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Laz’s green eyes have grown soft, and he whispers, “I know. But can I please touch you there?”
Slowly, gazing into his eyes, I nod. He presses his large, warm hand against my lower stomach, and closes his eyes and groans.
“I can’t believe I’m standing here touching you and our baby like this. Are you sure this isn’t a dream? If I wake up and I’m still in that cellar, I’ll shatter into a million pieces.”
My heart squeezes painfully. I can’t imagine what he must have been through, locked up for weeks without light, without hope.
“If this is a dream, it’s pretty rancid,” Rieta says. “Laz, you really do stink.”
Does he? I haven’t noticed.
“Excuse me, which one of you has an appointment?” the receptionist asks.
“Oh! Sorry, I do.” I turn to her, feeling flustered and hot. I’d completely forgotten she was there. Laz keeps his hand right where it is on my belly, and I blush even harder. “My name is Mia Bianchi. I have an appointment at two o’clock.”
We’re directed to a room down a corridor and Laz limps along beside us.
“Laz, you really should go to the hospital,” Rieta tells him.
“Not until Mia’s finished here. I’ll do anything she wants as soon as she’s had her checkup.”
There’s only one chair in the room where we wait for the obstetrician, and Laz insists I sit in it even though he seems on the verge of keeling over.
“Are my uncles still alive?” I ask him.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he mutters. “How did you know it was them who kept me prisoner?”
“Who else?” I reply, thinking dark and angry thoughts about my uncles. Mom as well, because I’d bet everything I own on her knowing exactly where Laz has been the entire time she was crying about him running away.
A few minutes later, the obstetrician opens the door with a huge smile on her face. As soon as she comes into the room and catches sight of Laz, she gasps in shock. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” Laz tells her.
“Yes,” I say at the same time, and then roll my eyes. “Please go ahead. He refuses to go to the hospital until I’ve had my checkup.”
“I’m the father,” he tells her proudly.
“Oh. How... lovely.” The doctor frowns behind her spectacles as she directs me to take off my clothes from the waist down and get up on the table.
I change behind the curtain and make myself comfortable. The doctor pulls the curtain back and talks me through everything we’re going to go over at this appointment. Then she starts asking me questions about my diet, lifestyle, and when I conceived.
Finally, she shoots a look at Laz. “And is everything all right at home?”
I catch her professionally concerned tone and realize that she’s not only asking for my sake, but for the baby’s sake, too. She wants to know whether I’m bringing a child into an unsafe environment.
“Laz, um,” I begin, trying to find a way to explain away Laz’s shocking appearance. “Laz is a cage fighter, and he was in one final competition. Things got carried away.”
The father of my child comes forward and takes my hand. I consider slapping his fingers away, but the doctor is already watching us like a hawk, so I just smile.
“I’m all about Mia and the baby now,” Laz tells her. “Nothing else matters to me anymore.”
“Do the two of you live together?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” Laz replies at the same time.
I glare at him and then say to the obstetrician, “He’s the father, and while everything’s complicated right now, I’m safe and so is the baby. If that ever changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
