***
I sit tensely in the waiting room, taking in the light walls and the refined, minimalist décor around me.
Of course I arrived late.
Malana—the woman I spoke to on the phone—was even kinder in person and assured me I’d still be seen despite the delay. I just needed to wait a little.
This isn’t just a private clinic.
It’s a luxury clinic.
And I can’t stop the tightness in my chest.
It’s ridiculous, considering I’m a healthcare professional myself—but the anxiety refuses to leave, and it has nothing to do with the dent I just put in my credit card to pay for the appointment.
It’s what this place reminds me of.
Or rather—who.
This is exactly the kind of place I imagine Nero’s mother would frequent.
I force a slow breath and shove Lysandra’s image out of my mind.
This is supposed to be a good moment. A happy one. I won’t let her poison it just by existing in my thoughts.
I only regret not having time to tell Nero.
If I had, he would have dropped everything to come with me. He’s been worried all week about an important meeting this afternoon, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
This is just the first appointment.
I decide I’ll tell him later, when we’re home together. He won’t be happy—but I’m expecting to leave here with a full prenatal schedule in hand. I know he’ll come to all the others.
“Mrs. Nina Marchesi?”
My name is called, and I stand. A uniformed woman greets me with a polite smile and leads me down a corridor into an office with pale blue walls and ivory furniture.
“Dr. Kayrus will see you shortly,” she says.
“Thank you.”
She leaves, and I wait, drumming my fingers lightly against my thigh.
In fact, less than a minute passes before the door opens again.
“Well, that was stupidly fast,” a relatively young man says as he takes the seat opposite me, the examination desk between us.
He has light skin, dark hair and beard, and round glasses.
He adjusts his lab coat, immaculate, places a clipboard on the glass surface, and reaches for the computer beside him.
I frown, confused.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re already pregnant with the island’s heir,” he says—using the tone one might reserve forcongratulations, not accusation.
The words hit me like a slap.
