Page 8 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings

Finally, we arrived outside Parent Tree .

The two of us sat there staring at the building for what seemed like forever when I parked.

Jordan reached for my hand without even looking at me.

The knots in my stomach had me feeling like it was about to bottom out.

Bringing her hand to my face, I kissed the top of it before facing her.

“Let’s go.”

She nodded, and I stepped out to open her door for her.

The atmosphere resembled a very warm, comforting spa when we walked inside, with waterfalls tucked in corners, giving it this calm ambiance.

Pastel floral arrangements matched the peach-colored walls and white trim.

The aroma from the fresh floral arrangements on the different tables lingered in the air.

Behind the receptionist’s desk sat two blonde women with blue eyes and pink lips.

One was dressed in lavender-colored scrubs while the other wore orange.

“Good morning, welcome to Parent Tree . How may I assist you today?” blondie in the orange scrubs questioned.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ivo Marek here to see Dr. Steinholt,” I recited.

“Of course. Please, have a seat and I will let her know that you are here.” A warm smile touched her lips, but it was like it was programmed on her face.

It didn’t seem natural as she lowered herself to her chair and reached for the phone on her desk. Jordan and I sat in the waiting area for about three minutes before I heard a door close and some chatter behind it as Dr. Steinholt emerged with another couple.

“It was so nice meeting with you both today. Set up your follow-up appointment with Daisy or Susan here, and I will see you both in about two weeks.”

The couple nodded and stopped at the check-in desk together. Dr. Steinholt, an older mixed woman with bright, cocoa bean-brown eyes smiled in our direction and waved us toward her.

“Jordan, Ivo, come in. We have so much to discuss. I have five different interviews for you today, so I hope you have time to meet with them all. Two of the three have already arrived, so we can chat first or you can get started.”

Jordan and I paused behind the double doors that led to the interview rooms and offices of Dr. Steinholt and her partners. Glancing at each other, I sensed we were both nervous as fuck about all this.

“So how does this work? We interview them together?” Jordan questioned.

“Well, you have the option of whatever is comfortable for you. Most couples do it separately so that they can get a feel of the person first and then meet with them together. Or you can both sit down and interrogate away. We have provided a list of questions for you and them. It’s a straightforward process. ”

“It’s just so… strange. Going through resumes of women that we don’t know, to see, based off paper, who is the best to carry our child,” Jordan voiced.

“Certainly. Nobody is saying choose today either. This is just for you to get your feet wet. We here at Parent Tree strive for everyone to be comfortable with their set of circumstances, that means you and this potential surrogate,” the doctor explained.

“Okay, I think we should do it together though. I know Ivo’s good with the questions.” Jordan glanced at me over her shoulder.

“Very well. Go to interview room two. I will get the first one together and send her in.”

The interview room was more like an elegant waiting area with one plush pastel pink sofa pressed against a wall.

An oil canvas painting of a waterfall hung above it, and two large windows were to the right with a small station set up for food and beverages.

Fresh coffee permeated the air along with the aroma of baked scones, biscuits, and breakfast meats like bacon and turkey sausage.

A rectangle-shaped glass table with brass legs sat in the center, and a water pitcher with fresh glasses for pouring was arranged on a tray with sliced lemons and limes.

While Jordan perched herself on the edge of the couch, I moved closer to the food.

On the drive, I had my morning wake and bake, and now the munchies were kicking in.

I knew my wife was on edge as I grabbed some fruit and a scone and poured myself a second cup of coffee for the morning.

Part of me was trying to mentally get myself together for this meeting with all the execs later too.

On the table beside the water pitcher, there were two clipboards stacked with papers and a pen placed on top of each of them.

“This is really happening.” Jordan reached for one of the clipboards and set it on her lap.

She chose a simple, classy red business dress that split on the side and stopped at her calves, with a pair of black Steve Madden pumps and her matching red and black Hermes bag.

Not only was she a bad bitch, but she was also an expensive one.

Jordan didn’t come off as materialistic until after we got married.

“Yeah, it is. Try to relax.” I reached for the flaky scone to take a bite.

For the next hour or so, we interviewed two of the three women first. One of them was Latino, the other was some kind of Asian blend, and there was a black woman who already had three children of her own and was just using this as a way to make some cash.

Dr. Steinholt poked her head inside as Jordan stood at the refreshment table picking up a biscuit.

“How is it going in here?” she asked, smiling and allowing herself inside.

Leaning back on the sofa with my arm stretched along the back, I nodded while she lingered behind the wingback chair the women had been seated in to be interviewed. I didn’t like the first three. Jordan seemed taken by the black woman though and put her in the maybe pile.

“Well, number four is here, and I talked to our fifth prospect. She is running a little behind but should be here soon.”

“If she’s late and can’t take this serious, do we really even want to interview her?” Jordan asked, taking a bite of her biscuit and moving toward the couch with a fresh mug of coffee in her hand.

“I like to give everyone a chance.” Dr. Steinholt threw her hands up.

“This situation is beneficial to so many people. Not just for you getting a child out of it, but for providing a sense of security for a woman to carry your child is also something we take pride in here at Parent Tree . Some of these women we even use more than once.”

“I guess we’ll see how this matchup goes,” Jordan said, lifting her brows and taking another bite of her biscuit.

“How do you feel about the women you’ve talked to so far?”

“I liked what was her name?” Jordan turned to me. “Anita? The last one. She was sweet, very wholesome, and I love that she and her husband already have children and are doing this for some extra cash.”

“Yes, Anita is a great candidate. I’m going to check to see if Yvette has arrived.”

When the doctor left, Jordan scoffed and leaned forward to set her half-eaten biscuit on her paper plate.

“Yvette? I don’t think so.”

“Give her a chance, Jay.” I reached out and rested a hand on her thigh.

“She’s got until question five, Ivo.”

Yvette was a bit of an airhead. Baby was cute as hell, all bubbly and bright, but a complete ignoramus.

Jordan was immediately turned off of her when she started going on about meaningless bullshit like celebrity gossip.

She didn’t even make it to the second page of questions before my wife was dismissing her.

Grabbing her purse off the table, Jordan shuffled some things around inside it until she came across the prescription pill bottle she was looking for.

I don’t know everything she was taking, but I knew her therapist had prescribed some meds for when her anxiety or depression hit.

I never questioned it because I assumed she needed it, and I wanted her to do whatever it took for her to be alright.

Guilt often hit me because I knew I wasn’t as present as I should be.

Jordan never let me feel like a failure or that I was doing something wrong.

She was the complete opposite, in fact. Sometimes I wished that she would challenge me, but I know she genuinely just wanted to please me, and that was rare to find in a woman.

“You really want to sit here for this last one?” Jordan queried, lifting her wrist and checking the time on the ladies Patek I bought her recently. “I mean, it’s been two hours. If she’s not here by now?—”

“Sorry about that! It’s been a day! I had to catch a bus and shuttle over here from my apartment. Then there was this accident.” A perky, familiar singsong voice disrupted us.

She burst through the door like the wind.

A long, white, floral, bohemian-style dress covered in pink roses hugged her slim frame, and she had thrown a jean jacket over it for a casual, modest effect.

Long, blonde faux locs hung past her shoulders and down to her ass, and she sported a crocheted and beaded bag across her chest as she settled in the chair on the opposite side of the table.

The minute she had the time to collect herself, she froze, her soft sienna-brown orbs bouncing from me to Jordan as her mouth hung open.

“Oh my God.”

“Emerald?” Jordan gasped. “Girl, what are you doing here?” Immediately, that girl off the block shit came out of her, and Emerald’s shoulders grew with tension.

Clearly, the situation had unnerved her as much as it had thrown me off my fucking square. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I’d been thinking about her heavy earlier. While my stomach clenched anxiously, my heart also ran a marathon.

“I, uh… I’m listed as a surrogate candidate,” she answered, quickly collecting herself and sitting up straight.