19
PETYR
I lead Sima by the arm into the private study of Dr. Maryam Agar.
Sima catches sight of the name on the plaque and snorts. “Of course. A woman. God forbid I get frisky with a male doctor behind the curtain. Maybe I’d end up double pregnant.”
“Don’t start.”
“Too late. You dragged me in here like I can’t put one foot in front of the other. Do you want me to thank you for the privilege of seeing a doctor for your own peace of mind? Should I clap while you watch?” She pretends to gasp and covers her face with one hand. “I know! We’ll have a party. A nice baby shower.”
“Sima…”
“The doctor will put the results in the cake. Then we can invite everyone who’s still alive from the wedding.” She claps like she can’t wait. “Oh, and Bella Hadid.”
I tighten my grip on her arm until she wrenches free and sits down hard in the chair across from me.
“Very gentlemanly,” she mutters.
“Be quiet.” I glance around the waiting room to check if anyone is looking at us. But Dr. Agar’s other patients seem absorbed in their own matters. No one pays any attention to the bickering couple in the corner.
My gaze sweeps over the other couples. They look happy. Radiant. Trading hugs and kisses like it’s the luckiest day of their lives.
When I glance back down at Sima, I realize she’s looking, too. “You really think I’d lie to you about this,” she whispers, her sarcasm gone.
My jaw works, but nothing comes out.
“Of course you do,” she goes on. “That’s your favorite trick. Whatever I say, you twist it.”
“You’ve lied before.” I’m getting sick of hearing myself say that, though. Every time I fling that accusation at Sima, it starts feeling more and more like I’m repeating lines rather than saying something I believe in.
Her arms fold tight across her chest. “I lied because you gave me no choice. You think I wanted to live like this? I wanted to survive.”
I narrow my eyes. “So maybe you’re surviving now.”
“And what would lying about the baby do for me? Buy me a few weeks? Make you change your mind about letting me go? You already said that’s not an option.”
“It’s not.”
“Right. So then stop pretending I’m playing games with you. You’re the one playing games. Withmylife.” She shakes her head, eyes burning. “If you don’t trust me, then at least admit you don’t trust yourself.”
I shift in my seat instead of firing back. That knot of unease in my chest hasn’t loosened since last night. I keep replaying her words in my head.
“You’ve lied to me since the beginning. About what you wanted. What I was to you. Don’t act like you’re the only one with the right to doubt.”
She asked why she would lie when the truth would be obvious soon enough. I brushed it off last night, but it keeps echoing now as I sit in the waiting room.
By the time our appointment hour rolls around, my mind is a tangled mess of second thoughts.
She’s right. Fuck me, she’s right.
Yes, she lied about who she was. She pretended to be someone else when she walked into my house.
But I lied, too. I looked her in the eye and acted like I didn’t know she was a Danilo.
Except that I did. I knew from the start. And I let her believe otherwise simply because it suited me. I thought I could use her, bend her, and break her into what I needed.
No wonder she took off the first chance she got.
