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“Do you have a mirror?”
Crap. The mirror is in the closet on the door.
“A crappy one,” I say. “I guess I’ll just have to walk across the hall but my master is messy.” I give a shaky laugh. “I prefer to keep that to myself.”
“I have a mirror in the car.”
Relief washes over me as she adds, “And I heard you’ve been sick so if you need to take a break anytime, we can.” She exits the room and I quickly try on a dress, just trying to hurry this along. By the time she returns I’m on dress number two.
“You didn’t like the blue silk?”
“Too snug.”
Two more dresses in and I struggle to tame her chatter. Four more dresses in, I finally find a dress that will work. I stand in front of her fancy portable mirror and inspect my choice. The waist is cinched and the skirt long and full. The material a red silk with a beautiful floral etched design. “I’ll go with this one.”
“It’s lovely on you but I have many more choices.”
“This one,” I insist. “When I decide, I decide. Thank you. It’s perfect.”
My hope is that this becomes a fast prelude to her departure and Rick’s exit from the closet, but she goes on and on about dressing the future first lady. When finally I’ve assured her that I’ve got perfect shoes and jewelry, and need to rest, we make it to the door.
About the time I get her out of the door, there’s a man walking up the steps, with a leather bag on his shoulder, whom I assume to be the doctor. He’s tall, a fit mid-sixties, his salt and pepper hair thick, his blue suit simple and understated.
“Candace?” he asks, his light blue eyes cold, despite his warm tone. “I’m Dr. Moore.”
“I’m Candace.” I step back. “Come in.”
He enters the foyer and turns to face me. “How are you feeling?”
I shut the door behind him and realize how awkward asking him to join me in a bedroom will be now that Dawn has left. “Better after some chicken soup. I’m finally able to hold food down.”
“Well good.” He motions the living area to the left. “Why don’t we just sit down and let me have a quick look? We have to keep our future first lady safe and well.”
If one more person says that “future first lady” remark to me again I might really be sick. Determined to get him out of here and hoping Rick follows us in this direction, I motion toward the living room. “Let’s just go right in here.”
“That works,” he says.
I lead him forward and sit down on the couch, aware that the kitchen’s open archway is to my right and within earshot. Rick could also come up beside us down a hallway toward the foyer. Dr. Moore sits down next to me and starts the typical doctor drill. “When did you first start feeling sick?”
“A few days ago. I’m fairly certain it was from some chicken I ate. Food poisoning.”
There’s a shift in the air, a jolt of energy that tells me Rick is nearby. I don’t know how, but the doc doesn’t seem to notice, staying on topic. “Very possible. Let’s get your vitals and make that future husband of yours feel better.”
I manage a weak smile and endure having my vitals taken while chatting about my medical history he doesn’t even document. “Any chance you could be pregnant?” he asks.
Unease slides down my spine when the question is really fairly standard. However, most women don’t have a man trying to get them pregnant and kill them off. “No chance,” I say.
“First and last day of your last period?”
I spit out my dates and thankfully we move on. Finally, he says, “All looks good and I know you say you’re feeling better, but a good prescription-level vitamin boost can do you wonders. We can get that in you today to help you be ready for tomorrow night.”
I’m not sure if it’s my adrenaline or Rick’s that spikes or a combination of both, but I’m suddenly on edge, literally on the edge of the cushion. The doctor reaches in his bag and pulls out a syringe. I’m immediately on my feet. “No,” I say. “No, I’ll pass.” I round the coffee table.
“It’s perfectly safe.” The doctor stands up. “This is—”
“No,” I repeat, and I swear I can feel Rick contemplating stepping in which would ruin tomorrow night, which means ending our chance to extract my father and get Tag out of the picture. “No, I’m fine.”
The doctor gives a strained laugh. “It’s vitamins, minerals, amino acids, and antioxidants. I don’t understand this reaction.”
And either will Gabriel. My mind races with an answer and I go to the only place I can—a place that won’t please Rick. “Look, doctor. I’m a few days late on my period when I’m never late. I made an appointment with my gyno for Monday.”
