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She tried to focus, answering Mr Lindsay’s questions to the best of her ability. After a while her head spun. The checklist was exhaustive. Medications, supplements, health conditions...
‘Any family history of miscarriages or complications with pregnancy?’
Emily froze. She’d anticipated the question, but now the time was here the words jammed in her throat. A chill rippled over her skin—a whisper of the fear she’d tried until now to ignore—and she shivered. The seconds stretched and her silence grew awkward, embarrassing, but still she couldn’t unlock her voice. And then Ramon reached over and closed his fingers around hers, stilling their shaking. He squeezed, his touch firm. Reassuring. She looked down at their joined hands, the panic abating, then inhaled deeply. ‘My mother died in childbirth,’ she said.
Mr Lindsay looked up from his notes. ‘Your birth?’
‘Yes.’
His expression was grave. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you know the details?’
‘Not really. I think it might have been pre-eclampsia.’
He scribbled a note, then put his pen down and clasped his hands together on his desk. He stared directly into her eyes. ‘Emily, it’s perfectly natural given your history to feel some fear about your pregnancy,’ he said, ‘but I want to assure you both—’ he glanced at Ramon, then back at Emily ‘—that you’ll be receiving exceptional care throughout every stage of your journey. We’ll take extra precautions, with frequent check-ups and regular testing, and keep a close watch on your blood pressure.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ll do a physical exam and an ultrasound today to check everything is fine,’ he continued. ‘There won’t be much to see, however. It will be another six weeks at least until we can determine your baby’s sex.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked. Did she want to know her baby’s sex before it was born? She glanced uncertainly at Ramon. Would it matter to him if their child was a girl or a boy? It didn’t matter to Emily. And the crazy clause in her grandfather’s will certainly didn’t sway her one way or another. Gordon Royce had been a fool to attach such an outrageous condition to a large part of his legacy. Even if she had a boy she wouldn’t accept the money. It could go to charity for all she cared. ‘I don’t think I want to know that anyway,’ she said. ‘I mean—’ she glanced again at Ramon ‘—I’d rather it was a surprise, if you don’t mind.’
He shrugged. ‘Of course.’
Half an hour later, her first prenatal check-up was over. Ramon had sat in the waiting room while she’d undergone the exam and the ultrasound. She emerged and smiled at him. His coming with her today had shifted something and their connection felt less tenuous, less fragile. It was something Emily hadn’t experienced before—a close connection with another person. It gave her hope. Hope that her bond with her baby would be strong. That she’d be a good mother. That her child would love her.
Ramon held her hand as they stepped out into the warm autumn sunshine. Outside, they paused on the pristine Mayfair pavement, waiting for his driver to arrive. Emily looked up at him, at those gorgeous, perfectly landscaped features, and her heart performed a slow somersault in her chest. She opened her mouth, wanting to thank him, to tell him how much his support meant to her today, but a bright pop of light stopped her in her tracks.
‘Mr de la Vega! Who’s the lady? Is she knocked up? Is it yours?’
The lone paparazzo fired off another round of shutter clicks. Scowling, Ramon turned Emily into him, cupping the back of her head and pressing her face protectively into his shoulder.
‘When’s the kid due?’
Ramon swore under his breath, and then their car pulled up and he was bundling her into the back of the sleek black sedan. The second they were safely ensconced, the driver sped off. Heart pounding, Emily sucked in a shaky breath and cast a stricken look at Ramon.
His face was thunderous.
* * *
‘You’ll marry her, I assume.’
The statement carried a faint air of command. Ramon gritted his teeth. If he could have reached down the phone line and strangled his brother with his bare hands, he would have. There were never any grey areas with Xavier. Life was comprised of black and white.
Right and wrong.
Do or don’t.
Right now Xav was urging him towards the ‘do’. More specifically, the words ‘I do’.
‘I’ll make that decision when I’m ready.’
A short silence. ‘You are taking responsibility for the child?’
Ramon ground his teeth a little harder. Xav’s opinion of him really did scrape the bottom of the barrel. ‘Of course,’ he bit out.
He curled his hand into a fist on the desk top and absently cast his gaze over the office that had belonged to Maxwell Royce. In recent days Ramon had staked a more permanent claim on the space, using it as his main base from which to work while in London. He leaned back in the chair, his mind working overtime as it had for the past twenty-four hours. Perhaps he should stake a more permanent claim on the man’s daughter as well. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already entertained the idea many times over.
‘Mamá and Papá are upset they had to find out this way.’
Ramon couldn’t help but hear the implicit criticism in his brother’s voice. The unspoken words.
You’ve hurt them. Again.
