“I take it this is a surprise?”
Cora bit down on her lip. A surprise? You could say that. She nodded quickly towards the obstetrician, who handed Cora some paper towels with which to wipe her belly clean. It left a sticky residue that felt funny as Cora slipped her shirt back into place.
“I don’t look pregnant.”
“Everyone’s different,” the obstetrician said with a lift of one shoulder, moving to her desk and pulling out a pad. Cora hadn’t shown last time, either. If Alf hadn’t blabbed to his indiscreet circle of friends, no one would have known that Cora had been expecting, or that she’d lost the baby. “I’m going to write down some vitamins I’d like you to start taking, as well as the appointments we’ll have in the next few months. My cell phone number is on the bottom of the page, call me if you’re worried about anything, any time.” The doctor handed the paper over. “Try not to worry, Cora. The fact you’ve had a miscarriage in the past doesn’t mean anything will go wrong now. In fact, everything is looking textbook. Congratulations.”
Congratulations.The word reverberated around and around her head as she walked out of the medical offices and onto the street, into the strangely bright daylight.
Cora groaned, because she was happy, so happy, but also, terrified and devastated.
How could she tell Samir that they’d made a baby?
There was no way for them to be together, to raise this baby in a family. No way for him to acknowledge their baby, even. He’d balked at the idea of beingfriends, how could he possibly support the idea of co-parenting?
So what did that mean?
She had to tell him. He’d have an idea of how to handle this. But what? What could he suggest or offer? What about this baby changed a damned thing? He still couldn’t be with her, couldn’t marry her. Not without invoking the condemnation of his people, and God knew the people of Al Medina—Samir—had already been through enough.
Telling him would feel good in the moment, but it would only be putting an enormous burden on his shoulders. It would mean sharing her load, but at what cost?
Devastating Samir? Complicating his life with a problem to which there was no solution? Not that their baby was aproblem,not for Cora, but she wasn’t such a fantasist as to think it wouldn’t be a problem for him.
She tinkered with the necklace she wore, pulling it side to side, stomach in knots, a now-familiar sense of nausea gripping her, so she knew she needed to eat something bland, immediately.
With a quick scan of the street, she chose a restaurant at random and pushed through the doors, her stomach churning at the immediate assault of fragrances—garlic, meat, oil. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? But then, she spied a tray of flatbread and knew it would help.
Just a small serve, to set her on her way.
“Cora?”
Her heart flopped. Really? What were the chances? She turned to see Anastasios’s fiancé Phoebe standing, waving at her from a table.
“This is so lucky! I was supposed to be meeting someone but they just had to cancel, so I’m all on my own. I was just going to leave but now that you’re here, let’s eat together.”
Cora adored Phoebe. She’d been wonderful for Cora’s uptight cousin, but her head was in a state of complete flux courtesy of the news she’d just received. “I was just going to grab something to go,” she said with a grimace. “I have an appointment I’m running late to.”
“Oh, what a shame. Well, in that case, I’ll do the same, and walk with you a little. I wanted to talk to you today anyway.”
“Oh?”
“About the wedding?”
“How are your plans coming?” Cora asked through gritted teeth, as her stomach revolted. Fortunately, a waiter appeared then and they placed their order, moving to the side of the counter to wait.
“Oh, I don’t meanmywedding. Mila and Leo’s,” she clarified. “I wanted to organise a little bridal shower for Mila but it’s really not my thing. I know how busy you are, but I wondered if perhaps you’d be able to help?” She pressed her hands together, and Cora laughed, despite her turmoil. Phoebe was one of the most charming, loveable and utterly kind people Cora had ever met.
“OfcourseI’ll help you.” Perhaps the distraction would be good? At that moment, a waiter passed carrying a tray laden with steak and seafood and Cora’s stomach twisted in a way she knew very, very well. “I—excuse me,” she spun quickly, locating the amenities and rushing through the restaurant, just barely making it to a toilet before losing the meagre breakfast she’d had.
Damn it.
Taking the time to be sure she was finished, then wash her hands and rinse her mouth, it was almost ten minutes before Cora returned to Phoebe, who was waiting with a brown paper bag and a concerned look on her face.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling one hundred per cent.”
“No,” Phoebe murmured, linking her arm with Cora’s and leading her from the restaurant. She was conscious of the heads that turned towards them, and hated that they were noticed—Xenakis women.
There’d be photos for sure, taken on cell phones and uploaded to the internet. Her blood boiled.