Chapter 47 47.
Chapter 47 47.
Chapter 47: Ashley's POV
To my immense relief, Marcus didn't push it. Instead, he reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a sleek tablet, opening a spreadsheet that looked like a military invasion plan.
"I reviewed the clinic’s digital intake forms last night," he noted, sliding back into his efficient executive register. "I noticed you left the emergency contact section blank on your primary file. I've taken the liberty of updating it with my personal office line and Clara’s direct contact."
The sudden lump in my throat returned, thick and choking.
The lie.
The beautiful, massive, terrifying lie was staring me right in the face again.
He was stepping into the blank spaces of my life, anchoring himself to a pregnancy that wasn't even mine to keep, all because he thought a deadbeat father had left me stranded.
"Marcus..." I started, my voice dropping its sharp edge entirely. I looked down at my hands, which were tightly gripping my purse. "You really don't have to do all this. You're a CEO. You have a board of directors to answer to, a family empire to run. You shouldn't be spending your morning managing my emergency contacts."
"I manage my own time, Ashley," he said, his tone softening just enough to make my chest ache. He set the tablet down on his lap and looked at me fully. "And right now, this is where I choose to be."
Before I could figure out how to respond without bursting into tears or confessing the entire IVF truth right then and there, the car glided to a smooth halt in front of the medical center.
"We're here," Marcus announced, leaning forward as the driver opened the door. He stepped out first, then turned, offering his hand to me once again.
This time, as I looked at his open palm, I didn't fight it. I placed my hand in his, feeling the warm, solid strength of his fingers closing around mine as he helped me out of the car.
Just until the baby is born, I lied to myself one more time. Just until the chapter closes.
The medical center lobby was cool and sterile, smelling faintly of antiseptic and expensive floor wax.
It was a stark contrast to the thick, humid morning air outside, and I subconsciously pressed a little closer to Marcus’s side as we walked toward the reception desk.
He didn't miss a beat.
His hand immediately moved to the small of my back, a steady, grounding weight through the thin fabric of my sundress that made me feel instantly shielded from the rest of the world.
"Ashley Martin for Dr. Santos," Marcus announced to the receptionist before I could even open my mouth.
His voice carried that effortless authority that usually made bank managers sweat, but the woman behind the desk merely smiled warmly.
"Ah, yes. Ms. Martin. We have you all checked in," she said, her eyes flicking curiously from me to Marcus, then down to his hand still resting against my back. "The doctor is just finishing up with a patient. You can take a seat in the waiting area, and we’ll call you in shortly."
"Thank you," I said, offering a tight smile.
Marcus guided me toward a pair of plush, oversized armchairs in the corner of the room. As soon as I sank into the cushions, I realized exactly how much tension I had been holding in my shoulders.
My feet were already throbbing slightly—damn my stubborn insistence on the strappy sandals.
Marcus sat in the chair beside me, leaning back and crossing one ankle over his knee. He looked entirely out of place among the pastel-colored walls and pamphlets on prenatal vitamins, yet he carried himself with the exact same unshakeable composure he used in a boardroom.
"Your feet hurt," he stated flatly, not even looking up from his phone.
"They do not," I lied instantly, adjusting the hem of my dress to hide my ankles.
"You've shifted your weight three times in the last thirty seconds, Ashley. And your left sandal strap is digging into your skin." He finally looked at me, his expression a mix of dry amusement and quiet exasperation. "I told you to wear comfortable shoes."
"I am a grown woman, Marcus. I can handle a little shoe-related discomfort for the sake of fashion."
"It isn't fashion if it compromises your stability," he countered smoothly. "If you trip, my asset protection strategy fails. Therefore, next time, you wear the sneakers."
"Next time?" I repeated, my voice dropping slightly. I looked at him, my heart doing that dangerous, unauthorized rhythm again. "You think there’s going to be a next time?"
Marcus met my gaze, his dark eyes entirely serious now. The playful bickering evaporated into the quiet hum of the clinic. "As long as you require an emergency contact who actually shows up, yes."
The words cut right through me, a sharp reminder of the massive misunderstanding sitting between us.
He thought he was being the protector I didn't have.
He thought he was filling a void left by a ghost.
He thought I am some kind of a tragic single mother story.
Before the weight of the silence could crush me, the nurse stepped out into the waiting room, holding a clipboard.
"Ashley Martin?"
Finally.
Time to leave Marcus for a moment.
Time for peace.
Quiet—alone time.
"That's me," I said, quickly pushing myself up from the chair.
Marcus stood up beside me, adjusting his suit jacket. As I started to walk toward the nurse, I realized he was right behind me, his stride perfectly matched to my slower pace.
I stopped and looked up at him, a sudden wave of panic hitting me. "Marcus, you don't have to come to the back. You can wait here. It’s just an ultrasound."
"I'm already here, Ashley," he said quietly, his hand finding the small of my back again, nudging me gently forward. "And I'm not leaving you to sit in an exam room alone."