Dr. Tarantino perched beside her, his keen eyes scanning her face. “What seems to be the problem? Are you, perhaps, with child?”
Emily’s gaze flicked to me before returning to the doctor. She gave a weak shrug. “That’s for you to determine.”
He smiled kindly. “Well, let’s see if we can uncover the cause of your ailments.” Then, glancing over his shoulder, he added, “Might we have some privacy?”
I hesitated, my protective instincts flaring.
Malik’s voice cut through my reluctance. “Well? We must do as the doctor decrees.”
He placed a hand on my lower back and guided me from the room.
The moment we stepped into the hallway, he turned to me, his gaze scrutinizing, like an eagle assessing its prey.
I folded my arms. “What?” I avoided his stare, my eyes drifting to the plush carpet beneath our feet.
Malik leaned in slightly, amusement on his face. “You tell me.”
I scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you’re inferring.” My hands found their way to my mouth, nibbling at it absentmindedly.
A shrewd smile curved Malik’s lips. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I shook my head dismissively and leaned against the wall, my hands tucked behind my back.
We remained silent, tension thick between us, until the doctor finally called us back into the room.
As we stepped inside, Malik challenged, “Shall I prove that you already know what’s ailing Emily?”
I shot him a glare. “If you knew I knew, why did you summon a doctor?” My face burned with irritation.
His imperious, arrogant smile never faltered as he followed me inside.
Dr. Tarantino beamed at us, his chest puffed with pride. “I have splendid news! Miss Emily is with child!”
“What a surprise,” Malik drawled, his eyes locking onto mine. “Aren’t you surprised, Olivia?”
I lifted my chin. “I’m delighted, is what I am,” I countered, skirting the accusation.
The truth was, I already knew Emily might be pregnant, but I hadn’t dared say anything. If Malik knew, there was a chance he’d refuse to let her time travel—and I wasn’t about to risk that.
Dr. Tarantino held up a small glass container filled with golden liquid. “Her urine told the tale.”
I eyed the jar. “You performed a urinalysis?”
He chuckled. “I’m not so lofty as to call it that,” he said, swirling the liquid gently. “I’m what’s known as a ‘piss prophet.’”
I blinked. “A piss prophet? What on Earth is that?”
Grinning, Dr. Tarantino thrust the jar toward me. “Here. Look.”
I recoiled instinctively, stepping back.
“Note the color,” he continued, holding it dangerously close to my face. “A clear pale-lemon shade, leaning toward eggshell white, with a distinctive cloud on its surface.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I believe you.” I put up a hand, pushing the jar—and its foul stench—away.
Behind me, Malik leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s because you already knew.”
I shivered and stepped forward, brushing off his words and intoxicating scent.
