52. Viviana

I stop at the base of the stairs to adjust the sleeves of my dress.

Maybe it's stupid to dress up for a doctor's appointment, but I'm about to see my baby for the first time and it feels kinda like a job interview I can't afford to mess up. Plus, almost as momentous, it's the first time I've been out of the house in two weeks.

The last time I was out was to visit Dante at his new school. It took most of my energy not to weep every second we were there, and the rest of it was spent not wadding Dante up like a contraband movie theater snack and smuggling him out of the building in my purse.

I got to see Dante again last weekend when he came to the mansion to stay. For two days, life felt normal. We swam and colored and watched movies. I slept in his twin-sized bed with him and we made smiley face pancakes for breakfast.

Now, it's been a week since I've seen him and two weeks since I've seen a human not under Mikhail's employ—so, yes, I'm wearing a dress. And makeup. And I curled my hair.

Sue me for needing to feel normal.

It's just a doctor's appointment, but if Mikhail wants to take me out for lunch afterward, I don't want to show up underdressed. He wants to get me an iced coffee and a pastry after a long, lonely two weeks in the mansion? More power to him.

I swirl my lips together, smacking my gloss into place, and walk casually into the kitchen…

To find Raoul waiting for me at the counter.

He has a set of keys in his hand. "Are you ready to go?"

I look around like Mikhail might be hiding in the pantry or dangling from the chandelier. "I'm ready, but where is Mikhail?"

The look on Raoul's usually-stoic face says more than enough.

"He's not coming," I grit out. "Is he?"

"Something came up."

I can't tell whether Raoul is lying or not, but it doesn't matter. Mikhail booked this appointment for me. He pulled strings to get me in with, in his words, "the best doctor in the city." He swore up and down that I was going to get the absolute best care imaginable and he would take care of everything.

Apparently, that doesn't extend to showing up for me.

"Does he know it's a scan?" I ask. "Does he realize we're going to see the baby?"

If everything goes well, I think.

I was up late last night Googling the stats on miscarriage before eight weeks, just because I love throwing gas on the raging flames of my anxiety, I guess. A not-insignificant part of me is positive the doctor is going to impale me on that ice-cold internal probe for nothing.

This will be another false positive. Another disappointment.

The only thing that kept me from calling off the appointment and locking myself in the bathroom was the thought that, if the worst happens, I'd be able to reach over and squeeze Mikhail's hand. When the negative thoughts rose to the surface, he'd be there to keep me grounded.

Apparently not.

"He knows." Raoul tips his head towards the garage door. "Are you ready?"

I grimace and nod. Something tells me Raoul won't be holding my hand.

The ride to the doctor's office is silent and tense. Raoul and I have never been the chattiest. I don't think spending forty minutes badmouthing his boss would change that, so silence is the safest choice.

I'm actually determined to be miserable and have the worst possible time, only because I know Raoul is logging every single emotion on my face and will report it all back to Mikhail. Then I walk into the office of Dr. Rossi.

"You must be Viviana!" He grins at me under an impressively thick mustache. "My newest VIP."

I can't help but return his smile. "VIP?"

"Very Important Patient," he explains with a cartoonishly salacious wink. "Your husband is a delightful, terrifying man. He made me swear to take good care of you. Several times."

"That sounds like Mikhail."

"Of course, I would have taken care of you even without the threats because I am very good at my job." He says it in a way that doesn't sound like bragging. I just… trust him.

It's a nice feeling to have towards your doctor, especially when he lifts my thin exam gown ten minutes later and starts brandishing the internal ultrasound wand for my exam.

I'm staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pressure between my legs and the black square of the screen to my right. Not to mention the swirling black hole of dread yawning open in my stomach. Dr. Rossi can probably pick up my anxiety in the ultrasound.

Maybe that's why he lays a hand on my knee. "Easy there, Viviana. Everything will be alright."

I love him.

Sure, he's in his early seventies and his office is littered with photos of his wife and five kids, but I'm not deterred so long as he isn't. I need someone right now and this man is all I've got.

"I know these exams can be nerve-wracking, but you have nothing to worry about."

"How do you know that?"

He smiles and turns the screen to face me. "Because I'm looking at your baby right now. Why don't you join me?"

I turn and my heart stops. The world stops. Every dark, angry, anxious thought in my head disappears.

"That's my baby," I breathe. It looks like a little gummy bear on the screen. Nubby legs and arms, no neck in sight. "It's beautiful."

"I agree," Dr. Rossi says proudly. "Absolutely gorgeous. Especially that heartbeat. Strong as an ox, eh?"

He isolates the flickering white speck on the screen and a crackly whoosh-whoosh fills the room.

"So, the baby is…" There? Real? I'm not sure how to finish the sentence. I'm afraid if I do, this will all disappear.

"Perfectly healthy," Dr. Rossi finishes for me. He clicks around on the screen, taking pictures. A small printer to the side spits out the black-and-white images. "Cute as a button, too. I can tell. I have a knack for this kind of thing."

I laugh and it feels like a sigh of relief.

I just wish Mikhail was here to feel it with me.

Dr. Rossi hands over my pictures and leaves while I re-dress. A few minutes later, he comes back in with a stack of pamphlets. "We did the fun stuff first. Now, it's time for the business side of things. I have some information for you about prenatal testing."

"Is there something you're looking for?" I ask with a spike of panic.

"It's something I recommend to all my patients. When it comes to babies, knowledge is power. The more you know, the better you can prepare."

I flip through the pamphlet, my eyes skimming over the pages. In the photos, a woman grins as she reads her results. Her husband is right behind her, squeezing her shoulder and smiling alongside her. Every page is filled with happy families and beaming couples.

"The test also reveals the gender of the baby," Dr. Rossi explains. "I'm not sure if that is something you're interested in, but the test allows you to know the gender well before the usual twenty-week anatomy scan."

I never found out the gender with Dante. Somehow, I just knew he'd be a boy.

Mikhail and I haven't talked about whether we want to find out this time. We haven't had time to talk about much of anything. Even the announcement was interrupted by the FBI, though I decide not to tell Dr. Rossi about that particular wrinkle in the story.

"You can discuss with your husband before you make a choice. Just let me know and we'll see you back within two weeks to draw blood and?—"

"I want to do it," I decide all at once.

He frowns for the first time since I walked into his office. "There's no rush. You can take your time."

"Not necessary." I sit tall, shoulders back. "I want the test."

If Mikhail wanted to be part of this pregnancy, he'd be here. As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't get a say. Not when he can't even bother to show up for appointments.

With a shrug, Dr. Rossi sends me to the lab for a blood draw and then I'm spat back into the lobby where Raoul is waiting for me. If he wants to see the sonogram pictures or know anything about the baby, he hides it well. His job is to escort me to and from the appointment, not ask questions. So he doesn't.

It's another silent, stuffy drive back to the mansion. As the residential roads become more and more familiar, the little bit of joy I managed to scrape together in Dr. Rossi's exam room fades like the skyline behind us.

I have a healthy baby. I should be celebrating. I pinch the stupid hemline of my stupid dress and feel ridiculous for ever thinking there might be a date afterward.

Mikhail comes and goes whenever he wants, and I'm always just there… waiting for him. Demanding nothing.

How could I make demands when he's in the middle of a war? It seems unfair. But it's also unfair that, for the second time in my life, I'm experiencing my pregnancy alone.

Mikhail missed everything with Dante. That was my fault, I know. But I thought this time would be different.

He promised he'd always take care of our family. I just didn't realize the price would be doing this life without him.