There’s no definitive cause for why it develops.
Then there’s the risk associated with in-utero paternity tests. I didn’t spend much time looking those up, but I think they can be dangerous.
No way in hell I’m missing today’s appointment. I need to be there.
“No.”
Alyssia juts her head backward. “I didn’t ask a question.”
“I’m not missing today’s appointment. And aren’t those paternity tests dangerous?”
“It’s a simple blood test. It’ll give you the assurance I’m certain you’ll want once things progress … if things progress,” she mumbles the last part, before she begins massaging her left shoulder.
The image of the rose tattoo that resides on that shoulder flashes through my mind.
The way she closes in on herself, and avoids eye contact, bristles against some emotion inside of me.
“Do you think I don’t believe you?” I ask.
She shrugs, her eyes not meeting mine. “Why would you? You’re a hot shot racer of some kind.”
“Formula 1.”
She gives me a blank expression.
I’d already figured Alyssia has no idea what Formula 1 is. Anyone who knows the sport even remotely would know my face. Not to mention she was in a room full of F1 drivers last night and didn’t seem fazed. Of course, most of the servers didn’t, but I did catch a few breaking their professional façade and admiringly watching some of us.
Not Alyssia.
I’ve dated women in the past who would pretend to not know what I do for a living, all for that charade to come tumbling down within a few weeks as they pleaded for tickets to my races for their friends and family.
Alyssia doesn’t strike me as that type.
“Right, that,” she says, pushing out a sigh. “This news was sprung on you last night, so I’m positive you’re not thinking correctly. Which is why I’ve already decided to get the test done. Once you have proof, you can give it some time to decide how you would like to proceed.”
She moves to take a step out of the hallway, but I crowd her space.
“In my line of work, I’m tasked with making split second decisions,” I say, my words finally bringing her gaze up to meet mine. “Each year my team puts millions of dollars on the line, hires hundreds of engineers, strategists, and mechanics all tasked with analyzing countless pieces of data.”
The more I speak, the more her face crumples in confusion.
“They’re all more educated than me in their specific field, and they get paid a lot of money to make the right call when everything is on the line. But at the end of the day, the person with their foot on the throttle is me,” I explain.
“What are you talking about?” Alyssia asks.
“I listen to their expertise, get their opinion, and defer to their decision-making abilities on many occasions, but often I’m left to rely on only one thing. My instincts. I’ve learned to trust my instincts when it comes to important calls, Alyssia.”
My stomach muscles clench when I recall the wrong call I made last season. The one that cost me the final race. I’ve warred with myself over the past month and a half over who’s fault my loss was.
It was mine.
Which is why I won’t be making the same mistake now. I’m going with my instincts.
“I explained my intentions last night.” My voice comes out grim, darker than I’d planned. I don’t like being second guessed. “I don’t need to figure out how I’m going to proceed because I’ve already decided. As long as you’re carrying my baby, I’m not going anywhere.”
Alyssia drops her head, then looks back up at me, blinking.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re intense?”
