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Cole Stephens—my New York City driver—rouses me from my musings and helps me from the back of the Bentley sedan.
I smile and thank him as another wave of nausea hits me. His grip tightens on my elbow when I misstep.
“Please be careful, Ms. Thomas,” he urges as he guides me to the front door of my physician’s office building.
“Thank you, Cole. I’ll send a text message when I’m ready,” I say with another smile. Ugh!
I don’t have long to wait before the nurse escorts me to the examination room. After vitals and a urine sample, she leaves. As I sit on the exam table, I scroll through my work emails.
One designer has a new project she wants to discuss with me. It sounds pretty cool. I shoot her a quick response to talk later today. I Slack with a vendor to tell him to set time aside for a meeting with Lola. Once I leave the doctor, I’ll head straight to the office for our weekly status session. With the new boutiques, our workload ramped up. If only I weren’t sick, it would feel good to be so busy.
A knock at the door, and my primary care physician—Dr. Roberta Greer—enters with the nurse.
“Hello, Blair, it’s good to see you,” Dr. Greer says. “My nurse tells me you think you have a cold and food poisoning. Well, I can confirm that differs from my diagnosis.”
I frown, wondering how the heck she can diagnose me without an examination. As I open my mouth to say so, she smiles and stops in front of me.
“You really don’t need to have an appointment with me. You need one with Dr. Oscar Rice,” she says. Then continues at my look of confusion, “You’re pregnant.”
“—Blair. Can you hear me?”
My eyes flutter open to the white ceiling above me. I tilt my head towards Dr. Greer’s voice to find her staring down at me.
“You fainted. But we caught you. You’re lying on the examination table. How do you feel?” She tells me.
I shake my head to clear it. My mind plays back what happened before I passed out.
“You’re pregnant.”
With a gasp, I jolt to a sitting position, then put my hand on the table to steady myself. I stare with wide eyes and my mouth agape at Dr. Greer.
She smiles and pats my hand.
“Yes, you’re pregnant, Blair. I apologize for startling you—”
“No, no!” I cut her off as I wave my hand. As tears fill my eyes, I ask, “How do you know?”
“The levels in your urine show pregnancy. I could do a check for a cold and food poisoning. But I think it’s best you meet with your OB-GYN before I administer any medication,” Dr. Greer responds with a smile. “Congratulations!”
I thank her and hurry to re-dress. My mind still processes me being pregnant. Pregnant! No way! I cannot believe it! Nerves make my stomach churn.
How will Luc react to this unexpected pregnancy? Is he ready for another baby? Will he think he’s too old for children? Am I ready for one at all?
After a silent prayer for guidance, I call Dr. Rice and send thanks since he has time for me in thirty minutes. A quick text message to Cole, and I rush from the office, waving at the receptionist as I zoom past her desk. By the time we reach Dr. Rice’s office, I’m almost a wreck on the back seat, anxious for more news. Once again, Cole helps me from the sedan. I make my way through the townhouse’s double doors.
The receptionist greets me, and I take a seat in the waiting room. A couple sits on a sofa across from me. She’s visibly pregnant with her hand resting on her belly. She smiles at me while her husband nods. I return their greeting and pick up a magazine to distract myself. The vibration of my mobile draws my attention. OMG, it’s Luc.
“Hello.”
“Blair, that paparazzo from the other night sold the photos to a tabloid. They published them. Roderick is the one who found out and told me. I will handle everything. Trust me, Ma Chérie.”
“Luc… I…”
“Trust me, Ma Chérie. Tell Lola. But do not respond to anyone. I must go and promise to call you soon.”
He ends the call, and I slump in my chair as tears fill my eyes.
A second later, my mobile vibrates in my hand. I jump in surprise and glance at the screen, not ready to speak to Luc again. But it’s my father. With a shake of my head, I decline the call. I do not need to be chastised. My stomach roils.
