Page 19 of Slightly Married
“What are you doing here?” I asked. This was the first time I’d seen him since I’d arrived in Greece.
“My understanding of basic biology is that my presence is required,” he replied.
I frowned, tucking away my phone. “But you’ve already provided the sample.”
“So I did,” he added, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Without Stella’s assistance.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. The casual mention of his fiancée coupled with the implication of how he might have produced his sample sent my imagination places it had no business going.
“The procedure only requires me,” I clarified, smoothing my white tee tucked into a mini jean skirt. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to be present for my child’s conception.”
His words caught me off guard. I’d assumed he’d simply drop off his contribution and return to his life with Stella, showing up again only when there was news to share.
“Fine,” I nodded, making a quick mental calculation. “But you only enter the room after I’ve undressed and am lying under the sheets, and you must stay by my head at all times.”
“Deal,” he answered immediately.
Twenty minutes later, I was lying on the examination table, sheet draped over my lower half, feeling vulnerable. The paper crinkled beneath me with every movement. When Konstantin entered, he seemed unsure of where to position himself.
Dr. Petrova breezed in after and handed Konstantin some paperwork. “Congratulations, Mr. Christakis. Your sperm had an exceptionally high survival rate post-wash.”
The pride that spread across his face was almost comical. Men and their egos.
I rolled my eyes.
She laughed good-naturedly. “Now, let’s get started.”
I fixed my gaze on the ceiling, trying to ignore the procedure. This wasn’t how I’d imagined creating my first child—legs in stirrups, a doctor with a catheter, and my almost-stranger husband standing awkwardly beside me.
Yet despite everything, a small flutter of excitement stirred in my stomach. Even as a little girl dressing up my dolls, I’d dreamed of being a mother someday.
I’d imagined teaching my daughter to braid her hair, or showing my son how to tie a perfect Windsor knot. I’d pictured family dinners filled with laughter and weekend trips to museums and parks.
When Dr. Petrova inserted the catheter, I winced at the unexpected pinch.
“All done,” she announced moments later. “We’ll need you to remain lying down for about thirty minutes, Mrs. Christakis. Then you’re free to go.”
After she left, an awkward silence filled the room.
“How have you been?” he finally asked.
A laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Making small talk while I’m lying here with your sperm inside me? That’s a new level of weird.”
His deep chuckle filled the room, the sound warming something in me I didn’t want to feel. “Fair point.”
“I’ve been fine,” I replied after a moment. “Your mother has been kind. Your aunt less so, but I have Tia.”
“I’m glad.”
Later, as we rode back to the villa, he broke the comfortable silence. “Do twins really run in your family?”
“Why?” I faced him, curious about the random question.
“You mentioned it to Stella on the plane.”
I smiled at the memory of Stella’s horrified expression. “Oh, that. I made it up.”
