Chapter 22Claire
22
Claire
I stir my ginger tea, the warm aroma curling around me as I sit in Valerian’s expansive library. The leather chair creaks softly as I shift, trying to focus on the book in my lap. My gaze keeps darting to Valerian, hunched over his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he works on something for Alexei.
The nausea that’s been plaguing me all week churns in my stomach. I take another sip of tea, hoping it will settle. My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other like clothes in a dryer. I have to say something about my appointment tomorrow, but the idea of lying to Valerian makes my insides twist even more than the morning sickness.
“I have a gyno appointment tomorrow,” I blurt out, wincing at how abrupt it sounds. “Routine checkup.”
Valerian’s head snaps up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. “Do you want me to take you?”
My breath catches in my throat. Panic surges through me, not because he suspects anything, but because his immediate concern reminds me of how much danger we’re in. How much danger I could be putting our potential child in.
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, the words tumbling out. “Your men can drive me. I’ll be okay.”
Valerian’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “I’d prefer to skip the exam altogether, given the current situation.”
I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Trust me, I’d love to skip it too. Speculums are no fun.”
His expression softens slightly. “I’ll have dinner waiting when you get home.”
“And I’ll give you a massage,” I promise, my voice steadier now.
As silence settles between us again, I realize I haven’t been keeping track of my hours lately. Valerian hasn’t given me a statement in weeks either. The thought of bringing it up now, with everything else swirling in my head, is too much.
I return to my book, but the words blur on the page. My free hand drifts to my stomach, resting there lightly. What am I going to do if the test confirms what the over-the-counter tests showed? How can I bring a child into this world of danger and violence?
“Claire?” Valerian’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Are you feeling alright?”
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 the strength 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 step into 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.
“It means releasing multiple eggs in one cycle. A sudden hormonal shift can trigger a fertile cycle without you realizing it. This could be caused by stress reduction, dietary changes, a new lifestyle, or even weight fluctuation.”
I think about how much my life has changed since moving in with Valerian. The regular balanced meals, the reduction in work stress, the... physical activity . My cheeks flush at the memory. “But quadruplets?” I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the concept. “Isn’t that incredibly rare?”
Dr. Carey nods, his expression serious. “It is extremely unlikely, but not impossible. If your ovaries overcompensated in a single cycle, it could result in the release of multiple eggs. Combined with the right timing...” He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air.
I close my eyes, trying to process this information. Four babies. Growing inside me right now. The enormity of it threatens to overwhelm me.
“What do I do?” I ask, feeling faint.
Dr. Carey leans forward, his tone gentle but firm. “At this stage, we need to focus on your health and the health of the fetuses. Multiple pregnancies carry higher risks, so we’ll need to monitor you closely. I’d like to?—”
Suddenly, I slump forward. I don’t remember how, but when I open my eyes a few minutes later, I’m lying back on the exam table again. “What happened?
“Claire?” Dr. Carey’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Are you with me? You fainted.”
I nod slowly as my head spins.
He pats my hand. “I know this is a lot to take in. Do you have someone you can talk to about this? A partner or family member?”
Valerian’s face flashes in my mind. The man I love, the father of these babies, and the most dangerous person I know. “Yes,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I have someone.”
He hands me a stack of pamphlets and prescriptions for prenatal vitamins. As I gather my things to leave, he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Claire, and my door is always open if you have questions or concerns. I don’t know if you heard me telling you that you’ll need to see a high-risk obstetrician. That was about the time you tried to face-dive off the table,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’ll arrange a referral for that, and I’ve made some notes on the ultrasound pictures when you’re ready to view them.”
I thank him and make my way out of the office on autopilot, stuffing the paperwork in an oversized bag I brought along just for that purpose. In the waiting room, Ivan and Sergei stand as soon as they see me, looking at me for any sign of distress.
“Everything okay, Miss Claire?” asks Ivan, his gruff voice tinged with concern.
I force a smile, clutching my purse like a lifeline. “Fine. Just a routine check-up.”
As we exit the building, the crisp air hits my face. I inhale and exhale, trying to banish the dizziness and center myself. Four babies. Valerian’s babies. Our babies.
Four.
Four!
Quadruplets. The word echoes in my head, refusing to settle into reality. The sidewalk beneath my feet feels unsteady, and I grip my purse tighter, trying to anchor myself.
A prickling sensation creeps up my neck, and I glance around, suddenly aware of my surroundings. A figure in the distance catches my attention, a man in a dark coat, leaning against a lamppost. He seems to be watching me. I blink, and he turns away, lighting a cigarette.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. “You’re just paranoid.”
I force myself to take a deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow. The spring air fills my lungs as I remember how to breathe. In and out. In and out. It’s supposed to help calm me, but it doesn’t. I start walking again after a moment.
Ivan and Sergei flank me, their imposing presence a reminder of the world I now inhabit. A world where I need bodyguards to go to a doctor’s appointment. A world where I’m carrying the children of one of the most dangerous men in Philadelphia.
The drive home is a blur. I stare out the window but don’t see much. My hand rests on my still-flat stomach, and I try to imagine four tiny lives growing inside me. It’s overwhelming.
When we arrive at Valerian’s mansion, I’m relieved to hear he’s in a meeting with Alexei. It gives me time to compose myself, to figure out how I’m going to tell him about this unexpected development.
I retreat to my room, kicking off my shoes and collapsing onto the bed. The envelope from Dr. Carey’s office sits on my nightstand, taunting me. With a sigh, I reach for it, pulling out the stack of pamphlets and information sheets.
For the next hour, I immerse myself in research. I read about the risks of multiple pregnancies, the extra care needed, and the potential complications. Each new piece of information adds to the mass pressing down on my chest.
“How am I supposed to do this?” I whisper to the empty room.
My gaze lands on the referral to Dr. Rachel Leven, the high-risk OB-GYN Dr. Carey recommended. I make a mental note to schedule an appointment as soon as possible.
Finally, I turn my attention to the ultrasound images. Dr. Carey has circled one, pointing out two of the babies sharing an amniotic sac. I squint at the grainy black and white photo, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
“Two singletons and a pair of identical twins,” I read aloud, tracing the outline of each tiny blob with my finger. I quickly put the picture away. Staring at it makes this too real, and I’m not ready to really, truly believe it yet.
As if my body is mutinying, or just mocking me, a sudden surge of nausea hits me. It’s so strong it sends me running to the bathroom, where I purge the contents of my stomach. This is the first time I’ve vomited since learning of the pregnancy, and it leaves me as wrung out as a dish towel. I collapse against the cool tile and try to pretend this isn’t happening, but my imagination isn’t that good.