That’s why he took the deal with the dean rather than moving out-of-state.
I love that about him. But I hate it, too. Because I’m jealous and selfish. I hug the pain twisting in my mid-section. God, this fucking hurts.
A fist knocks on the door. “Ivory Westbrook?”
The unfamiliar voice is deeply masculine. Probably the nurse or Emeric’s dad. So what do I do? I dread seeing Emeric with Joanne, but I can’t stay in here forever.
I climb to my feet, wipe away stray tears, and open the door.
The man on the other side stands a foot taller than me. Frank Marceaux, M.D. is embroidered on his white coat, but there’s nothing familiar in his handsome features. Wrinkles line his brow, though not many. He’s probably in his fifties? Reddish-brown hair combs back from a severe widow’s peak. Thick eyebrows curve over green eyes, and a small gold ring cuffs his earlobe.
But it’s his presence that denotes the family resemblance. Hands behind his back, feet planted in a wide stance, he studies me with too much focus. A shiver trills up my spine.
He raises an auburn brow. “Are you ready?”
No, definitely not. I slide the phone in my back pocket. “Yeah.”
As I follow him through the waiting room, my gaze locks on the wall of windows and the scene playing out in the parking lot. My shoes stick to the floor, and every cell in my body zeroes in on Emeric.
He paces a circle around Joanne. His mouth moves, his eyes blaze, but his overall posture conveys calm confidence.
She stares at her hands where they rub her belly, head lowered, and lips in a thin line. Probably the way I look when he’s teaching me a lesson.
Jealousy burns hot and fierce in my chest.
“Ivory,” Dr. Marceaux says.
I step forward to follow then pause.
Emeric stops just behind Joanne, breathing down her neck. With his fists on his hips, no part of him touches her, but he’s so close. The kind of closeness two people share when they’ve spent a lot of time together. When they’re familiar and intimate.
My heart squeezes and shrivels. She knows him better than I do. He’s been inside her, put a baby in her, and I’m… I don’t know what I am to him. We haven’t even had sex.
“Ivory.” Dr. Marceaux steps in front of me, blocking my view. “Follow me.”
I can’t seem to make my feet move, but my eyes work just fine, burning images of Emeric and Joanne into my brain and leaking tears all over my damn face.
Dr. Marceaux gently grips my elbow and leads me to an exam room. The moment he shuts the door, he stabs a finger toward the exam table. “Sit.”
I jump at the command in his voice and hurry to the table, crinkling the paper against the vinyl as I hop up.
He sets a box of tissues beside my hip, which makes me feel like an emotional little girl. I grab one anyway and wipe my face.
Lowering onto the stool, he rolls it across the floor until he’s sitting right in front of me. “He didn’t tell you about her?”
I wad the tissue in my fist and square my shoulders. “Not about the pregnancy.”
A muscle tics in his jaw, and his hard eyes crease, fanning wrinkles from the corners.
“Is it his?” I ask.
“He doesn’t know.”
My breath hitches. “He doesn’t…? She was with someone else? Did she cheat on him?”
“He has no proof of that.”
“Oh.” My chest deflates. “She told the receptionist she’s carrying your grandson.”
He swivels toward the drawers behind him and removes equipment and supplies, giving me a momentary reprieve from his stony gaze.
“I know you’re living with him.” He rips open packages of instruments. “I’m not going to lecture you on the risks you and he are taking. I gave him my opinion on the phone last night.” He turns back to me, his expression pensive. “Emeric is hardheaded and unstoppable when his passion is provoked.”
I disagree with the unstoppable part. At least when it comes to my limits. Where his passion is concerned, I’ve been on the receiving end of that for two months. I guess that’s why this secret he’s kept from me feels like a blade in my chest.
Dr. Marceaux slides on reading glasses and grabs the blood pressure monitor. Without asking me to change clothes, he begins an above-the-waist exam. For the next ten minutes, he pokes, prods, and draws blood while I answer his medical questions, including the embarrassing ones about my sexual history and mishaps with protection.
He maintains a professional demeanor, but I wonder if he thinks I’m just a money-grubbing whore.
While he makes notations on his tablet, the door opens.
Emeric slips in, shuts the door, and his frosty eyes find and imprison mine.
Chills sweep over me, and I find it difficult to look away.