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We wait in silence.
I check my phone more often than I should, half-expecting a string of angry texts from Alexander to pop up. When that doesn’t happen, it sets off a chain reaction in my mind—if he hasn’t texted or called, he hasn’t noticed I’m gone yet.
Which means he’s still in that meeting with his father.
It’s been more than half an hour since Wesley and I left. Should a conversation about staying at the estate really take that long? I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that when my phone buzzes, I expect to see Alexander’s name attached to the message. But it’s a message from Tara.
T: Made it okay?
With all the excitement and anxiety attached to finding out I might be pregnant and meeting Alexander’s family, I almost forgot about my best friend. I text her back.
A: Yep. Wbu?
She texts back almost immediately.
T: @ the airport in Paris now. Waiting on my flight home. Bored af.
Right. The four of them flew to Paris on Vance’s jet where they would take separate flights to their respective countries. Tara lives the farthest away. While I’m thinking about what else to say to her, another text pops up.
T: Is everything ok with you?
A: Yes, ofc.
T: You seemed really upset right before you left. I couldn’t get to talk to you because Alexander was hovering. Are you sure?
Of course, Tara’s keen eyes never miss a thing. I start typing the sentenceI think I’m pregnantbut delete it and check if Wesley’s paying attention to my texts. He’s busy reading one of the magazines from the stack on the coffee table.
Do I want to tell Tara this over text? I probably shouldn’t tell her before I tell Alexander. But if anyone can give me advice about this, it’s Tara. All I have to go on are my own anxious thoughts. Maybe she’ll say something that will make me feel better.
That will make me feel less like my world is spinning out of control.
I start typing up a response again.
Just then, the doors to the doctor’s chamber open. I look up to see a burly man slinking into the waiting room. He’s got a cast on one arm, while the wrist of the other is wrapped tight with bandages. His face is pale, his hair stringy. The way he’s limping tells me he’s probably hurt elsewhere.
He greets Wesley and I on the way out.
Though they don’t tell me, I can picture the story of what happened to him. He’s an Empire soldier, clearly. Obviously hurt on the job. The doctor patches him up, he heals, then he’s back on the frontlines again, fighting for whatever it is that Alexander’s father wants him to.
I cross the waiting room to the door the soldier just exited.
The room looks like a typical doctor’s office, with a little more bells and whistles. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and there’s an examination table with a curtain to one side, an assortment of medical equipment on the other. There’s a wall full of boxes I imagine contain different kinds of medication.
Sitting at a metal desk in the center of a room is the doctor—he’s got a round face and olive skin, with a beard full of curly dark hair and a bald head. He’s dressed in a set of dark brown scrubs, surprisingly, with a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He stands as I approach, reaching out to shake my hand with two of his.
“Miss Moreau, so lovely to meet you. I am Dr. Khatri,” he says, a composed smile set on his features. He guides me to one of the seats in front of his desk. “How can I help you today?”
The lights suddenly feel too bright, and all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. I know what I want to say, but it feels so ridiculous the words die on my tongue.
For what it’s worth, Dr. Khatri is incredibly patient. His smile stays warm and welcoming as I flounder in front of him, and the understanding look in his eyes is what helps me find the courage. I swallow around the stone that’s formed in my throat.
“I-I think.” Deep breath. “I think I’m pregnant, and I want to know for sure.”
Dr. Khatri’s face lights up, like I’ve told him good news. “I’d be happy to help you figure that out,” he says, his voice warm and kind. He moves over to the examination table and starts sanitizing it. “What makes you think you are? Have you been having any symptoms?”
“Not exactly.” Not like ones I’ve seen on television or read about in books. “I’ve just had this really bad cold. And sometimes I puke, but not in the morning.”
Dr. Khatri nods. “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”
