Page 30 of Laced With Secrets
I stared at him. “You researched medical privacy law while picking up sandwiches?”
“I looked it up on my phone while David was telling me about his daughter’s soccer tournament.” Dominic stood, reaching for my hand. “Now finish your chips—all of them, since apparently our baby needs them—and let’s go to this appointment. I have a heartbeat I need to hear.”
I let him pull me to my feet, still clutching my precious salt and vinegar chips. “An entire bag?”
“An entire bag,” he confirmed. “Maybe two, if you behave yourself at the doctor’s office.”
“I always behave myself.”
“You climbed a twelve-foot ladder while three months pregnant approximately forty-five minutes ago.”
“That was different.”
“Mmhmm.” But his hand was warm on my lower back, guiding me toward the door.
Dr. Westfield’s office was in one of the newer medical buildings on the outskirts of the Historical District, right where it transitioned into Downtown Millcrest. The entire structure was modern glass and steel—a far cry from the old Victorian houses that dominated the area—with efficient fluorescent lighting and that distinctive medical office smell of antiseptic and new carpet.
Dominic held my hand as we checked in with the receptionist, his thumb rubbing circles on my palm. His scent was calm but alert, that underlying alpha protectiveness humming just beneath the surface.
“Third visit,” the receptionist said cheerfully, updating my chart. “And this time you brought the father! How wonderful.”
I felt Dominic’s pride spike through our bond, his hand tightening possessively on mine.
“He was… unavoidably detained for the first two,” I said carefully.
The receptionist’s smile remained professional and warm. “Well, I’m sure Dr. Westfield will be happy to finally meet you bothtogether. She’s running just a few minutes behind, so if you’ll have a seat…”
We settled into the waiting room chairs—comfortable, modern ones with clean upholstery.
“Nervous?” I asked quietly.
“Terrified,” he admitted, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Hey.” I covered his hand with mine. “Everything’s been fine so far. The nausea’s easing up, I’m not spotting, all the signs are good.”
“I know. But I wasn’t there for the first two appointments.” His jaw tightened. “I’ve seen the sonogram picture, but that’s not the same as being here.”
“You couldn’t help not being there the first time,” I said softly. Then I paused, guilt twisting in my chest. “The second time… that was on me. I was too scared to tell you.”
Dominic’s fingers interlaced mine, his thumb brushing over my skin soothingly. “It’s okay. We’re here together now. That’s what matters.”
“But you missed?—”
“Leo.” He turned to look at me fully, his steel-gray eyes intense. “It’s okay. I understand why you were hesitant to tell me. And we’re moving forward together now. That’s all I care about.”
The forgiveness in his voice, the lack of recrimination, made my chest tight. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He pressed a kiss to my temple before turning his attention to my stomach, his hand going to rest protectively over our baby.
“Mr. Sterling-Hart?” A nurse appeared in the doorway—young, efficient, with a tablet in hand. “And Mr. Steele. Come on back.”
We followed her down the modern hallway, past examination rooms with digital displays and the most up-to-date medical equipment. She led us to room five, took my vitals with quick efficiency, and promised Dr. Westfield would be in shortly.
After she left, I started changing into the examination gown. Dominic helped with the ties, his hands gentle but sure. There was something intimate about it—not sexual, just… tender. Taking care of me.
“I hate these gowns,” I muttered. “They’re designed to make you feel as vulnerable as possible.”
“You look perfect.” Dominic’s hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles.