I slump down on the window seat, feeling suddenly listless. Sara comes over and starts unpacking her medical bag with brisk efficiency. I lapse into silence while she examines me.
Her fingers are warm and gentle. It’s easy to give myself over to the procedure. To pretend that I don’t have feelings or a past or a future or a baby. That I’m just a crash test dummy being weighed and measured.
“Your pressure looks good. Your vitals read well, too,” she says after a few minutes. “The baby seems to be thriving. But I’ll have to do a more extensive test when we’re back at the mansion with all my equipment.”
I look up at Sara dumbly. “You talk as if you know Adrian.”
She gives me a hard smile. “I knew him way back when he was Bogdan Uvarov.”
My eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
“Deadly serious. I t
