Page 40 of After-Hours Heir

The doctor put some gel on her stomach, and at that point, Christos was given permission to come back into the room.

She wondered how long it had been since anyone had told him what to do. She imagined it had been even longer since he had complied.

When the Doppler was put onto her stomach, she paid close attention to the screen. It only took a moment for a swooshing rhythmic sound to fill the room.

“There’s the baby’s heartbeat,” said the doctor.

A hard pang hit her in the chest, made her feel hollowed-out. She didn’t know what she had been more terrified of. Finding out that there was no heartbeat, or this.

That realization made her want to weep, because of course it should be easy to want the heartbeat. To want to keep the promise of this life that had come into her life when she had taken the pregnancy test. But it was also hard. She could imagine holding a baby, her baby, and it was a beautiful thought. But she was also just so afraid. Because she had all but signed her marriage license with this heartbeat. And there would be no going back.

“The test is finished,” one of the other medical staffers said. “You are the father, Mr. Onassis.”

Sylvie had known for a fact what the outcome would be. She found she couldn’t even bring herself to react to the news.

Christos was staring at the screen with his expression like granite. Still hoping to find out that there was a chance the baby wasn’t his, she supposed. How was she supposed to feel about this? How in the world could she feel simple joy?

It was impossible. When the whole situation was just so complicated. She swallowed hard.

“You are about thirteen weeks,” the doctor said.

Thirteen weeks.

If the test hadn’t been conclusive, surely that would have done it.

She glanced up to where Christos was standing and tried to see if there had been a change in his expression.

But he was as stoic as ever.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe all that would ever matter to him was black-and-white dates.

The doctor took measurements, but admittedly, she couldn’t tell what she was looking at.

Her vision was too blurry anyway.

She couldn’t tell if it was tears, anger or stress.

When she was finished, she went back into the bedroom to change. She was shaking. And when she came back out, the equipment was gone, but the nurse and doctor and chaplain remained.

The nurse looked at her, with sharp eyes.

“I agreed to it,” she said.

There was a marriage license, already filled out. And the prenup was there. It was brief and allowed for revision, just as he’d said.

He’d taken care of everything. How fortunate for her.

It was just all so…so cold.

She blinked. Of course he had all of this. Because, of course, he was Christos Onassis, and he could make the world turn in a different direction if he wanted to. She would spare herself the monologue.

It turned out, you didn’t really have to say vows to get married. Not in the traditional sense. They had to be pronounced husband and wife by someone ordained and file the right paperwork. And they did.

It didn’t feel like a marriage. It didn’t feel like anything.

She was wearing the same thing she had been wearing at work. They hadn’t kissed. They hadn’t promised to love, honor or obey one another. They hadn’t promise to stay together at all.

Marriage, she realized, really was about the emotion. The ceremony. The paperwork felt like nothing. She might as well have filed her taxes.