Page 52 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

My pulse quickens, and I stand up immediately, feeling my excitement building. Nikolai rises as well, his expression unreadable. I glance at him, trying to gauge his emotions, but he gives nothing away. "Ready?" I ask quietly, my voice wavering slightly.

"Let's go," he replies, his tone impassive. He places a hand on my lower back, guiding me forward.

We follow the nurse down a series of stark-white hallways with bright white lights. As we enter the examination room, I eagerly greet the doctor, who smiles warmly in return. The room is small, dominated by a bed with an ultrasound machine beside it.

“Your file says you’re pregnant?” She looks up inquiringly from the sheet I filled out at the reception.

I nod. “Seven weeks now, I believe,” I whisper with a trembling voice.

“And you haven’t had an ultrasound yet?” she asks.

“No,” I shake my head. “Just one over-the-counter at-home test.”

“Sometimes,” the doctor frowns, “there are false positives.”

A crush of disappointment overwhelms me, while beside me, I hear Nikolai’s booming voice as he bursts out with a borderline enthusiastic, “Really?”

Why the hell does he sound relieved? Suddenly, I feel like it was a mistake coming here with him.

“It’s quite rare,” the doctor clarifies. “A false positive. In all likelihood, you are pregnant. Please lie down on the bed, Mrs. Zolotov," the doctor instructs, gesturing toward the crisp white sheets. I oblige, feeling a shiver run down my spine as the cold surface meets my skin. Nikolai stands beside me, his face still betraying no emotion. He takes my hand almost begrudgingly, as if it's more of a chore than something he genuinely wants to do.

"All right, let's get started," the doctor says, picking up a tube of clear gel. She pulls up my shirt and squeezes some onto my exposed belly, and I gasp involuntarily at the cold sensation. I look over at Nikolai, hoping for some sort of reassurance or comfort, but he remains distant, his gaze focused on the ultrasound screen.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, biting my lip nervously and staring at the doctor. I squeeze Nikolai’s hand for support, but he hardly notices. I hate how detached he seems, how little interest he appears to have in this life-altering moment when I’m so stressed out, mulling over possibilities.

"Everything's fine, Anoushka," the doctor reassures me, her voice gentle. "I'm just looking for the baby's heartbeat."

“So there is a baby!” I gasp, tears welling in my eyes. The doctor nods warmly, while Nikolai doesn't say a word. He stands there, cold and unresponsive, as if he's miles away from me both physically and emotionally. I squeeze his hand, trying to bridge the gap between us with a look, but he barely acknowledges my touch.

I clench my spare hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm as I try to quell my mounting frustration. I thought Nikolai would be overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father.

But that’s not the case.

I feel a tinge of sadness in the midst of what is the happiest moment of my life. I wish this had gone untainted.

I wish I had come for this appointment alone.

"Ah, there it is," the doctor exclaims, her excitement palpable as she points at the screen. There, I see it, the tiniest little thing, smaller than the smallest thumb even. "You're seven weeks along, Mrs. Zolotov, and everything seems to be progressing wonderfully."

I can't help but let out a relieved sob, tears streaming down my face as the weight of worry lifts from my shoulders. This tiny life inside me is healthy and growing, and that alone brings me overwhelming happiness.

"Thank you, Doctor," I choke out, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

Nikolai finally looks at me, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since we entered this room. But instead of the warmth and affection I desperately long for, I'm met with a thin-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Where do we pay?" he asks, turning his attention back to the doctor.

"Uh, the reception desk on your way out, Mr. Zolotov," she replies, seemingly taken aback by his curt demeanor.

"All right," he says, releasing my hand without a second glance.

I watch him walk toward the door, my heart sinking even further. This was supposed to be a moment we shared together, one filled with love and excitement for our future. But all I feel now is a hollow emptiness where that love should be. Is this really how it's going to be—raising a child with a man who can't even bring himself to show the slightest bit of interest?

"Mrs. Zolotov?" the doctor calls, breaking me from my thoughts. "Please, take care of yourself and the baby. Schedule your next appointment at the reception desk for four weeks. My assistant will email you a diet sheet, prenatal vitamins, and a list of other medicines you can keep at hand by the end of the day. Any illness, even the slightest cold, and you come straight to me. Do not self-medicate."

"Thank you, Doctor," I repeat, forcing a smile as I slide off the bed, bid her goodbye, and follow Nikolai out of the room.

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