Page 103 of Ivory Oath

“What is it?”

I turn my phone around, biting back a smirk. “The perfect excuse.”

MIKHAIL: I’m telling Anatoly to bring you to the new Cerberus offices today. I want to have lunch together and give you a proper tour.

Anatoly groans and looks up at the ceiling. “Why can my life never be easy?”

“Is that a yes?”

He jabs a finger in my direction. “It’s a ‘fuck you’ for getting me into messes like this.”

“Was that a yes?”

He points to the stairs. “Go get dressed for your booty call with your husband. We’ll stop at the clinic on the way.”

I blow Anatoly a kiss, which he swats out of the air. But I don’t care if he’s annoyed. I might be pregnant.

And in a few hours, I’ll know for sure.

43

VIVIANA

I only have time to read half of the chart on gynecological disorders before the doctor comes in.

She’s wearing burgundy-colored scrubs and has an alarmingly large travel mug of coffee in one hand. “The test was positive,” she says as soon as she’s in the room. She doesn’t even look at me. She has all the inflection of someone reading out their WiFi password. It’s the way a robot would deliver news, no emotion whatsoever.

Surely if she was delivering good news, she'd say it with a little more gusto.

I frown. “Positive for what?”

Finally, she looks up at me. “You came here for a pregnancy test, correct?”

“I peed in a cup. I guess I’m not sure who did which test, but I left my sample in the bathroom next to?—”

“You’re pregnant,” she interrupts. “The strip turned pink.”

My stomach churns and I’m not sure if it’s nausea or anxiety. I check to make sure there is a trash can within arm’s reach just in case. “Are the tests in your office more accurate than the ones I can buy at the drugstore?”

“Nope. They’re the exact same thing, just without the pretty plastic wrapping.”

Okay, now, I’m sure: it’s anxiety.

“Then what’s the point of coming here to confirm it?”

“You need a positive test on record to be referred to an obstetrician as a patient.” She tucks her clipboard under her arm and shrugs. “It’s bureaucratic.”

“Is there anything more… conclusive? I took a pregnancy test a few months ago that said it was positive, but it turned out to be a false positive.”

“False positives are very rare,” she says flatly. “Only one percent of positive results are false.”

“Then I guess I’m one in a hundred.”

The joke falls flat. Probably because the doctor lacks the human capacity for humor. She also lacks anything even resembling bedside manner.

“So?” I press when she says nothing. “Is there a test that’s more conclusive?”

She sighs like I’m the worst part of her day. “Stop in at the lab on your way out. I’ll order a blood test.”

---