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Her tone was professional and solemn. She offered a sympathetic smile as she pulled up the chart.

“Let’s get your follow-up care sorted,” she said, her fingers moving across the keyboard. “Just give me one moment.”

The casualness of it bit into my heart like a knife. I breathed through the searing pain and took Isabella’s hand. I brought it to my lips and kissed softly. I might not physically be able to say the words she needed, but I would damn well support her.

Her fingers tightened around mine. I held on. The receptionist continued typing. Keys clicked. Paper shuffled. The ordinary sounds felt unbearably loud.

I was already planning the conversation with Marcel. Or rather, someone Marcel recommended. I needed help. Professional help. Because I wasn’t sure how to survive this with my heart intact any more.

“And this would be for the procedure?”

The question sliced straight through me, and I grew light-headed. The receptionist glanced down at the chart before looking back up.

“We have an opening next Wednesday.” She offered Isabella a polite smile. “Would that work for you?”

You could hear a pin drop—the quiet was so loud. Isabella turned toward me. Her eyes searched mine. Inside the swirling blue of confusion was sadness, regret, and questions. She knew my schedule, so it wasn’t about that. It was whether I would actually support and stand with her.

Even though it killed me, I nodded. Just once. It was tiny, but it was enough. The tension left her shoulders. A brilliant smile transformed her heart-shaped face. One I’d feared I might never see again.

“Actually,” she said, turning back toward the receptionist. “I won’t be needing the procedure. I’m going to continue the pregnancy.”

I stared. Certain I’d misunderstood—certain that my desperate brain was stuck in fantasy mode. I cocked my head to the side. Enormous tears gathered in her eyes. A flash of red from her fingernails caught the light as she cupped my cheek.

“I’m choosing our girls.”

The room snapped back into focus.

“Our girls,” I whispered. My beautiful little princesses.

My nervous system flooded with relief, joy, disbelief, and hope. Every emotion I’d been choking down for seven weeks detonated at once. Words fell from my lips in a rush. Isabella’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Either you’re going to have to teach me Russian, or I’m insisting Kinsley accompanies us everywhere we go. English, my lion.”

The last of my restraint shattered. I grabbed her around the waist and lifted her clean off the ground. A startled squeal escaped her as I spun her in a circle.

“I swear, Pavel Lenkov. Put me down before I throw up all over you.”

I immediately stopped, setting her to the ground carefully and responsibly. What had I been thinking? Had I hurt her? The girls? I reached for her stomach and traced the small bump before laying my hand flat against her body.

“Are you sure?” I breathed.

A part of me needed to hear it one more time. Her eyes shone with a new light, and everything else around me dimmed.

“I’m a woman. I’m allowed to change my mind. We’re keeping them.”

Warmth spread through me as she placed her hand over mine. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her thoroughly. The receptionist cleared her throat. Twice.

Reluctantly, I let her go. A look of hunger blazed in Isabella’s eyes. God help me. The second I got her back to the Bentley, I already knew exactly what was going to happen. For a moment, she simply stared at me, somehow both dazed and feral.

It took her a second to remember where we were. She reached for my hand and tugged me behind her. Before I could question it, she backed up against me.

“What do you have open?” she asked the receptionist.

Sensually, she moved her hips back against me as if there was music playing. Music only she could hear. I choked. My hand shot out and gripped her hip.

“Bella,” I warned as my cock raged against her tight ass.

“What?” she asked.