Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(72)

Paige walks into the room timidly. When she notices me standing there, she settles. “Why aren’t we in a hospital?”

“I brought the hospital to you,” I say just as Dr. Simone Mathers walks in.

She is in street clothes, but there’s a stethoscope looped around her neck. She smiles at both of us, lingering on Paige. “Mr. and Mrs. Orlov, are you both ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Paige says with a nervous chuckle. “Has Misha told you about my…

medical history?”

Simone gives her a soft smile. “He has. He also mentioned that you’re a little nervous about this pregnancy. I’m here to put your mind at ease.”

Paige crosses her arms low over her stomach. Almost like she’s trying to protect the baby.

The doctor gently leads her towards the exam table. “When you’re ready, you can lie back on the table. I’m going to do a simple scan—the baby won’t be bothered by it at all—and then we can figure out how things are going in there.”

Paige gingerly sits on the table and lays back. Once she’s ready, Simone lifts the hem of her shirt and spreads the ultrasound jelly across Paige’s stomach with practiced hands. Paige blows out a deep breath and firmly grips her pendant. It doesn’t look like she’s planning on letting it go anytime soon.

I move a little closer to the table, but not so close that I’ll be tempted to do something stupid. Like, for example, take her hand.

“Okay, let’s see what we have here.” Simone twists the monitor so that we can both see the screen.

It looks to me like a haphazard cacophony of gray lines and white splotches. But the doctor picks one line out of the mess and traces it with a fingertip. “You see this outline right here? That’s the embryonic sac. And this white spot right here… That is your baby.”

It looks like a blob to me. But then, at the center, I see a flicker.

I lunge forward to point it out. “What’s that?”

Simone smiles. “That is your baby’s heart beating.”

Paige claps her hands over her mouth, an excited sob bubbling out of her. “Everything looks okay?”

“Better than okay. Everything looks perfect,” she says. “The fetus is healthy and the heartbeat is strong. This is exactly what we want to see at this stage.”

Paige takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t seem to ease the tension in her shoulders. “‘At this stage…’

So things could change?”

“I can’t make you any guarantees,” Simone says with a sympathetic smile. “Human bodies are complicated. Pregnancy is complicated. A lot can happen. But what I can tell you is that we have no reason at all to be worried right now. You’re young and healthy. So is your baby. As much as possible, focus on those positives and try to enjoy the ride.”

Paige nods, but I can see the message isn’t penetrating. She’s a bundle of anxiety.

“Simone, please give us a moment,” I request.

Simone slips out of the room at once. The moment we’re alone, Paige sits up and looks at the image still frozen on the monitor. “I know I probably sound paranoid—”

“Cyrille had a miscarriage before she got pregnant with Ilya,” I interrupt. “My brother was so excited about being a father that the moment Cyrille got pregnant, he announced it to the world. She miscarried a few weeks later.”

“That’s terrible,” she breathes.

“It was until it wasn’t. Eight months later, she was pregnant with Ilya. They tried to enjoy the pregnancy, but they couldn’t relax until she was almost six months in. I was right there with them every step of the way, and honestly, it didn’t need to be so difficult.”

She frowns. “Worry isn’t something you can turn on and off like a switch, Misha.”

“Maybe not, but if you don’t get a handle on your fear, it will consume you. It eats up everything in its path if you let it.”

“What are you suggesting exactly?”

“I’m suggesting you relax and let nature handle the rest,” I tell her. “If this baby is strong enough, he’ll be born in six and a half months. If he’s not, then nature did its job and weeded out the weak.”

Her eyes narrow. “You did not just say that to me.”

“A mother fox will leave behind the cub with a limp to make sure the rest of her litter survives,” I explain. “It’s called survival of the fittest.”

“We are not animals, Misha,” she hisses. “We’re human. Everything for the family. Isn’t that what’s on your dog tag?”

“Sometimes, protecting the family means looking at the bigger picture.”

“What’s the ‘bigger picture’ here, Misha?” Paige demands. “If I miscarry, you’re off the hook? You don’t need to put up with me anymore? Is that it?” She lurches off the table and gets to her feet. Then she turns on me. “I don’t understand you. One moment, you fly in baked goods from two states over because I’m feeling nostalgic for a pastry. The next, you tell me to relax and accept the death of my child. Your child. Do you even have a heart?”

The blood thumping in my chest says I do. It says, You’re just doing this to keep her from getting close to you.