Page 62 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

I look up, meeting his concerned gaze. For a moment, I consider telling him everything—the suspicion, the fear, and the overwhelming uncertainty, but I can’t. Not yet. “Just tired,” I lie, hating how easily it comes. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Valerian rises from his desk, crossing the room in long strides. He kneels beside my chair, taking my hand in his. “Is there anything I can do?”

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks me. I shake my head, forcing a smile. “I’m okay, really. Just need to rest a bit.”

He studies my face for a long moment, as if trying to read the truth behind my words. Finally, he nods and stands. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? I can have some food sent up if you’re hungry.”

“That sounds nice,” I say, setting aside my book. As I stand, a wave of dizziness washes over me. Valerian’s arm is around my waist in an instant, steadying me.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

I lean into him, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability. Tomorrow, I’ll face the doctor and whatever news awaits me, but for now, I let Valerian guide me from the library, his solid presence a comfort I’m not ready to give up.

As we walk, I catch a glimpse of our reflection in a hallway mirror. Valerian, tall and imposing, his arm protectively around me, and me, looking small and pale beside him. For a fleeting second, I imagine a child with his eyes and my freckles.

The image vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving me with a bittersweet ache in my chest. I push aside the feeling, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll face it. I have to.

As Valerian helps me into bed, pulling the covers up and brushing a kiss against my forehead, I wonder if I’ll have thestrength to face it alone. If he doesn’t want any part of being a family man, I’ll have to, but the thought makes me miserable.

I stepinto the doctor’s office. Sergei and Ivan wait in the lobby, their imposing presence drawing curious glances from other patients. The receptionist hands me a clipboard, and I settle into an uncomfortable plastic chair to fill out the forms.

My hand shakes as I write, the reality of why I’m here sinking in. I’m pregnant with Valerian Rostova’s child. The thought sends a wave of nausea through me that has nothing to do with morning sickness.

A nurse calls my name, and I follow her to a small exam room. She takes my vitals, then hands me a plastic cup. “The bathroom is just down the hall,” she says with a smile. “We’ll run the test while you wait for Dr. Carey.”

I nod, my throat too dry to speak. In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles ring my eyes, and my skin looks pale. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before completing the task at hand.

Back in the exam room, I perch on the edge of the paper-covered table. The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly. Finally, there’s a knock at the door, and a kindly-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair enters. “Claire Bennett?” He extends his hand. “I’m Dr. Carey. It’s nice to meet you.”

I shake his hand, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

He settles onto a rolling stool, glancing at the chart in his hands. “I have some news for you.” He looks up, his expression gentle. “The urine test came back positive. You’re pregnant, Claire.”

Even though I already knew it, deep down, hearing the words out loud makes my head spin. “Oh,” I manage to say.

Dr. Carey’s voice is calm and reassuring. “I know this can be overwhelming news. Why don’t we do an exam and ultrasound to see how far along you are? Then we can discuss your options moving forward.”

I nod mutely, following his instructions as he performs the exam. The cold gel on my stomach makes me flinch as he prepares for the ultrasound. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” Dr. Carey moves the wand over my abdomen, his attention fixed on the screen. Suddenly, he goes very still.

Fear grips me. “Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, continuing to study the screen with intense focus. My heart pounds as scenarios of every possible complication race through my mind.

Finally, Dr. Carey turns to me, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. “Claire, I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, but...you’re pregnant with quadruplets.”

The world tilts on its axis. I grip the edges of the exam table so hard my knuckles turn numb. “Quad... Quadruplets?” I stammer. “That’s... That’s four babies?”

Dr. Carey nods, his voice gentle. “Yes, four babies. It’s extremely rare, especially without fertility treatments, but I can clearly see four distinct embryos here.” He turns the screen toward me,pointing out tiny blobs that don’t look anything like babies to my untrained eye.

I stare at the screen, unable to process what I’m seeing. Four babies. Growing inside me right now. Valerian’s babies. The room starts to spin. I stare at Dr. Carey, my mind reeling. “That’s impossible,” I protest, shaking my head. “I have PCOS. I was told I’d probably need fertility treatments to even have one baby, let alone four.”

Dr. Carey leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “PCOS can be a tricky condition, Claire. It affects women differently. May I ask, have you noticed any changes in your menstrual cycle recently?”

I think back over the past few months, recalling the subtle shifts I’d attributed to stress. “Yes, actually. My periods have been more regular lately. I thought it was just because I’ve been eating better and exercising more.”

He nods, jotting something in my chart. “That could be part of it. If you had undiagnosed mild PCOS or high AMH levels, your body might have stored extra follicles. This could allow for hyperovulation.”

“Hyperovulation?” I repeat, the unfamiliar term rolling off my tongue.

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