Surprise! I’m the Mom of the Doctor’s Twins (Fated By Surprise #2)

Prologue

LOGAN

Los Angeles – United States.

It was around eight o'clock in the evening when I parked my car in front of a luxury hotel and handed the keys to the valet.

I entered the building, quickly receiving the key to the room where I would be staying.

I had my own house in Los Angeles, but I chose to spend the weekend at the same hotel where an important medical conference was being held.

I had been looking forward to that event for so long. The owners of the largest and most important hospitals would be there—not just from the United States, but from across the Americas.

The board of trustees from New York Center Hospital would be there. NYCH wasn't just another hospital; it was one of the most prestigious in the world, and the place where I aspired to become CEO.

I knew how ambitious that sounded for a doctor barely into his thirties. A medical career is a slow climb—years of college, then residency... a long road of study and practice to reach a position that high. I was the youngest candidate being considered.

But, without any false modesty, I was also the most qualified.

I'd always known I wanted to be a doctor, even though my family had no ties to medicine. My mother is a big Hollywood star. My late father was an architect, and my brothers followed in his footsteps. I had different dreams, and I'd worked hard since high school to chase them.

I had spent the last few years completely dedicated to groundbreaking Alzheimer's research, which I was presenting on the first day of the conference. I was confident it had everything needed to impress the NYCH board.

The director's position was as good as mine.

I headed up to my room. I'd only brought a single suitcase. I opened it, pulled out my laptop, and decided to take one last look at my presentation—it was still early.

First, I checked my phone. I had five messages from my mother, three from my older brother Sebastian, and two from my younger brother Michael. It was probably nothing urgent; otherwise, they would have called.

Some people thought I didn't care much about my family, which was a complete lie. I loved them deeply and would do anything for them. But when I knew they were safe and sound, I tended to become completely absorbed in my work. They understood that.

Or at least, I hoped they did.

There was also a message from my secretary, which I opened immediately since it was conference related.

A. COLE:

Good evening, Dr. Turner.

Your Spanish translator, Miss Evelyn García, has already checked into the hotel. She'll meet you in the lobby tomorrow at nine.

All of your appointments for next week have been rescheduled, as you requested.

Have a good night and a great conference.

Mrs. Cole —her first name started with an ‘A,’ though I could never remember what was it— had been my assistant for five years.

She did more than just manage my schedule; she was also responsible for things like hiring a Spanish translator for this conference weekend, since so many attendees were flying in from Latin America.

The woman I’d hired was a friend of my brother Michael’s wife. I hoped to God she was competent. I hated hiring through family referrals, but the conference invitation was so last-minute I hadn't had another choice.

Oh, and I’d had Mrs. Cole clear my appointments for the following week. I was confident I’d need to travel. If all went according to plan, the conference would end with an invitation to New York to see NYCH for myself.

Setting my phone aside, I sat on the bed with my laptop.

About three minutes later, a knock came at the door.

“Who is it?” I asked, irritation already creeping into my voice.

No response. Good, I thought. They’d given up. I’d just checked in and hadn’t ordered a thing.

Then, a few seconds later, another knock.

“I didn’t order room service!” I practically yelled, hoping to scare them off.

Another knock. Insistent this time.

Annoyed, I tossed the laptop onto the comforter and strode to the door, fully prepared to give whoever was on the other side a piece of my mind.

I swung the door open. At first, I saw no one.

“Down here, silly,” said a childish voice.

I looked down and found something utterly bizarre.

Two little girls. They looked about five, maybe six at most. Identical twins—carbon copies of each other, except one was head-to-toe in a pink jumpsuit and matching coat, and the other was in jeans and a blue blouse.

Each clutched a stuffed animal and parked beside them was a large suitcase.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my eyes darting up and down the hallway, searching for a missing parent or a negligent guardian.

The girl in blue—the one who’d called me silly—thrust a folded piece of paper into my hand.

I took it and started reading. It was a letter.

I read it again.

And then a third time.

None of it made any sense.

Looking thoroughly unimpressed, the girl in blue grabbed her sister’s hand and marched right past me into my room. I just stood there, watching them, my brain trying desperately to connect the words in that letter to any past event—and to the unsettlingly familiar features of their faces.

Because damn… they looked like me. The resemblance was downright disconcerting.

“So, Daddy?” the one in blue said, crossing her arms and staring me down. “Where are we gonna sleep?”

Daddy.

The word detonated like a bomb inside my head.

How could I possibly be their father?