Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
She’ll do no such thing.
“I’ll see you out, but first I need to know, how far along is she?” I ask.
“Based on the date of her last period, she’s eight weeks along.”
Either she’s lying, or this baby’s mine.
Mine.
Mine?
What the fuck is in the water at Le Luxe?
She said she was on birth control. I trusted that.
“You said you were on birth control.”
Cosette’s smug look broadens. “Thought you didn’t believe the baby was yours?”
“Whether it is or not impacts our future, mine and yours, so I have to know for sure. And you know why I don’t take you at your word.” I don’t care that she winces. I push on. “Unless you’re lying about that date, or cheated on me when we were together, then the baby is mine.”
“Oh, it’s yours alright,” she snaps. “I can tell by the way it’s making me sick already.”
Dr. Martin’s eyebrows rise before she responds. “We’ll know soon enough. For now, follow the instructions on this sheet here, and I’ll be in touch with the results of the paternity test shortly.” She packs her bag and heads for the door while Cosette peruses the paper she gave her. I can’t read the smaller print but can read FIRST TRIMESTER OF PREGNANCY across the top wide and clear.
This feels surreal.
“I’d like to see you in another month.”
“A month?” Cosette and I say in unison.
There we go again.
“Why that long?” I ask her. “Don’t you have to take care of her and the baby? What if something goes wrong during that time?”
“There’s nothing to do now but make sure she’s nice and hydrated, eats well, and gets plenty of rest. Of course, if there are any concerns, or you have any symptoms on that sheet, you can call me directly at any time.” She hands us both a little business card with her name emblazoned on the front. “Normally I’d have you call the front desk, but when I work for the Gerard family, I have a direct line.”
Good.
That’s something, anyway.
After she’s gone, Cosette and I stand alone in the room, staring at each other. She stifles a yawn, her eyes watering.
“I told you,” she says quietly. She blinks and turns to the bed, sinking onto it.
I pull out the chair at the desk and sit.
We don’t talk again for long minutes. What should be happy news feels like weighted bricks in my stomach.
“I didn’t want you to… hurt the baby,” she whispers before she averts her eyes. “That’s the only reason I told you.”
I blow out an angry breath. “If what you’re telling me is true, then I deserve to know the truth.”
“Do you?” She tips her head to the side. “And why would I tell someone who doesn’t believe a word I say? Why would I trust someone who doesn’t actually give a shit about my well-being? I half expect you to chain me to the bed, force-feed me prenatal vitamins, demand I get a C-section when I’m full term, and then take the baby for yourself.”
I stroke my chin. “Those are actually some good ideas.”
“Lyam!” She grimaces and turns away. “Please. Leave me. I’m so tired.”
I get to my feet.
“We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. Don’t think for a minute that you’re no longer my prisoner. This changes nothing.”
Fuck, it changes everything.
“Right,” she says on a yawn, lying back on the bed, her eyes closing.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened.”
When she doesn’t respond, I look more closely at her just before she lightly snores. I stare at her. She fell asleep just like that? Well, she is pregnant, which likely means she’s probably exhausted.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do with her, but keeping her prisoner until she gives birth might be my only choice.
I look around the room and don’t see what I’m looking for. She’s asleep on top of the blanket, and I don’t want to wake her. She might be my prisoner, but she’s a pregnant prisoner, and those two things don’t seem to go hand in hand very well.
Jesus.
I find a spare blanket in the closet and open it up, laying it over her. No need for her to get cold, not when she’s carrying a baby that could be mine.
I check the windows.
I check the locks.
Then I leave, and head to my room.
I wish I could call my brothers. I can imagine how a call to Thayer would go.
“How’s our prisoner?”
“She’s fine,” I begin. “She’s pregnant, too.”
“What? Motherfucker. Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I did the first thing you’d have done, and called a doctor.”
“Any idea who the daddy is?”
“Waiting on a paternity test, but if I’m honest about what I think? You’re talking to him.”
I can’t do that, not yet. Not until I know.
My room’s five times the size of hers, the biggest room in the house, and for good reason. This is my bachelor pad. If I bring anyone here, it’s a woman, and I want a nice, comfortable place to go.