Ivan 2 (Her Russian Protector #9) - Roxie Rivera Page 0,47
employers wouldn’t even look at a felon’s application, I suddenly had a better understanding of why so many offenders ended up back on drugs or in jail. Ruby was luckier than most. She had a safe place to stay, all the food she could ever want, and access to all the comforts and necessities of modern life. What about all the newly released prisoners who didn’t have a support system like hers?
“I have an idea,” Ivan said. “She’ll probably hate it, but it’s the best offer she’s going to get.”
Before I could ask about his idea, a nurse called us back for our appointment. My stomach fluttered with nervous energy, and I silently prayed this would be the start of a successful baby-making journey. With his hand on my lower back, Ivan walked beside me across the waiting room and down the hall lined with prettily framed photos of smiling parents and their babies. Instead of the expected exam room, we were taken to an office for our consultation, which helped me relax a little more.
Nancy, the patient education nurse, sat down with us and went over the process of working with the clinic. After briefly explaining the medical side of things, including some of the tests we would have and the options to achieve a healthy pregnancy, she said, “We have actual licensed therapists and counselors on staff if you would like to talk to someone as you go on this journey.”
Ivan had draped his arm along the back of my chair again, and I could feel him tense at the mention of counseling. I hoped he would keep an open mind about it, but I wasn’t going to push this early in the process.
Nancy didn’t seem to notice his reaction, or maybe she saw it so often from patients that it barely registered anymore. Instead, she asked, “Have you spoken with our financial department? Your insurance will likely cover the testing, but the actual procedures and medications aren’t usually covered. We have access to loans, medical credit cards and even grants if that’s something you’ll want to investigate with one of our financial counselors.”
Fully aware that we were incredibly lucky when it came to money, I had a moment of guilt as I said, “That’s not an issue for us. We’ll be self-paying for whatever our insurance doesn’t cover.”
“Well, that makes things simpler,” Nancy replied, shutting the folder filled with forms and pamphlets. Handing it over, she said, “Dr. Tafesh will be in to see you in a few minutes. She’s finishing up with another patient.”
Alone in the office, Ivan spoke first. “I’ll go if you want to go.” He cleared his throat. “To therapy.”
I shifted in my seat and touched his jaw. He seemed so uncomfortable in this space, surrounded by plastic models and tasteful infographics of male and female reproductive systems. “I appreciate that, Ivan.”
He grunted in that adorable grumpy bear way he had. “It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s really not,” I countered and stroked his jaw, feeling the slight scratch of stubble under my fingertips. “I know this isn’t how we wanted this to go, and I wish my uterus would behave and do its job because—”
“Stop.” He silenced me with a tender kiss. Pressing his forehead to mine, he said, “Whatever happens, whatever is wrong, we’ll figure it out together, yes?”
Basking in his love for me, I nodded and stole a quick kiss as the door opened behind us. We both stood to greet Dr. Tafesh, shaking her hand and introducing ourselves. She had the most incredible tawny eyes and a friendly smile that set me at ease. Her earrings caught my attention, and I couldn’t help but tap my own similar golden earrings. “Zoya?”
“Yes!” Dr. Tafesh answered excitedly. “I see you’re a fan as well.”
“Yes. Very much so.” I couldn’t wait to tell Zoya I had seen her designs out in the wild.
“Why don’t we have a seat and chat about your medical history?”
After we sat, Ivan kept one arm around my shoulders, and the other reached for my hand, holding it as we waited for Dr. Tafesh to scroll through her tablet screen. “You’re both in very good health. Erin, you’re in your prime reproductive years, and Ivan,” she pronounced his name the correct way with a long “e” sound, “you’re a bit older but still within the optimal range for conception.”
Ivan’s jaw twitched at the “bit older” remark. He was nearly ten years my senior, after all.
“Ivan, you seem to