"Babies are remarkably resilient." She turns the screen so I can see. "See that flicker? That's your little one, perfectly healthy."
I stare at the image—the tiny blob that looks nothing like a baby but somehow is one. That's my child. Our child.
"Is it—are they—" The words stick in my throat.
"Strong heartbeat, measuring right on track for eleven weeks gestation. Everything looks good, Hannah. Now that we have that out of the way, let’s take a look at the rest of you.”
The relief is so intense it makes me lightheaded all over again. I press my hands to my face, trying to hold myself together, but I'm coming apart at the seams.
"I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready. But I thought?—”
"Few people are," the doctor says with a laugh. "But ready or not, you're going to be a mother in about thirty weeks."
"Does the father know?" the doctor asks while she runs hands over my arms.
"It's complicated."
"It always is."
After being wheeled for a CT scan and then placed back in the room to wait for results, I close my eyes and try to process everything.
Alexei bursts into the room, eyes wild as he looks me over.
"Well?" he demands.
“I’m fine. Maybe a concussion. I’ll have a few stitches in my head.”
He closes his eyes briefly, and I see relief war with something else on his face. Concern, maybe. Or judgment.
"Hannah," he starts.
"Don't."
"You have to tell him."
"I will." When, I'm not sure. How, I have no idea. But eventually, I'll have to. "Just not yet."
"He's going to find out eventually. Better it comes from you than?—"
"Please, Alexei. I need to do this my way, in my own time."
He stares at me and look like he’s the one that’s going to be sick. "He's my brother. Not by blood, but by choice. I don't like keeping secrets from him."
"I'm not asking you to lie. I'm just asking you not to volunteer information that's mine to share."
"And if he asks me directly?"
"Then you tell him the truth." I can live with that. "But until he asks, please. Let me handle this."
Alexei's phone buzzes, and he glances at the screen. "Bogdan. Probably wondering where we are."
"Don't—"
"I'll tell him you had a minor accident, nothing serious. Which is technically true." His gray eyes pin me in place. "But Hannah? You can't hide a pregnancy forever. Especially not from someone like Dante."
21
HANNAH
