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“Could be,” I whisper, suddenly needing to shut this conversation down. My fingers close over the box, and I slide it back into my purse. “I should go.”
“That’s a shame,” he says, rising as I do. “But hopefully we meet again.”
“Vegas isn’t as big as people think,” I reply, and walk away without looking back.
But I can feel him watching me. And even though I just buried Damien in my past with the rest of last night… something tells me this man isn’t a stranger at all.
And fate? Fate’s not done with me yet.
7
TARA
The paper sheet rustles under me as I shift on the exam table. My legs are still in the stirrups. Cold gel sticks to my lower belly, and I’m trying not to think about how uncomfortable that ultrasound probe felt inside me. I’ve had vaginal exams before—obviously—but this one? It felt more invasive. Longer. Like he was looking at something he didn’t expect to find.
The doctor pulls off his gloves, his expression unreadable.
“You can get dressed now,” he says, voice tight. “Then I’ll need to speak with you and Irina in my office.”
My chest tightens. The way he says it... It’s not casual. Something’s wrong. Or might be. I nod mutely, watching the door close behind him.
I slide off the table, wipe away the gel, and pull my clothes back on with fingers that feel too slow, too stiff. I tug my jeans over my hips and try to calm my racing thoughts. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s routine. Maybe my womb is hostile. I’ve heard about women having hostile wombs. Or maybe I have something wrong with me, like cancer!
My heart thuds at that thought, and the blood rushes to my head. Oh fuck, please no. Irina and Gavriil will be devastated if I can’t carry their baby for them. There are not many people a Bratva Prince and his wife can trust to do this.Breathe, Tara. You’re just being paranoid. He’s a doctor. Doctors are abrupt dicks.
Breathing out, I open the door, and Irina is waiting outside the room. Her eyes are shining like she's eager for gossip.
“How did it go?” she asks, looping her arm through mine.
I swallow. “Uncomfortable. I hate those exams.”
Irina gives me a sympathetic wince. “Tell me about it.”
I glance down the hallway. “The doctor said he needs to talk to us. Together. In his office.”
Irina’s brows lift. “Oh? That doesn’t sound great.”
My stomach knots. “I don’t think it is. He didn’t look happy.”
“I’m sure it’s just protocol,” Irina says, waving it off.
“Maybe.” I press my hand to my stomach. I feel... off. “I need to pee.”
“Go ahead. I’ll head to his office and tell him you’ll be there soon.”
I nod and slip into the restroom down the hall. The cool tile feels good against my palms as I lean against the sink for a moment. I splash water on my face, then dry it with a paper towel. The gel still clings to the edges of my waistband, so I try to clean that up, too.
Then I go to open the door—and it won’t budge.
What the?—?
I twist the knob again. Pull harder. Nothing.
“Seriously?” I mutter. “Come on!”
I pound on the door. No response. I shout. Bang harder.
I don’t know how long I’m stuck—ten minutes? Fifteen?—Before I hear Irina’s voice.