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The doctor must see the same thing I’m seeing, because he clears his throat and draws my attention back to him. “Ms. Masters, we have facilities available in this hospital that will allow you to… make a decision.”
“A decision?”
“On whether you want to… to keep the baby or not.”
I refuse to even glance Misha’s way before I answer. “I don’t need to make a decision,Doctor,” I tell him, spitting out the last word. For once, my voice doesn’t shake. “The decision is already made. I’m keeping the baby.”
“Ah. Well then, congratulations,” he says, but I don’t miss the way he shoots another concerned glance in Misha’s direction.
I ignore his discomfort. “When can I be discharged?”
“Within the next half-hour, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Great. I’m ready to go home.”
He nods and backs out of the room, leaving Misha and me alone. The silence boils like his eyes always do. Heat from an unseen source makes my skin flush and my heart pound. He hasn’t moved since the doctor entered and left so casually, like he wasn’t dropping an atomic bomb in his wake. He might as well be carved from stone.
“I didn’t think I could get pregnant,” I say softly, mostly just to end the silence. “I honestly believed that.”
I pause to swallow. Misha doesn’t move or blink or breathe a word. Maybe he really is carved from stone in a non-figurative sense.
“But if what the doctor just said is true, Iampregnant. And I want this baby. So you don’t have to do anything if you don’t—”
“Am I the father?”
I grit my teeth and urge myself to stay calm. “Yes. You’re the only man I’ve been with in over seven months.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“You’ll forgive me for being skeptical,” he drawls. “After all, you were ‘positive’ you couldn’t get pregnant in the first place.”
If the move wouldn’t rip out my IV, I’d grab the vase next to my bed and hurl it at him. He deserves way worse than that, the asshole.
“It shouldn’t matter to you either way,” I snap. “I’m not asking you for a thing. I don’t want or need anything from you. You’re off the hook, Misha.”
“Off… the hook?” he echoes, as if he’s unfamiliar with the term.
“Isn’t that what you’re all pissed off about?” I demand. “That you’re being forced into fatherhood with a lowly little secretary? Well, you don’t have to worry, because this lowly little secretary can fend for herself. I can take care of this baby without your help. I. Don’t. Need. You.”
Even as I say it, though, real life sticks its finger in my eye. I’ll have to get a new job. A bigger apartment. Find a way to afford daycare and clothes and bottles and all the stuff babies require.
Expenses and responsibilities pile up in my mind, but I shove them aside. That’s a Future Paige problem. Present Paige wants to tell this asshole to stick it where the sun don’t shine.
“And if you think for one second that you can convince me to get an abortion, then think again,” I continue. “This baby is a miracle. I haven’t stumbled upon many of those in my life, so I’m going to hold onto this one.”
He’s silent for a moment. His chest rising and falling is the only sign he’s still alive. Then, when I’m about to tell him to get the hell out of my hospital room, he finally speaks.
“I’m not in the habit of walking away from my responsibilities in any circumstance,” he says. “Even if I were, it would be impossible to do so when you and I are living under the same roof.”
I snort. “I have my own apartment. Plus, I don’t think Human Resources would be super thrilled about me shacking up with my boss. P.A.s and CEOs don’t usually live together.”
“No,” he agrees. “But husbands and wives do.”
My pulse starts to throb in my temple. “We aren’t really husband and wife, Misha. That was your lie. You got what you wanted. It’s over now.”
“No,” he repeats, “I didn’t. And it’s not. Because you and I are getting married.”
