Chapter Thirty
Sienna
I triedto focus on the magazine in my hands, but I couldn’t. My brain was incapable of reading the words, my nerves too raw to think of anything else. Every time the door opened, I tensed up, expecting it to be my turn.
Silas placed a hand on my knee, stopping the jitter twitch in my leg. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”
We had driven miles to a doctor in Sacramento to be sure no one who saw us would know my dad and the entire Whitlock dynasty.
I glanced around the waiting room. The chairs were white; the walls were white; even the magazines were predominantly white. I could feel the whiteness seep into my clothes, my skin, into my mind.
There was a large, wooden desk at the center. The receptionist sat behind it, swamped with papers and ringing phones.
The air in the waiting room was stale and smelled of disinfectant. The soft, calming sound of classical music came from a small speaker attached to the corner of the wall, and a couple who sat across from us kept on whispering to each other. The rings on their fingers and smiles on their faces confirmed they were a married couple consumed with the excitement of having a baby. The woman’s prominent baby bump told me they wouldn’t have to wait much longer for their little bundle of joy.
I looked down at my hand, my palm flush against my stomach. Hopefully, once I was that far along, I’d think of the baby as my little bundle of joy, too.
“Mrs. Whitlock.”
I glanced up at the nurse.
“Right this way.”
My legs felt numb as I stood. I was sure I’d fall on my ass if I moved. But Silas gently nudged against my arm as if to say,‘I’m right here.’It gave me a slight sense of ease knowing I wasn’t alone.
I smiled as best I could when I greeted the nurse and followed her down the hall. Once inside the examination room, my stomach felt heavy, my heart racing impossibly fast as I glanced around.
The walls were painted a soft, soothing lavender while the same antiseptic smell lingered in the room. A painting of a bouquet of white and pink roses hung against the wall. Flowers were always the safe option for any office when one of your objectives was to keep everything neutral and vibrant. To have an image of a mother holding a baby wouldn’t exactly have been the ‘sensitive option’ if you were dealing with a woman who just had a miscarriage.
“So, Mrs. Whitlock—”
“Miss.” I corrected the nurse and felt my cheeks burn.
She didn’t even blink as she turned her attention to Silas. “And you are Miss. Whitlock’s partner?”
“Oh God, no,” Silas blurted. “No. She’s my little sister.”
“I see.”
I had to suppress a snicker.
“Okay, so, Miss Whitlock. Based on the date of your last period, you’re around six weeks pregnant?”
“Yes.”
She pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “Have you had any blood-work done?”
“No. Not yet. I wasn’t sure...you know, how this all works.”
A thoughtful expression crossed her face, a stray strand of blonde hair fanning down her cheek. “No worries. We’ll take care of it. Any health issues I should know about? Heart conditions, blood pressure, diabetes?”
I shook my head. “No. None of that.”
“Any recent trips overseas?”
“No.”
“And you’re not currently taking any medication?”