Skylar studies me for a long moment, and I can tell she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Okay.” She holds up her hands in surrender, though her eyes still hold that knowing glint. “But if you change your mind and want to talk about it, you know where to find me. There’s no shame in sleeping with your fated mate, Fern. That’s literally what the lottery is for. The whole point is to bring compatible pairs together.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I push away from the counter and dump my untouched coffee in the sink, watching the brown liquid swirl down the drain. “I should get to my office. I have a patient in twenty minutes, and I need to review my notes.”
“Fern, wait—”
“I’ll see you at lunch.”
I escape before she can say anything else. The hallway stretches ahead of me with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and my stomach churns with every step. I press my hand against it again, a habit I’ve developed over the past few days, willing the nausea to subside.
Pregnant. The word echoes in my head, bouncing around my skull like a pinball.
I can’t be pregnant. I’ve been careful. Mostly careful. There was that first time in the woods, right after the ceremony, when neither of us was thinking about anything except each other. Everything happened so fast, and protection was the last thing on either of our minds. And the other time, after the break-in, when I was so scared, and he was so warm and solid and safe that I just needed to feel something other than fear.
Okay. Maybe I haven’t been that careful.
But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m on birth control. Although…birth control fails sometimes. But not that often. The odds are in my favor.
This is just stress, just my body reacting to everything that’s happened with Robbie. The break-in. The constant looking over my shoulder. The knowledge that he’s out there somewhere, watching, waiting for another opportunity. Once they catch him, once I can finally relax and feel safe again, the sickness will go away.
It has to. Because the alternative is too terrifying to consider.
I round the corner toward my office and stop dead in my tracks.
The door is open. I always close it when I leave. Always.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I approach, one careful step at a time. Maybe I forgot this morning. I was distracted, still groggy from another restless night. Maybe the cleaning staff came through early and left it open by accident. Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation that doesn’t involve—
“Hello, Fern.”
The voice freezes me in place.
Robbie stands in the middle of my office with his hands clasped behind his back. A bruise covers his right temple where I hit him with the lamp, purple and yellow around the edges, a week old and still healing. He looks thinner than I remember; his cheeks are hollow, and his eyes sunken with dark circles beneath them. But the smile on his face is exactly the same. Warm. Charming. Dangerous.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he continues in a conversational tone. “We need to talk.”
“Get out,” I snap. “Get out of my office right now.”
“That’s not very friendly.” He takes an unhurried step toward me. “I came all this way to see you, drove for days, tracked you across state lines, and that’s the greeting I get? Not even a hello?”
“I mean it, Robbie. Leave, or I’ll scream for security.”
“Go ahead.” He gestures toward the door with an open palm. “Call for help. But you might want to hear what I have to say first.”
I should run. I should turn around and sprint down the hallway and find Connor or Dylan or anyone who can make Robbie disappear. But something in his tone roots me to the spot. A warning. A threat hiding behind that pleasant, practiced smile.
“Say it and get out.”
“I know about your new boyfriend. The big one with the muscles and the attitude. Connor, isn’t it? I’ve been watching you two together. The way he looks at you. The way you look at him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He takes another step closer, and his hands drop to his sides. “I hate it when you lie to me, Fern. You know that. You know how much I hate it.”
“We broke up, Robbie. Over a year ago. You don’t get to have an opinion about who I spend my time with anymore.”
