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Dr. Patel looks pleased with my answers and allows me to sit down at the desk again. The silence in the room feels charged as she taps away on her keyboard, but I do my best to ignore it.
“I spoke with the owner of Cupid’s Court before, and he wants answers.”
“You what?” I screech. “You had no right!”
She brushes some lint off her shoulder before pinning me with a cold glare. “I had every right, Abigail. You’re under contract. Besides, this doesn’t just involve you. Mickey and Soren are VIP clients, which means it’s important we figure out how this mishap occurred—”
“Fet is not a fucking mishap,” I seethe.
Dr. Patel clears her throat. “Yes, well… whatever you want to call it, we need to understand how. We also need to discuss a paternity test because if you’ve been with anyone else, you’re in breach of your contract.”
I know what she means; since Mickey and Soren have been my only clients at Cupid’s, if it’s not one of them, they’ll automatically assume I’ve slept around outside of the club. But I haven’t. The only men I’ve been with are the two of them.
She continues to drone on, mentioning that if Mickey or Soren aren’t the biological dad, I won’t just have to pay back everything I’ve earned, I’ll be sued for damages, which includes legal fees, and a lot of other things I hadn’t even considered until now.
Losing the battle with my temper, I slam my fist into the table. “Enough!” I look from Soren to Mickey, wanting to see if they have anything to say, but they wisely keep their mouths shut. Cowards. “They can take the money back, I don’t care. But don’t you sit there and threaten me. I haven’t breached anything. So go on, continue your questions.” My breath is coming out in small angry puffs.
Dr. Patel flips open my file with a practiced flick of her wrist. She peers at me over the rim of her glasses, and I know I’m about to be grilled.
“Have you been sexually active outside of Cupid’s Court?”
“No.”
“Have you had intercourse with anyone other than Mr. Davis and Mr. Taylor?”
“No.”
It takes everything in me to remain calm as she hurls a never-ending stream of questions at me at a rapid pace. Most of them aren’t even about anything I filled out on the questionnaire when we arrived, it’s about my sexcapades. It feels like she’s trying to… Oh my God, she’s totally trying to trip me up.
“Since being approved at Cupid’s Court, have you seen healthcare providers other than those assigned to you?”
“No.”
“Have you taken any supplements not prescribed by myself?”
“No.”
“Have you been on any medications that you haven’t disclosed?” she asks, her tone showing she’s getting exasperated.
That causes me to pause. Just for a moment, but it’s enough that she picks up on it as I chew on my lower lip, feeling the piercing gaze of both Mickey and Soren boring into me. “I—I took St. John’s Wort for my depression,” I admit, my voice small in the sterile room.
“St. John’s Wort?” Dr. Patel echoes. Her brow furrows as she scribbles notes. “When did you last take it?”
I try to think back to when I ran out, and I think it was just after Christmas. Or maybe it was before… shit. “I don’t remember exactly,” I explain. “Some time in December.”
“Abigail!” Dr. Patel’s voice is sharp like a whip. “That’s important information. That herb can interfere with the effectiveness of hormonal birth control.”
I wince, heat creeping up my neck. How could I have been so careless? “I didn’t know,” I mumble, avoiding their stares.
“Didn’t know or didn’t think it was important?” Mickey’s suspicion pricks at me, his silver eyes icy.
Dr. Patel gives me a stern look that has my stomach churning with guilt. “You need to be more careful, Abigail. Anything you take can have an impact on your health and, in this case, your pregnancy.”
My mind swirls with the weight of my mistake, the implications far-reaching and terrifying. How did I let this happen? I should’ve known better, should’ve been more responsible.
Heat flashes my cheeks, an inferno of embarrassment and shame roaring through my veins as the room closes in around me. Mickey’s silver gaze is like a knife, sharp and slicing through the haze of panic that threatens to choke me.
“Did you plan this, Gail? Did you want to get knocked up by us so badly?” His voice is a harsh whisper, but it booms in the compact space of Dr. Patel’s sterile office.
