Page 22 of Illicit Temptation

“THE PILLS AREN’T HELPINGyour cramps because the fibroids are denser now.” My doctor points to an X-ray on his computer screen that might be a photograph of the moon for all I know.

Three doctors ago told me these fibroids would keep me from getting pregnant. News I took with a grain of salt on a margarita glass in my swinging single days. Archer’s promise of a life filled with exotic travel that more kids would just get in the way of was another point in his column.

Now at thirty-seven, with forty breathing down my neck, I’m single and childless, facing the possibility of remaining that way. Unless I find a divorced dad... I shudder, triggered that the same thing will happen again. Just as with Archer.

“What do you recommend, doctor?” I clear my throat.

“There’s a new high-dose contraception that helps control the spread. It just hit the market.” He orders the meds on a laptop after confirming my pharmacy. “I recommend another ultrasound in three months. But if they keep growing, I also suggest a hysterectomy like your other doctors. Without it, you’re at risk for several different types of cancer.”

I cringe at the casual reference. “Can I stay on the new contraception meds forever?” Massive cramps get in the way of back-to-back, twelve-hour days for weekend weddings.

“A hysterectomy is the best solution to live pain-free. The discomfort will only get worse.” He circles something on the X-ray. “The presence of this particular fibroid hanging off the anterior of the uterus is coming close to piercing your colon.”

Great.I’ll lose my uterusandmaybe my colon in the process.

Watching the chance to be a mother vanish before my eyes swamps me with sadness. It obliterates any outrageous and remote thought of staying married to Trace.

I can’t have children.

What would he say if I told him?

Doesn’t matter, I won’t make him choose between me and having kids.

THE WEEK PASSES WITHno word from Trace. On Saturday night, Larke, Erin—my stylist, and I hang out in my kitchen. It’s two a.m. We finished up another twenty-something’s wedding an hour ago. We’re polishing off a bottle of wine, and checking out online dating profiles while eating left-over wedding cake.

“This guy’s an astronaut,” Larke says, going through her app.

“Why is he single?” Erin asks, licking whipped cream off a spoon.

“An astronaut? Here in New York?” I ask.

Larke rolls her eyes. “Right. Kind of a bold lie to tell.”

“He tells you he lives here, but has to travel to Houston a lot.” I finish the last of the wine.

“Or the moon.” Erin giggles.

They’re both staying with me tonight. It’s too late to drive and we’re all a little smashed.

“We don’t go to the moon anymore, Erin,” I inform her.

She waves me off. “Space station, whatever. It’s a brilliant lie to tell.”

“Here’s a guy for you, Shea.” Erin reads from her tablet. “Six-two, blonde hair, green eyes, doctor, single father looking for discreet hookups only. Oh, says here he lives in Seattle but travels to New York on occasion to—”

I spray my wine across the table and grab the device. “Holy fucking shit, that’s my brother!”

Larke grabs it. “The doctor I met?”

I exhale. “No, you met Cormac, his twin brother.”

“Jesus, they look exactly alike.” Larke keeps staring. “This one’s even hotter when you throw in the single dad part.”

I wave them off. “Guys. These are my younger brothers. Ew.”

“It should be illegal to have so many hot brothers,” Erin says, scrolling through Darragh’s photos.

And when some of them are murderers...

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