petra doesn’t like me. Maybe she thinks Alester made a mistake.

Maybe she thinks a surrogate should look like the advertisement of a smoothie bowl and a yoga subscription. Long limbs. Clear skin. Quiet voice. Someone who smiles softly and says things like “I’m honored to be part of your journey.” But, of course, I’m none of that.

I want to tell Petra my labs are excellent. My screenings are excellent. My body, despite having the aesthetic of a woman built for carrying groceries in one trip, is medically suitable for this.

But I don’t. Because that would mean admitting I care what she thinks.

I do not care what Petra Lindqvist thinks.

I care a small, bitter amount. Different thing.

She hands me a receipt to sign. I balance the folder against the wall and scribble my name. Maggie Hanes.

Second-year medical student.

Professional injection recipient.

Future temporary biological apartment.

I give the pen back. Petra takes it without our fingers touching. Impressive. Almost surgical. “Mr. Chandler appreciates your punctuality and compliance with the protocol,” she says.

Compliance. What a sexy word.

“Please tell Mr. Chandler I appreciate his appreciation.”

This time, her mouth tightens. Not enough to be called a reaction. Just enough to be evidence. “The procedure is scheduled for nine,” she says. “You’ll need to arrive by eight thirty. No food restrictions. Hydration is encouraged. Dr. Acharya will review the steps again before beginning.”

“I know.”

“Yes,” she says. “You are very prepared.”

It sounds like a compliment. But knowing Petra, it’s possibly not.

She closes the leather folder. “Do you have any questions?”

Yes. Several.

For example: Does Alester Chandler ever sweat? Is your bun load-bearing? Do you hate me personally, or am I merely failing to match the expected branding of the surrogacy experience?

Also: Will I feel different tomorrow?

Also: What if this works?

Also: What if this works and I regret it?

But those are not Petra questions. Petra questions are about timelines, paperwork, and whether parking can be validated.

So I say, “No.”

“Good.”