Chapter 18
Camille
Idrag the mascara wand through my lashes, trying to make myself look less like the hollow-eyed zombie I've become. The bathroom mirror shows a woman I barely recognize—someone who thought things were going pretty well, before a plastic stick with two pink lines turned everything sideways.
My phone sits on the bathroom counter, screen dark and silent. Just like it's been since I sent those texts two days ago.
We need to talk. Can we meet somewhere? It's important.
A day later, when he hadn't responded:
Alexander, please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious.
Nothing. No "I'm busy." No "Leave me alone." Not even a simple "No." Just silence.
"Asshole," I mutter, leaning closer to the mirror to apply concealer under my eyes. The dark circles have become permanent fixtures, partly from morning sickness, partly from lying awake wondering how I'm supposed to do all this.
I drop the concealer back in the drawer and lift my shirt, turning sideways to examine my profile. My stomach is still flat, showing no evidence of the life growing inside me. I press my palm against it, trying to connect with the reality that's still doesn’t feel real.
"There's really a baby in there," I whisper to my reflection.
The words hang in the bathroom air, seeming both impossible and inevitable. Of course this would happen. Of course the universe would make sure I remain connected to the man who's trying his hardest to pretend I don't exist.
I pull my shirt back down and return to my makeup routine. I'm putting more effort into my appearance than necessary for a doctor's appointment, but it feels important to look composed and capable. Like someone who has her shit together instead of someone who's rapidly falling apart.
The doctor will ask about the baby’s father. What will I say? The father is a billionaire who fucked me for a week and vanished? He doesn't know about the baby, and he's made it painfully clear he wants nothing to do with me?
Yeah, that'll go over well.
I cap the mascara and brace my hands on the sink, taking a deep breath.
Part of me wants to cancel the appointment.
Put off making this even more real than it already is.
But I can't avoid this forever, and I need to know that everything's okay.
That this tiny, unplanned life inside me is developing as it should.
"You can do this," I tell my reflection, trying to inject confidence into my voice that I don't actually feel.
Can I, though? Can I really do this? Raise a child on my own while building a career?
My parents will lose their minds when they find out.
I can’t even imagine their reaction to a grandchild with an absent father.
They'll switch from trying to set me up with eligible bachelors to demanding I marry the first man willing to "take me on" with my "situation. "
I check my phone one more time. Still nothing from Alexander. What did I expect? That he'd suddenly develop human emotions?
I shove the phone into my purse with more force than necessary. I don't need him. I never did. The week in Antigua was a fantasy—sun-soaked and hormone-driven. This is reality: me, alone, facing the consequences of believing I was special to a man who's made a career out of not getting attached.
But there's a baby now. A baby that changes everything, whether Alexander acknowledges it or not.
I grab my purse and keys, running through a mental checklist. Insurance card. ID. List of questions for the doctor. The prenatal vitamins I started taking the day I found out, their horse-pill size making me gag every morning.
As I reach for the door, a wave of nausea hits me—I’m pretty sure it’s not morning sickness this time, but pure anxiety.
In an hour, I'll be lying on an exam table, a stranger probing and measuring and telling me how my life is going to change. Izzy will be there, thank God—I don’t know what I’d do without her.
My eyes burn with sudden tears. I blink them back furiously, refusing to mess up the makeup I just applied. I will not cry over Alexander fucking Kingsley again. I've wasted enough tears on him.
The baby deserves better than him. I deserve better than him.
I lock my apartment door behind me, squaring my shoulders as I walk toward the elevator. Whatever happens in that doctor's office today, I'll handle it. I just need to get through it without falling apart.
The elevator doors slide open. I step inside, pressing the lobby button with a finger that only trembles slightly. As the doors close, I catch a final glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall—a woman pretending to be braver than she feels.
It'll have to do.
My phone vibrates in my hand. Izzy's name flashes on the screen, and I answer immediately. "Hey, I'm just heading out. Meet you there?"
"Cami, I'm so sorry." Her voice already tells me everything I don't want to hear. "My boss just dropped a last-minute business trip on me. I have to be on a plane to Chicago in two hours."
"Oh." My heart falls to my stomach.
"I feel terrible. I know how important today is." Genuine regret fills her voice. "Can you reschedule? Maybe for next week when I'm back?"
"The appointment took three weeks to get," I say, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. "And I... I need to know everything's okay."
"Shit. I'm so sorry." Papers rustle in the background—Izzy already packing, already moving on with her life while mine stands still. "What about your mom?"
I almost laugh. "Right. Because what I need today is my mother asking who the father is and telling me I've ruined my life."
"Fair point." Izzy pauses. "What about Julian? You said he's been checking in on you."
Julian. The thought of calling him makes my face warm. He's been texting almost daily since he brought me soup, just little check-ins, funny observations about his day. Nothing pushy, nothing that crosses a line. Just... letting me know he’s there.
"I can't ask him to do that," I say, even as the elevator doors open to the lobby. "It's would be too weird."
"From what you've told me, he wouldn't mind," Izzy says. "I’m so sorry but I really have to go if I'm going to make this flight. Call me as soon as you're done, okay?"
The call ends and I stand frozen in the lobby, people streaming around me like I'm a rock in a river. Alone. The word echoes in my head. I'm going to be alone for the first glimpse of my baby, the first time I hear its heartbeat.
Unless.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull up Julian's contact and press call. He answers on the second ring.
"Camille." His voice is warm, surprised. "Everything alright?"
"I'm sorry to bother you," I begin, words tumbling out too fast. "I have my first prenatal appointment today and my friend who was supposed to come with me had an emergency, and I just..
. I don't want to go alone." I pause, breath catching.
"It's completely fine if you can't. I know it's last minute and completely inappropriate of me to ask—"
"Where and when?" Julian interrupts gently.
I blink. "What?"
"The appointment. Where is it and what time?"
"Upper East Side. Dr. Wiley. In—" I check my watch, "—forty-five minutes."
"Text me the address. I'll meet you there." No hesitation, no questions. Just simple certainty.
"Julian, you don't have to—"
"I want to," he says, and I can hear his smile through the phone. "No one should have to do this alone, love."
The endearment, casual as it is, makes my throat tight. "Thank you."
Thirty minutes later, I spot Julian waiting outside the doctor's office building.
He's wearing jeans and a simple blue sweater that makes his eyes look impossibly bright, so different from the powerful men in suits that typically populate the Upper East Side.
He looks up from his phone as I approach, his face breaking into a warm smile.
"Right on time," he says, stepping forward to meet me. "How are you feeling?"
"Nervous," I admit. "Thank you for coming. I know this is weird."
He shakes his head. "Not at all. I’m happy to be here."
In the elevator up to the doctor's office, Julian stands close to me. His presence fills the small space, solid and reassuring.
"What happens at these first appointments? I’ve always wondered…" he asks as we step into the waiting room.
"Blood work, mainly. An ultrasound maybe." I sign in at the reception desk, accepting a clipboard full of forms. "Lots of questions I don't know how to answer."
Julian sits beside me, his knee almost touching mine. "Like what?"
"Family medical history. The father's medical history." I stare at the form, pen hovering over blank spaces. "I don't know half of this stuff about Alexander."
Oops. I just admitted that Alexander is the father, but I’m sure Julian may have already suspected as much.
Julian's hand covers mine briefly, warm and steadying. "Just answer what you can. The rest can wait."
His calm pragmatism anchors me as I fill out the forms, occasionally asking questions that help clarify my thoughts. By the time a nurse calls my name, I feel marginally more prepared.
"Ms. Montclair?" The nurse smiles. "The doctor will see you now."
Julian stands when I do and we follow the nurse down the hall.
The exam room is small, clinical, with diagrams of female anatomy on the walls. The nurse takes my vitals, asks preliminary questions, then leaves us alone to wait for the doctor.
"Thanks again," I say. "For being here."
Julian leans against the wall, hands in his pockets. "Anywhere else I'd rather be on a Tuesday morning? Hmm. Nope. Can't think of a single place."
His teasing draws a genuine laugh from me, the first one in days.
Dr. Wiley enters with a brisk knock—a woman in her fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes behind stylish glasses. She glances between Julian and me.
"Ms. Montclair, good to meet you." She shakes my hand, then turns to Julian. "And you must be Dad. I'm Dr. Wiley."
The assumption freezes me, but Julian simply smiles without correcting her.
"Actually," I say, heat flooding my face, "Julian's a friend. He's just here for moral support."
Dr. Wiley doesn't miss a beat. "Well, that's wonderful. It's good to have support during pregnancy." She sits on a rolling stool, reviewing my chart. "And the father? Will he be involved?"
The question lands like a stone in still water. "He's... not in the picture."
She nods, no judgment in her expression. "Alright. Let's focus on you and this baby then."
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of questions, explanations, and a cold ultrasound wand pressed against my abdomen. Julian stands at the head of the exam table, his presence steady and unobtrusive.
"There," Dr. Wiley says, turning the screen toward me. "See that flicker? That's your baby's heartbeat."
I stare at the tiny pulsing light on the screen, a rapid flutter in a sea of gray. My baby. Actually real, actually alive inside me. Tears spring to my eyes without warning.
"Would you like to hear it?" the doctor asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. She flips a switch, and suddenly the room fills with a rapid whooshing sound—thump-thump-thump-thump.
Julian's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. When I look up at him, his eyes are fixed on the screen, wonder written across his features.
"That's amazing," he says softly.
It is. It's terrifying and wonderful and completely overwhelming. This is happening. I'm having a baby.
After the appointment, Julian walks beside me in silence, giving me space to process. The spring air feels clearer somehow, the city noise distant beneath the memory of that tiny heartbeat.
"You okay?" he finally asks as we reach the corner.
I look up at him, this man who dropped everything to hold the hand of a woman he barely knows. "I don't know how to thank you."
Julian smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No thanks needed. Though I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee, if you're up for it."
Coffee. Something so normal, so simple. A lifeline back to the everyday world.
"I'd like that," I say. "But maybe tea for me. Cutting back on caffeine."
"Right." He nods seriously. "Parenting. Already making sacrifices."
The word "parenting" should terrify me. Somehow, with Julian smiling down at me, it doesn't.