“How is this going to work if I’m pregnant?” she asked signing the consent form. And stalling.
“It’s perfectly safe like this,” Dr. Sage did her best to assure her. “We’ve put down a leaded apron.”
Gwen’s jaw trembled in lieu of a nod.
The door opened. Figuring it was Maya, Gwen turned away, but the unmistakable shape of Andrew’s body caught her attention. She shot her hands in front of her face to hide the fear pulsing through her.
Dr. Sage did a dramatic double take when Andrew strode into the room. Along with his beautiful face, he brought a surge of emotion with him.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” the doctor said tucking her hair against her neck.
Andrew fell at Gwen’s feet before she even stood up. She pressed her face into his chest and took deep successive breaths to force the tears away.
“I’m here.” Andrew unfolded her and held her chin. “I’m here, honey.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“What for? ”
“I feel like I made you some kind of promise this wouldn’t happen.”
“You did no such thing and even if you had—” Andrew ran his hands up and down her ice-cold skin and felt her shaking. “It’s going to be okay.”
Their eyes locked. Longing and searching.
She nodded, but still felt afraid and confused.
WITH A WEAK SMILE, Andrew exhaled. “I’m here, Gwen.”
The team returned wearing surgical masks signaling this was ready to happen.
“Maya, can he stay with me please?” Gwen asked.
“Sure, we’ll get him an apron as well.”
“Apron for what?” he asked.
“The mammogram machine,” Gwen answered for the assistant.
“Hang on.” Andrew faced the assistant while holding Gwen tight against his side. “She’s pregnant.”
“I already told Dr. Sage that. I’ll be lying on a wooden board.” She pointed to an ominous looking table in the back of the room. “The machine is underneath and they put down a leaded apron.”
Gwen had put her life into the hands of these people, but that didn’t mean Andrew trusted them on day one.
Maya slipped the heavy plastic shield across his arms and he asked, “Gwen, where do you want me?”
“Do you think the table can hold both of us?”
Oh, how he missed her humor. “I’m guessing no. But that’s because of me, not you.”
She swung her right arm directing him to the space in between the table and the wall. “Can you stand over here, please?”
Andrew stepped around, took her right hand and placed his other hand across her back. As the table rose, the hydraulic moan stiffened his spine and he filled with fury. The lift stopped at his chest, allowing his arm to engulf her waist.
She parted her lips to say something, but she released a howling cry of agony. It was a sound he expected would come from something that wasn’t human. It rocked him to his core. All of Cate’s struggles and procedures he’d had to watch her go through rushed to the surface, walloping the piss out of him.
“What happened?” he asked, frantic.
“The machine tightened. It’s so painful.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Foley.” Maya’s smothered apology from underneath the table provided little comfort.
“It’s Mallory!” he barked. And not for long.
The procedure crept along. A few moments of being held in the same position allowed the pain on her face to vanish ever so slightly. She relaxed her jaw and managed a faint smile. Maya continued to ask her to either move up or move down, each time the loosening and then tightening changed Gwen’s expression.
Andrew tried to keep her distracted by making encouraging small talk. When tears tracked down her cheeks, he lost it.
“Hurry up!” he demanded through clenched teeth, feeling ready to fall apart.
Touching his face, her fingers pressed into his eyebrows. She whispered, “Even furious, you’re so damn handsome.”
“It’s not a look I’d like to wear often.” He took her hand again and kissed her knuckles.
Gwen opened her mouth to respond, but instead she gasped in relief.
“Okay, we’re all done here,” said Dr. Sage who had slipped in unnoticed.
“Um, there’s no graceful way for me to do this. Can you wait over there?” Gwen pushed up on her forearms. “I can get down myself.”
“I know you can. I’m going to help you anyway,” he said through clenched teeth.
She tugged her gown closed and climbed down with Andrew’s hands gripping her waist. If she wanted him to carry her through the corridor, he would happily oblige. Instead, she leaned against him as they walked to the dressing room.
It was empty and Gwen dragged him inside. Maya came in and handed over films and icepacks.
He placed himself between the assistant and Gwen’s dressing stall to accept the package and instructions. This familiar routine, too, shocked the breath out of him.
As he stood there shaking, Gwen opened the door. Without speaking, he handed her the icepack.
“Thanks,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
They left the hospital, not a word shared between them. In the taxi, Andrew held her so close he could feel the frosty package tucked into her bra.
He had given his apartment’s address, but leaned in to tell the driver, “But, make a right on 57th. I have a stop I need to make.”
“Why are we stopping? What’s—” Her eyes widened seeing the creamy white cement building.
The name on the door, stood out in tall gothic letters and Gwen dug her nails into his arm.
Tiffany’s. A company older than Prada.
Staring at the two large windows and the flags flying overhead, her jaw dropped. “No.”
Andrew jerked his head toward her in the car. “I really hope that’s not your official answer.”
“I mean...” She shook her head. “Please don’t bring me into Tiffany’s. Not now.”
“Why not now? What better way to turn this day around?”
“Andrew,” she squeaked. “Look at me. I don’t want to walk in there like this.” Her hands rummaged through a tangled mess of hair he couldn’t care less about.
“How much different do you think you’d look if I brought you here one morning, the way you and I can go at it every night?”
His bold and provocative statement made her cheeks flush. Okay, maybe bringing her into Tiffany’s with sex hair wasn’t what she wanted either.
“Talk to me.” He tugged at her arms.
“Can we just go to your apartment and talk about this first, please?”
Andrew blew out an exhale and redirected the taxi driver. The deafening silence returned all the way downtown and up four flights of stairs.
In his kitchen, Andrew thumbed through the stack of take-out menus in his apartment. “Are you hungry at all?” he asked. When she gently nodded, he smiled and said, “Udon?”
While they ate, his stare felt as if he’d laid an itchy blanket on her shoulders.
With a steady breath, she said, “Let me get all this straightened out before we talk about anything else. And you’re assuming I won’t have to go off and live in Italy.”