Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“I mean… I’m not sure.”
The nurse checks her iPad. "Well, according to your bloodwork, you are."
Lev and I look at each other. But of course, he’s expressionless, and damn if that doesn’t add to the sudden surge of anticipation tightening in my chest.
“I’m going to need you to lie down a bit, honey,” the nurse says, removing a squirty bottle from the ultrasound cart.
I ease down, but my bruised body screams in protest. I hiss in a breath and notice Lev’s eyebrows slam together, and his jaw tighten.
He steps forward. “Zayka—"
I blow out a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”
But he knows it’s a lie. I’m very far from okay.
I grab his hand. “Just before I was taken, I remembered I hadn’t had a period since before the wedding.”
His brows draw together when he realizes what that means. That it could be Wilson’s baby and not his.
His fingers tighten around mine reassuringly. “Whatever happens next, we’ll work it out together.”
I can see it in his eyes. He means every word.
The nurse presses a couple of keys on the ultrasound machine. “Okay, honey, let’s meet your baby.”
I lift up my hospital gown so she can squirt the ultrasound solution onto my skin. It’s cold, and when I recoil, my body protests again. This time, Lev takes my hand and draws it to his lips. The comfort is immediate, and I relax, wondering how much more my life is about to change.
And whose baby I’m carrying.
50
LEV
She's pregnant, and in mere minutes, we will learn if it’s Wilson’s baby or if she’s carrying mine.
I’m restless but hide my emotions behind a stony façade like I always do.
Life is about to change again, and depending on what the results are, it could go in any direction, one that sees Brooke tied to Wilson for the rest of their lives, which in Wilson’s case could be a short time, or one that means Brooke is going to give birth to the Zarkov heir.
My baby.
I frown, concerned by the sudden surge of happiness that thought brings.
While an heir is required, I wasn’t prepared for it to happen so early, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that blissful, sweet warmth to pour into my chest and spread throughout my body at the thought of him or her already growing inside her.
The nurse moves the ultrasound wand around Brooke’s flat belly and a grainy image appears on the screen of the machine. Seconds later, the steady thump of a heartbeat fills the room.
Brooke’s eyes widen. “Is that…?”
“Your baby, yes.”
I see the tears well in Brooke’s eyes. That’s when I realize my face has grown stiff with emotion, and a cold ache has formed in my throat.
Thump, thump, thump.
How can a sound evoke such an emotional response?
“Is my baby okay?” she asks the nurse, her big bunny eyes wide with concern.
The nurse smiles. “Looks pretty snug to me.”
Relief sweeps across Brooke’s face, and I have to admit, I feel a surge of it myself. Even if the baby is Wilson’s, the thought of Brooke suffering a miscarriage gnaws at my gut.
“The painkillers I’ve been on, would they have hurt the baby?” she asks.
“No, the medication you were given doesn’t cross the placenta, so your baby won’t be affected.”
Again, her face shows the relief she feels, and I can’t lie—I feel the same relief.
Brooke glances at me with uncertainty and then back to the nurse. “How many weeks pregnant am I?”
I do the math in my head.
More than eight weeks, and it’s Wilson’s.
Less than eight, and I’m going to be a father.
The nurse moves the ultrasound wand around Brooke’s belly some more before stopping to hit a couple of keys on the keyboard to take a picture.
This is it.
The moment of truth.
Christ, why is it taking so long?
My breath stalls in my chest.
“You’re seven weeks and two days pregnant.”
My breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
Mine.
The word echoes around and around in my brain and a fierce urge to take Brooke in my arms and kiss her stupid crashes through me.
I do more math. Seven weeks and three days ago, I met Brooke on a plane, and sometime during the many orgasms that night, I put my baby inside her.
Damn, why does that make me so fucking high?
Because you want this more than you thought you did.
Brooke gives me an unsure smile. She’s trying to gauge my thoughts by my reaction. The smile I give her is genuine. Mine. She and the baby growing in her belly are all mine, and I couldn’t be fucking happier.
“Can you tell what sex it is?” Brooke asks.
“It’s too soon, I’m afraid. But when you have a follow-up ultrasound in the next few weeks, we might be able to see the gender then.”
I don’t care what sex the baby is, as long as it’s healthy and strong and has all the goodness of its mother and none of the darkness of me.