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“My baby,” Maria says, relieved. She turns to me, and I hold her against my chest as the weight of my worries leaves me.
My shoulders slump, and I allow myself a moment to exhale. “Thank you.”
Maria starts to recite prayers, but the man is still standing there as if he has something else to say.
His eyes lock with mine, and there’s something there I’m unsure I can decipher. “We will keep Cristina here for observation and, of course, keep you updated regularly.” Before leaving, he regards me in a way I dislike. There’s pity in his gaze. Something is wrong.
“I need to speak to Mr. Mancini,” he says.
Maria and I exchange looks, but before she has a chance to talk about Gio and how Cristina is a widow, I interrupt. “I’m Mr. Mancini. When can I see her?”
“In a little while. It’s best for her to rest as long as she needs to.”
Even though I want to see her, I don’t argue with the man who saved her life and who gives off a quiet, confident sort of energy. If I saw her now, it would be to tame my base instincts rather than because it’s what’s best for her.
“If you would follow me, please.” Dr. Bautista leads the way around the corner and through a narrow door into an office with a messy desk, an overflowing bookshelf in the back, and yet more books on the floor. I suppress the urge to chastise him for putting books on the floor.
“Whose office is this?” I ask, hoping it’s not his.
“I have no clue,” the surgeon says as he sits behind the mahogany desk. “I’m not sure it has an owner. Everyone seems to use it.” He gestures toward the guest chair as he explains. “Hence the disorder.” He seems to dislike disorder as well. I nod in approval.
The surgeon laces his fingers together before beginning. “Mr. Mancini, have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.” I’ll be restless until I see her.
“As you might know, in cases such as these, we routinely check bloodwork. During the surgery, the labs on her blood came back positive for pregnancy.”
Should’ve sat down. I grab the chair and sit now. “Cristina is on the pill,” I announce. She keeps them in the kitchen next to the coffee.
“I understand.” That look in his eye from the hallway was pity. Genuine pity. I didn’t recognize it before because I’ve never seen it directed at me in such a compassionate manner. I presume Cristina is stable, but the pregnancy is not.
“We were able to stabilize the mother.” He pauses, and I use the opportunity to inhale a deep breath so that when he says whatever comes next, I can remain collected.
“Go on,” I tell him.
“The baby seems fine.”
I exhale, drop my head into my hands, and give myself a moment of reprieve before sitting back in the chair. “The baby is fine for now, you mean, but might not be fine eventually?”
There’s a gentle smile on his face, pity still showing. I think he’s worried.
I’m trying to be happy because this man is telling me I’m going to be a father, but the dread isn’t going away. I don’t know if he’s giving me the good news before the bad or if that’s all the news I’m getting today.
When I say nothing, he continues, “This is a delicate situation that I will monitor vigilantly. Thank you for allowing me to care for your wife.”
My wife.
I’m still on mute mode, but I nod as if I’m fine after he told me the woman who might not want to marry me, might not forgive me for being a royal asshole when I seized her property and pretty much ruined her life, is having my baby. Cristinadidn’t even let me propose. What this news is going to do to her, I have no idea.
“Excuse me,” I tell him. “I’m having a mental coping session. Shouldn’t be too long now.” I scrub my face and shake out my shoulders.
“There is more,” he says.
“Hit me with it. Go ahead.” I grip the armrest.
“In a case where I have to make a choice between the mother and the baby, I would?—”
“You will choose the mother.”
