Page 89 of Dark Notes

My veins turn to ice. Emeric mentioned his father’s a physician, but I assumed the man worked at a fancy hospital or something. For fuck’s sake, why would he send me to his dad to have my vagina examined? Maybe this doctor is a different Marceaux? Is it a common last name?

“Does he…” Is it too risky to ask this? Fuck it. “Does Dr. Marceaux have a son? A teacher?”

“Oh, yes.” The woman cracks a huge smile and leans back in the chair, regarding me. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing he’s got you under his spell, too.”

“No. I…” My cheeks burn. “What do you mean?”

“Every time that fine-looking man comes in here, he gets all the girls in a tizzy.” She laughs. “Take a number, honey. There’s a long line of women waiting for a piece of that.”

Did she seriously just say that? Grinding my teeth, I find a seat and pull out the phone. I have two names in my contact list. Stogie and LordandMaster. The latter was Emeric’s attempt at humor when he set up the phone. I haven’t had the heart to change it.

I launch a text window.

Me: U sent me to ur dad??? To get birth control? R u crazy?

The front door opens, and a very pregnant woman sashays toward the counter. She’s all belly. Skinny and petite everywhere else. How the hell does she walk so gracefully in those sky-high heels?

The vibration of an incoming text draws my attention back to the phone.

LordandMaster: He’ll do everything but the Pap test. Don’t question me.

But he’ll see me in a thin gown and check me for STDs? I feel sick.

Me: Does he know about us?

LordandMaster: Yes

Yes? That’s all he’s going to say?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, debating the wisdom in storming out.

“I need to see him right now.” The pregnant woman’s rising voice brings my eyes up.

She gathers her long blonde hair and holds it away from her pale complexion, her tense posture screaming with frustration.

“Ma’am,” the receptionist says sternly, “if you give me your information, I’ll set up—”

“Go back there and tell him Joanne is here.”

My stomach drops as my entire world narrows to her belly. She can’t be his Joanne. This…this woman is pregnant. A lot pregnant. Like easily seven or eight months along.

Emeric said he hasn’t seen her in six months.

My chest clenches. No. No, no, no. Emeric would’ve told me.

The receptionist stands. “Is Dr. Marceaux expecting you?”

“I’m expecting his grandson.” She points at her stomach. “VIP pass. I need to see him. Now.”

Nausea barrels through my gut, doubling me over. It’s not true. I must’ve misheard.

The receptionist widens her eyes then slips down the hall toward the back.

Relaxing against the counter, Joanne rests her phone on the ledge of her baby belly. Emeric’s baby.

My insides roil with bile. I scan the waiting room for a bathroom, and my gaze catches and locks on hers. She gives me a tight smile and moves on, taking in the people sitting near me.

Her small nose, smooth flat features, and close-set eyes give her a tiny pixie look, one that works well for her. Really well. She’s painfully beautiful, like a perfect mix of Kristen Bell and Keira Knightley.

No wonder he loves her.

The mother of his child.

I ball my hands to stop the trembling. Why didn’t he tell me? Is he trying to resolve things with her? So they can be a happy family?

Tears sneak up, burning my eyes, and a horrible ache seals my throat. I spring from the seat and walk as calmly as I can into the single-person bathroom. As soon as the door shuts, I drag in loud, ragged breaths and hit the last call dialed on my phone.

Emeric’s gravelly voice scrapes against my eardrum. “Ivory.”

“Your pregnant girlfriend is here.”

Please tell me I’m mistaken. My chest hurts so badly I can’t breathe.

The line goes silent for a weighted moment. Then a flurry of sounds rushes through. His exhales, the slam of a door, the roar of a motor. “I’ll be there in three minutes.”

So it’s true. The gravity of that steals the strength from my legs. I slide down the door, drop to the floor, and try to keep the tears from wobbling my voice. “You lied to me.”

“Bull—”

“Omitting is the same as lying.” I squeeze the phone. “Your words.”

His heavy breaths rasp through the receiver. “Tell me you didn’t talk to her.”

“Why?” My chin quivers. “Because I’m your dirty secret? Your side piece while you work on your relationship—”

“So help me God…” His voice is so cold it lifts the hairs on my neck. “I’m going to break my fucking belt on your ass.”

I lower the phone, take a huge calming breath, then lift it back to my ear. “You’re a bastard.”

“Keep going, Ivory. You’re not going to walk for a week.”