Page 122 of The Wrong Brother
The appointment passes in a blur of questions and paperwork. First day of my last period? What symptoms am I experiencing so far? IsMr. Smiththe father, or just here for emotional support?
That last one, she shot him a narrow glance.
When the doctor confirms the pregnancy, my stomach flips despite already knowing. Some irrational part of me had apparently remained convinced that the tests were wrong.
They weren’t.
“Based on your dates, you’re approximately five weeks along.”
Five weeks. It’s a tangible timeline, one that I’m slightly confused by until she explains implantation, fertilization, everything that comes after; leading right to the whisper of a life inside me.
Rus remains stoic, though he leans forward with his elbows braced. “What about an ultrasound?” he asks curtly.
She doesn’t look directly at him, jotting down notes. Instead, she says: “It’s a bit too early. We’d have you come back in about four or five more weeks.”
“Is it possible to have one done today? We’re not permanent residents, and would like some reassurance.”
I sit stock-still, not sure how she’ll respond to his polite but firm request. She turns to him with appraising eyes, tips her head, and considers.
“You’re lucky. We had a cancellation today. I can take a look, but we likely won’t see anything.”
When she explains what’ll come next—the drape, having to undress, slightly warmed gel, and the wand—I can feel the blush heating my cheeks. Rus clears his throat uncomfortably.
“I can step out?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in quickly, feeling a tumble of anxiety and insecurity. I don’t want the doctor to think this was some kind of accident, a one-night stand, even though that’sexactlywhat it is. I want her to see us as a possibility, though I hastily stand as soon as the door is shut and shuck off my pants, not pursuingwhyI might want her to see us that way.
“Not like you haven’t seen this already,” I mutter. Rus has his eyes averted anyway, and dutifully takes my folded jeans when I hand them over before settling back on the bed.
Moments later there’s a knock, and then minutes later the doctor’s face is unsurprised.
“It’s simply too early. But there’s a gestational sac, which I’d expect. You’re definitely pregnant. Whenever you get home, call your local OB and let them know how far along you are. They’ll get you in on the right timeline.”
I nod. Beside me, Rus watches the screen like it contains state secrets. Even though there isn’t anything to see except for a roundish shape, I have to squint to focus on it.
“Everything appears normal so far.”
Relief washes through me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear those words.
The doctor continues explaining things, discussing timelines, follow-up appointments, nutrition, and what to expect over the coming weeks.
Then her expression sharpens slightly.
“And before anyone gets any ideas...”
Her gaze shifts directly to Rus. Uh-oh.
“I’d like to make something very clear. Any decisions regarding this pregnancy belong toher.”
The sudden quiet feels awkward, but she sits through it easily. Ruslan sits back, head tipped back, and nods. “Of course.”
I know exactly why she’s saying it. She doesn’t know our history, that he’s already made it clear the choice is mine. She doesn’t know about Andrei or the past abortion I went through in a whirlwind, not even able to decide what—if anything—I wanted.
She sees an intimidating, wealthy man in an expensive coat and assumes she needs to establish boundaries.
Fair.
“I am aware of that,” Rus says, leveling her with that gaze. The one I’ve seen him use with his guards, or when he’s having certain conversations on the phonenotrelated to the fashion business.
