Dark Christmas: A Bratva Next Door Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
Dark Christmas: Chapter 30

I wake up late the next morning, my stomach doing somersaults.

Great. The nausea’s back. I barely make it to the bathroom before I throw up. My head spins as I flush the toilet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I need to go to the doctor and confirm what the test said, though, at this point, I know in my gut its true.

I splash some water on my face and go to replace Melor.

He’s in his office, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. I stop at the doorway, catching snippets of the conversation.

“…need to know where they are… no, we can’t wait until it’s too late. You understand?”

His tone is dark, serious, and dangerous. Whoever’s on the other end, it’s clear the conversation is heavy. But then his eyes land on me, and he immediately knows something’s up. He ends the call, not even bothering to say goodbye.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine, concern written all over his face.

I take a deep breath. “I need to see a doctor.”

Before Melor can respond, I catch a glimpse of something that makes me do a double take. Curled up on the leather couch is a tiny black kitten.

I walk over slowly, half-expecting it to vanish like some strange hallucination. But nope, there really is a tiny black kitten there, curled up and fast asleep, purring softly.

I sit down carefully next to the little thing, reaching out to pet him—or her—gently. ‘Where did you come from?”

“Sort of invited himself in,” Melor says from behind me. I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I went to check on something outside, and there he was. We had the cat food from last night, so I figured I’d feed him.”

I laugh softly, still stroking the kitten’s silky fur. “You just let a stray cat waltz in and get comfortable?”

Melor shrugs, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. “He made himself at home. What was I supposed to do?”

The kitten purrs louder under my hand and I smile, the tiny ball of fur distracting me from my nausea. “So does this mean he’s going to stay?”

Melor’s gaze softens as he looks at the kitten. “Seems like he’s already decided that.”

I giggle, the moment bringing a little lightness to the anxiety swirling in my chest.

The kitten looks up at me, his little face scrunched up in that adorably sleepy way, and I melt.

“If the cat’s going to stay,” Melor says, his tone teasing but with a serious edge, “he’s going to need two things.”

“What’s that?” I ask, still petting the tiny furball.

“A litter box, first and foremost, and a name.”

I look down at the kitten, taking in his dark fur and thinking of the way he just wandered in and made himself at home. “Duke,” I say, thinking of the character from my book. “He looks like a Duke to me.”

Melor chuckles, nodding. “Duke it is.”

But then his expression shifts back to concern. “Now, about that doctor,” he presses, his eyes locking onto mine.

I freeze for a moment, hating the lie I’m about to tell, but I don’t want to jump the gun and say anything before I know for sure. “My stomach has really been bothering me,” I say, forcing a casual shrug. “It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, like he’s reading between the lines, but he doesn’t push.

“It’s Saturday,” I add, trying to sound nonchalant. “We can wait until Monday to—”

But Melor’s already shaking his head, pulling out his phone. “I know a place that does Saturday appointments,” he says. He starts dialing without even giving me a chance to argue.

An hour later, we’re pulling up to a quiet little doctor’s office tucked away in Noe Valley. The building is small and unassuming, with ivy crawling up the brick walls and a wooden sign that looks like it’s been there for ages. Not the kind of place you’d expect to have a last-minute appointment on a Saturday, but Melor knows people, so here we are.

Before I can even reach for the door handle, Melor is already out of the car, scanning the street. I watch him, knowing he’s armed and that his eyes are peeled for any sign of danger.

We go inside and sit in the waiting room, the soft hum of a saltwater fish tank fills the quiet space. I glance around and notice the receptionist and another female patient sneaking glances at Melor. It makes me chuckle and also feel good.

I lean over, whispering, “Looks like you’ve got some admirers.”

He smirks. “You’re the only one I care about admiring me.”

A nurse steps out and calls my name.

“I’ll be here,” he says as I follow her to an exam room.

A few minutes after the nurse takes my vitals and asks me the basic questions, the door opens. The doctor steps in, exuding calm confidence. She’s middle-aged and sharp, with that no-nonsense vibe that tells me she’s seen it all and isn’t rattled by much.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Melanie Harris,” she says, giving me a reassuring smile as she sits down across from me.

“Amelia,” I reply, my voice a little shaky. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Amelia,” she says warmly, glancing at her tablet. “Let’s see what’s going on, shall we?”

Her tone is calm and professional, and it instantly puts me at ease. This might not be so bad after all.

I take a deep breath, feeling the words tumble out of my mouth before I can even think about them. “I think I’m pregnant,” I blurt out. “I’ve been feeling nauseous, throwing up, and I’ve been absolutely terrible about taking my birth control. I took a home test and it came out positive.”

She holds up a hand, calming me down instantly with that steady, professional energy. “Alright, let’s take it one step at a time. First, we’ll do a pregnancy test here to confirm. I’ll also order bloodwork.”

She stands, handing me a cup. “Once we know the results, we’ll be better able to diagnose what’s causing your symptoms.”

I head to the bathroom, do my business, and hand the sample to a nurse, my heart racing the whole time. Back in the room, I nervously wait, my leg bouncing uncontrollably. Dr. Harris comes back in with a smile on her face, and my stomach drops.

“Well, Amelia,” she says, “it’s confirmed, you’re pregnant.”

The room starts spinning and I can’t catch my breath. My chest tightens, and I’m afraid I might be having a panic attack.

Dr. Harris notices immediately. “Breathe, Amelia. It’s okay. Just take some deep breaths. In and out slowly; that’s it.”

I do as she says, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly until the spinning stops and I feel my pulse slow down.

Dr. Harris gives me a gentle look. “You’ll want to make an appointment with your OB/GYN soon.”

I nod, still trying to wrap my head around everything.

“Is the father in the picture?” she asks gently.

“Yes.”

Dr. Harris gives me a warm smile as she stands up, grabbing a pamphlet from the counter.

She hands me the pamphlet along with a little card full of phone numbers. ‘Here are some resources, places you can call if you need help, have questions, or just need someone to talk to. There’s no rush to figure it all out, but it’s important to have support, especially if you’re feeling overwhelmed.’

I glance at the numbers. Counseling, prenatal care, a support group. ‘Thanks,’ I say, offering a weak smile.

She smiles back at me. ‘You’ve got this, trust me. Just make sure you take care of yourself, and that will take care of the baby.”

I step back into the waiting room to replace Melor on the phone again. I quickly shove the pamphlet and card Dr. Harris gave me deep into my bag, not wanting him to see it. He spots me, and just like that, he ends the call and walks over, eyes full of concern.

He wraps an arm around me as we leave the office.

“How are you feeling?”

I force a smile, trying to keep my cool. “Doctor said it’s probably just a bug. Gotta let it run its course.”

He nods, but his expression doesn’t soften. “I’ll make you some mushroom and potato soup when we get home. It’s an old favorite from my childhood. It always made me feel better.”

My heart warms at that, and I can’t help but smile as we walk to the car, his hand wrapped around mine. It feels nice, normal even, but inside, I’m a complete mess. How long can I keep this secret from him?

I glance at him as we get in the car, his gaze looking cautiously up and down the street. I can’t tell him about the baby. Not yet. Not when he’s already dealing with so much. He needs to be able to concentrate so he doesn’t make a fatal mistake.