Page 164
Veronica’s eyes flash. “You’re unbelievable. You know I didn’t cheat.”
The doctor shifts uncomfortably, clearly wanting to stay out of the crossfire. “We can discuss—”
“I’m not doing the test until after the baby is born,” Veronica cuts in, stubborn.
I nod once, jaw tight. “Then I will not be contacting you again until the baby is born. I’m done entertaining this if you’re refusing me a paternity test.”
Her mouth falls open, fury and disbelief warring across her face as the words land. She looks like she’s about to launch into another tirade, but I don’t give her the chance.
“Or,” I continue, “we can do the blood test next week and I’ll have my lawyer start on custody paperwork right now. Your call.”
Veronica’s mouth snaps shut. I watch the fight drain out of her expression as the words land, replaced by something colder and more calculating. She leans back against the exam table, one hand resting protectively over her bump while her eyes narrow at me.
She doesn’t need my money. We both know that. Her family has more than enough to keep her comfortable for several lifetimes. She wants leverage, and keeping me in the dark about the paternity of the baby has given her that. She knows me well enough to know I couldn’t actually wash my hands of this potential child without being 100% certain it isn’t mine.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. The Doctor makes themselves busy typing notes on their laptop.
Finally, Veronica lifts her chin, her voice tight and controlled. “We can discuss this between our lawyers.”
It’s not agreement, but it’s not outright refusal either. She’s stalling, likely knows that will drag things out another few weeks.
“Fine,” I say. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
Chapter forty-two
Blaire
“Blaire!” I hear Simon’s boots getting kicked off and tossed onto the shoe rack.
“Kitchen!” I call back, turning the heat down on the pasta sauce.
I don’t even hear him walking towards me before his arms are around me from behind. His chest presses warm against my back, and his mouth finds the side of my neck, lips hot and insistent.
“Simon!” I squeal, laughing as the wooden spoon clatters against the pot.
He doesn’t let go. Instead he spins me in his arms, hands already sliding under my sweater like he can’t stand even an inch of space between us. “Let’s make a baby,” he murmurs against my throat. “Right now.”
I pull back just enough to see his face.
His eyes are bright, almost wild with something I can’t quite name.
“What? Simon, what are you—”
He lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, stepping between my legs so I’m forced to look down at him. His hands rest on my hips, thumbs stroking just under the hem of my shirt.
“I want another baby with you,” he says, voice low and rough. “Let’s have one.”
A surprised laugh slips out of me. “Simon, we agreed to wait until after the wedding. What has gotten into you?”
He hesitates for half a second, and I feel the shift in him—the way the playful hunger cracks open to reveal something deeper. “The anatomy scan with Veronica today.”
My stomach drops. The wooden spoon stills in my hand. “And?”
“It’s a boy.”
The relief that floods through me is so sharp it almost makes me dizzy. I don’t say the words out loud—neither of us does—but we both feel the quiet selfishness of it, the way our shoulders drop at the same time. I reach up and touch his cheek, my thumb brushing the stubble along his jaw.
He leans into my palm. “I want a baby,” he repeats, softer now.
