Page 65 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

“Okay,” I whisper. “Then let’s go.”

***

The OB’s office is modern, quiet, expensive in the understated way that says, we take insurance, but we also know your net worth. There’s soft lighting and a vase of pale hydrangeas at the reception desk. A private elevator. The receptionist greets us with a voice like a spa commercial.

We sit in the waiting area, Grayson sprawled, legs wide, one hand resting on my knee. He keeps rubbing slow, steady circles on my thigh with his thumb. Like he knows I need grounding.

“I’m nervous,” I admit.

He glances over. “That’s normal.”

“I don’t like normal.”

“I know,” he says, smiling. “But sometimes it’s exactly what we need.”

When they call my name, he rises first, like a soldier or a bodyguard or maybe just a man who’s entirely in this with me.

The exam room is clean, clinical, but the lights are soft and the equipment doesn’t beep. I sit on the paper-lined table, tugging the gown closed around me, trying not to think about how exposed I feel, physically, emotionally, existentially. Grayson leans against the wall, arms crossed. Watching me. Watching everything.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I feel like a burrito in a sad hotel.”

“Still the sexiest burrito I’ve ever seen.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t hate the smile tugging at my lips.

The tech comes in, introduces herself as Jules, and dims the lights. I lie back, heart pounding. The cool gel makes me flinch, but Grayson’s hand finds mine instantly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he’s sending me silent strength.

Then the wand moves. The screen flickers. Static. Shadows. And then, there it is. A flicker. A rhythm. A heartbeat. Not mine. The baby’s.

Fast and strong, impossibly steady for something so small. The sound fills the room, soft, pulsing, alive. Like it’s announcing its presence with every beat. Grayson exhales next to me, a breath caught between awe and disbelief. His grip on my hand tightens.

“That’s…” he begins, voice hoarse.

“Real,” I whisper. And suddenly, it is.

Not just the pregnancy, or the idea of a child. But the future. Ours. Staring back at us in grainy black and white, kicking its legs like it has somewhere to be. I glance at Grayson. His expression is completely unguarded, eyes glassy, lips parted, jaw tight. This man who can command a boardroom and stare down billionaires looks like he’s witnessing a miracle.

“I didn’t think I could feel more in love with you,” he murmurs. “And then this happened.”

I can’t speak. Tears spill quietly down my cheeks as the screen shows a tiny hand fluttering against the womb. A hand that didn’t exist a few months ago. A hand we made.

“I’m terrified,” I admit, voice cracking. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Grayson turns toward me, cupping my cheek. “Neither do I. But I’ve never been more sure of anything than this, you and me. And now, this baby? We’ve got them. They’ve got us.”

A tiny foot kicks onscreen. Like punctuation. Like agreement.

I laugh through tears. “She’s already dramatic.”

“You think it’s a girl?”

“I feel it,” I say softly. “In my gut. In my bones.”

Grayson leans in and presses his forehead to mine. “Then I already love her like hell.”

We stay like that, pressed together, trembling, completely undone, as Jules prints the sonogram and quietly leaves the room. Outside, the world is chaos. Headlines. Algorithms. Matchmaking politics. But in this room, there’s only one truth: we’re already a family. And somehow, everything else just…fades away.

---