Page 79 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“You ready?” he asks, as his eyes flick to Fiona before a small divot forms between his brows.

I nod, “as I’ll ever be.”

He crosses the room and his hand brushes my lower back as he passes me my coat. Fiona steps back, giving us space, and whatever plan she was about to share slips out of reach.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she says. I turn to look at her, and she gives me a small wink. “Make sure my grandchild is nice and healthy, please.”

Roman’s expression shifts and a rare, genuine smile pulls at his lips. He steps toward her and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I will,” he says.

We head out to the car, and he helps me in before leaning across me to fasten my seatbelt. Up close, I can feel the tension sitting in his shoulders. There’s a sharpness to him, like he’s permanently bracing for impact. When he steps back, his eyes don’t linger on me. They scan the property, taking in corners, sightlines, anything that could hide something we can’t see. It feels strange, knowing I’ve brought a weapon to a baby scan and that he’s armed too.

It doesn’t feel like we’re going for a check-up, it feels like we’re preparing for war.

Roman slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.‘Too Sad To Cry by Sasha Alex Sloan’starts to play on the radio, filling the silence between us. He doesn’t look at me as he shifts the car into reverse, one hand steady on the wheel as he glances over his shoulder and eases us out of the drive with precision. Gravel crunches softly beneath the tyres before he straightens, guiding the car onto the road without a word. His hand doesn’t stay on the gear stick for long. It moves to me instead, settling over my thigh as he drives and draws patterns absentmindedly on me with his thumb. It anchors me; the weight of his touch cuts through the noise in my head just enough that I can breathe again.

By the time we pull into the car park, my palms are damp and my stomach feels hollow.

Roman kills the engine and looks at me. “You okay?”

“No.”

“We can leave and come back when you’re ready.”

I know he means it. If I said the word, he’d drive me away from here, even if it meant sacrificing seeing the baby himself. But I can’t do that to him, just as much as he can’t take this choice to find out from me.

So, I shake my head.

“No. We need to know.”

He studies me as something unreadable moves through his expression before he nods once and steps out of the car. By the time I’ve opened my own door, he’s already there with his hand out, waiting for me.

The waiting room is too bright. Full of tiny, constant noises that I can’t seem to block out. A receptionist smiles at me and starts asking questions. I answer them, but it doesn’t feel like I’m the one speaking. I feel myself nod, watch my fingers fumble with a pen, but none of it feels real.

I’m ushered into the waiting area and Roman pulls me onto his lap. I should probably feel embarrassed by the public display of affection, by the way people might be looking, but all I feel is safe. Let them stare. They have no idea what today is, what it means, and they’ll never see me again. We only wait twelve minutes, but it feels longer as every second drags. When my name is finally called, he loosens his hold just enough to stand and gently guides me up before taking my hand and leading me into a private room.

The room is small, clinical, and neutral. It is designed to feel calm but not personal. Soft daylight filters through a window with horizontal blinds, casting pale lines across the walls and equipment. To one side sits the ultrasound machine, bulky and off-white, its screen glowing with grainy black-and-white imagery. Buttons and dials cluster across its surface, slightlyworn from use, with probes resting neatly in their holders. It hums softly, like it’s always half-awake.

Beside it is the examination bed, covered in crisp white paper that stretches tightly across the padding, the edges of it are folded with precision. There’s no comfort in it, just purpose. The walls are a muted light tone, broken only by a framed floral print that feels almost out of place. The soft pink flowers inside the gold frame try to add warmth, but it doesn’t do enough to change the atmosphere.

I take a seat on the bed as Roman takes the free seat beside me. His knee bumps mine as he leans forward, resting one hand on my thigh. Every time I hear the click of a door down the hallway my body goes tight. By the time a nurse appears and says my name I’m wound so tight I’m dizzy. Following behind her is another woman in scrubs. She looks to be in her early forties, dark hair pulled back neatly. There’s something steady about her, something that doesn’t press or overwhelm me, and I feel my muscles loosen the moment she smiles at me.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Emery.”

“Hi,” I manage, and Roman’s hand tightens gently on my thigh. I reach for him, curling both of my hands around his and squeezing back as my legs shift restlessly beneath me.

“Okay, so my colleague took your bloods last week, is that right?”

“Yes,” I nod and swallow the lump in my throat as I think about what those tests actually mean.

“And are you a possible father?” she asks, glancing toward Roman.

“I am the father,” he responds sharp enough that the air shifts.

She lifts her hands in a placating gesture.

“Of course. What I mean is, are we testing your DNA? No offence intended.”