Page 66 of Cashmere Cruelty

I yank the door open with the force of a thousand suns.If it’s housekeeping again, I swear.“Can I hel?—”

It’s not housekeeping.

“April,” Matvey greets in his sandpaper voice. “The doctor’s here.”

An old woman in a white coat pushes past me with a curt nod. Her entourage follows—two younger recruits with bright eyes and just as many manners as their team leader. Or just as few, rather.

Then they start to set up shop.

Several questions crowd my head at once: one, what the fuck? Second, what thefuck? Third?—

“Ms. Flowers, please undress and lay down.”

What the fuck?

I’m tempted to ask what happened to good ol’ flowers and chocolate as a seduction technique when Matvey strides in last, bringing up the rear. The door is firmly shut behind his back, as final as a death sentence.

Somehow, I feel like any arguments would fall on deaf ears.

So I walk up to the impromptu examination table. I swallow my rage, duck behind the privacy screen with a flaming glare, and do what I do best: as I’m told.

Doesn’t mean they won’t hear my teeth gritting from the lobby.

The examination begins. Dr. Whatsherface—which is what I’m calling her, since she couldn’t be bothered to say hello, let alone introduce herself—pours a generous amount of gel on my belly. And by “generous,” I mean enough to drown a damn elephant. It’s about as cold as rubbing bellies with a penguin, and a thousand times more uncomfortable. Not that I’ve ever rubbed bellies with a penguin, but right now, I think I’d prefer it.

“Mm,” Dr. Whatsherface hums eloquently, looking at the screen.

What?I want to scream.“Mm,” my kid’s still there? “Mm,” it pulled a Houdini? “Mm,” it’s triplets?

But, throughout it all, only one serious question keeps bubbling up in my head:

Howdarehe?

“Where’s Dr. Allan?” I ask out loud to the bustling room.

Crickets.

I try again, thinking maybe my words weren’t clear enough. Maybe this privacy screen’s actually soundproof. “Where?—”

“Please refrain from talking,” Dr.Assface scolds me. “I need a clear image.”

And I need to punch you in the mouth.“Certainly.” I smile broadly, dragging out each syllable.

The doctor and crew keep poking around my body. My baby daddy stays on the other side of the privacy screen, still like a statue. I’m tempted to bounce a stress ball off of him to see if that gets a reaction.

“There,” Dr. Assface comments at last. “Sex is clearly visible?—”

“And I’d prefer you keep that information to yourself,” I cut her off, only remembering to smile at the end. “Asmy doctorwell knows, I’d like to find out at birth. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Dr. Assface scoffs.

I hope one of these fuckfaces is a dentist, because by the end of this, either my teeth will have ground themselves to dust or I’ll have knocked a row out of Nameless Bitch’s mouth.

“You’re past your due date,” Dr. Assface points out eventually. I refrain from clapping my hands.No shit, Sherlock!“You should induce as soon as possible. Or get a C-section.”

Theassistants take notes. I take a breath and remind myself murder is frowned upon in all fifty states. “No, thank you.”

Dr. Assface finally turns to look at me. Myeyes, not my uterus. “Pardon?”

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