Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Along with the paternity test, his attorney sent over NDA forms for the staff, including the doctor, to sign. I wanted to be embarrassed at that, but I know he’s only doing it to support my decision to keep everything out of the media for now. Eventually it’s going to come out, but I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I’ve spent the last seven years staying out of the public eye, and it wasn’t difficult since I’m insignificant, but now that I’m pregnant with Easton’s baby, who’s a big freaking deal, it’s going to be more difficult, and that scares me to death.
“You can have a seat right here,” the nurse says to Easton, “and the doctor will be in soon.” She excuses herself, leaving us alone. Instead of sitting down, Easton rounds the exam chair, sidling up next to me. He leans in and kisses my cheek, shocking the hell out of me. The kiss is quick, his lips not lingering, but it’s enough to smell his signature scent of cinnamon.
“You look beautiful today,” he murmurs before finding his seat. “How’re you feeling?”
It takes me a second to get my head on straight, but once I do, I answer him truthfully. “I’m okay. Tired.” I shrug. I’m used to it. I’m a pregnant, single mom going to school and working full-time. It’s to be expected.
Easton frowns. “If there’s anything you need…”
“I’m good,” I tell him with a smile.
“I told my family. They want to meet you.”
Great… I can imagine how that conversation went. After Easton told me he planned to tell his family, I looked him up. His dad is a famous musician who started his own record label. His parents have been happily married for thirty-two years, and his mom works for the label. He has one sister, who is his right-hand. It’s hard to know what’s real or fake on the internet, but one thing’s for sure, his family is close. Unlike mine…
Don’t get me wrong. After Kendall was born, my mom visited, and she visits once or twice a year. She sends Kendall gifts for her birthday and Christmas, but between me stripping and putting off college, she was disappointed, and it created a huge fissure in our already fragile relationship. Now that I’m back in school, it’s gotten a little better, but we’re nowhere near as close as the media portrays Easton’s family.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door and then the doctor walks in. “Good morning,” she says, “I’m Dr. Burger. We met earlier.”
“Thank you again, for helping us keep this discreet,” Easton says, turning on the charm.
“Absolutely.” She smiles, then turns her attention on me. “And how are you doing today?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Easton beats me to it. “She said she’s tired.” He ignores me when I glare his way, his eyes trained on the doctor.
Dr. Burger laughs. “Being tired is common during pregnancy. Her body is growing a baby. Aside from being tired, how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“No more bleeding?” She goes about checking me out, and I should probably be self-conscious since I barely know Easton, but after giving birth once already and him having seen me naked, I don’t have it in me to care.
“Nope. Everything is good.” I’m having trouble sleeping at night from the stress, and as a result, beyond exhausted, but there’s nothing she can do to help with that.
“Your blood pressure came in rather high,” she says, laying me back and raising my gown. “Are you under stress?”
I glance at Easton, whose gaze is searing into me, before I close my eyes while she presses around my belly. “Maybe a little,” I admit.
She squirts some gel on my stomach, making me open my eyes back up. “Stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” she says in a motherly tone. “I know it’s not completely avoidable, but high blood pressure early on can lead to other issues.”
“I understand.”
“What kind of issues?” Easton asks, stepping over next to the bed.
“Preeclampsia and premature birth,” she says, answering him, while she clicks on the monitor and then grabs the ultrasound wand.
“I’ll do my best to lower my stress,” I promise her.
“Good. Now let’s take a look at your baby.”
“I didn’t know I had an ultrasound scheduled for today,” I note. I already had one when I first found out I was pregnant, and from what I was told, I wouldn’t have another one until twenty weeks.
“Normally we don’t do them until twenty weeks,” she says, voicing my thoughts. “Insurance companies only approve them in between if there’s a medical reason…”
“Is there something wrong with my baby?” I ask, suddenly freaking out. She said my blood pressure was high, but I didn’t think it was enough for her to suspect something is wrong with my baby.