Page 44 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
“You want to see me naked in harsh fluorescent lighting?” I ask lightly, and he responds by lowering his head until his lips brush against mine—not quite a kiss, more of a promise. I want more, but this isn’t the time or place. “Don’t get me worked up right before an exam. The doctor will be able to tell, and I’ll die of embarrassment.”
Dario chuckles. “We wouldn’t want that.”
He’s just released his hold when there’s a brief knock before the door swings open.
Dr. Warren is a tall Black woman with a warm smile and sharp, intelligent eyes. She’s wearing a white coat over sky blue scrubs with matching crocs. There’s a chart in her hand, but she doesn’t look at it as she enters. Her focus is entirely on me.
“Good afternoon, Paige. I’m Dr. Warren. How are you today?”
Her voice is kind, immediately putting me at ease.
“I’m good,” I say. “Really good.”
“She’s been getting sick,” Dario cuts in sharply. When I glance at him, his expression is thunderous, like he’s personally offended by my morning sickness. “She’s lost weight and she’s throwing up every day.”
Dr. Warren nods, not remotely fazed by the aggressive edge in his tone. Most people would just see a pissed-off man whoradiates violence like heat waves off asphalt. My respect for her grows as she responds calmly.
“Morning sickness is perfectly normal in the first trimester. Usually, it goes away as pregnancy progresses, although not always.”
“This is the baby’s father,” I say, as if that isn’t painfully obvious. “Dario Andretti.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dr. Warren says diplomatically.
“You need to do something to help her,” he insists, not bothering with pleasantries.
I feel a flicker of annoyance, but then I remember this morning. He held my hair back as I bent over the toilet, emptying the meager contents of my stomach. He’s been doing that all week. I’ve learned it’s best to leave my door unlocked so he can come right in. If I don’t, I have to listen to him knocking persistently while I’m vomiting, which is irritating as hell. Besides, it’s nice to have someone with me during those miserable moments.
He’s getting the full, glamorous picture of life with a pregnant woman, but he hasn’t wavered. He holds my hair, rubs my back, and offers a cool washcloth when I’m finally done. He takes care of me when I need it most.
So I don’t snap at him for his rudeness. I know it’s coming from genuine concern.
Dr. Warren looks more amused than offended. I wonder how many difficult, worried fathers she’s dealt with over the years.
“Are you experiencing dehydration?” she asks me instead of responding to Dario. “I don’t see any visible evidence. Nosunken eyes or flaky skin. Do you experience dry mouth, dizziness, or a lack of urination?”
“No,” I answer, avoiding Dario’s gaze as we discuss my pee. It’s silly to be embarrassed about bodily functions with a man who’s seen me vomit spectacularly, but I can’t help it. Some things should remain mysterious.
Then again, I’m pretty sure he’s not leaving the room during my pelvic exam, so I might as well toughen up now.
“Then, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Dr. Warren says. “Just drink as much water as you can. It’ll keep you hydrated and might even help settle your stomach. Try to stick to bland foods. Some women report that ginger tea helps. Vitamin B6 could help too, which should be in your prenatal vitamin. If the morning sickness gets worse, or you become dehydrated, we can consider prescription medication.”
I expect Dario to argue, but her tone makes it clear that her word is law in this room. Dario might be a powerful mafia heir, but we’re in her domain now. She’s calling the shots.
He keeps his mouth shut, but his attention is laser-focused on me as the doctor asks questions about the pregnancy. She uses her stethoscope to check my lungs, takes my blood pressure, and has me lie back so she can feel my abdomen. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but I flinch when her fingers prod me. Dario moves closer, tension radiating from him like heat, and I flash him a reassuring smile.
“I’m fine,” I say softly.
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Warren says. “There are a lot of uncomfortable parts of pregnancy, but women are resilient. Paige has got this.”
I appreciate her vote of confidence, but I’m not nearly as sure of myself. There are so many overwhelming aspects to carrying and giving birth to a child, and I’m not convinced I have what it takes to handle it all with anything resembling grace.
After that, Dr. Warren calls in a nurse. It’s time for the pelvic exam. I scoot down until my ass is right at the edge of the chair, feet in the stirrups. Dario stays by my head, and I try to relax, but tension radiates through me. I bite my bottom lip so hard I taste the coppery tang of blood.
Dario’s fingers curl around my chin as his thumb gently pulls my lip from between my teeth. “Do you want me to leave?”
His question surprises me, providing a welcome distraction as the doctor performs her exam. He insisted on coming today, refusing to miss anything involving the baby.
“No,” I say. “I guess I’ll have to get used to this. It’s the same position we’ll be in in about seven months, right?”
