“No, she’s seven months, Blaire. She just has two months to go,” he told me as if I were ignorant and knew nothing at all about pregnancy or simple arithmetic.

“Uh, she’s not near big enough to be that far along, Ax.”

“I thought that too, but she said her doctor told her it’s because she’s petite. Her belly just looks smaller because of that.”

Yeah, that’s not how it works, I wanted to tell him but didn’t because I knew he would take her word over mine. Just like he did with the spotting. Well, he would see when two months rolled around and the baby was still in utero. And why would she be telling him she was farther along than she was?

Unless…

“Axel, I don’t think you have to worry about the baby being born tonight. She sounded a little unsure about whether her water had actually broken. It’s usually very obvious because there is a lot. She probably leaked a little urine, which isn’t uncommon. So, try to relax, okay?”

“Thanks, baby. I’ll try.” He was cramming on his shoes without socks.

“And, well, I think you need to insist on a paternity test when this baby is born.”

He jerked his head back, and a look crossed his face that I didn’t like at all. “Jesus, you sound just like my fucking father, Blaire,” he snarled before walking out the door and slamming it behind him.

If he had punched me in the face, it couldn’t have hurt worse than the words he’d just said to me. Not to mention his hateful tone of voice. I sat up against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to cover my chest like a shield. My body trembled, but not from the pleasure Ax had been dealing out like a royal flush. No, I was shaking in anger and shame and hurt. So much hurt.

Likening me to that vile, ugly man was the worst insult I could think of. Not once did I call Milan a gold digger or a whore. I simply told him he needed a paternity test, which was honestly very wise advice considering he was a famous athlete. It wasn’t uncommon for women to come out of the woodworks claiming they were having a pro athlete’s baby. And the men made it easy because many of them were fairly promiscuous.

Like Axel, my mind insisted on reminding me.

And also, something just wasn’t adding up about the progression of Milan’s pregnancy. She had been wearing a snug shirt the last time I saw her, and her baby bump was clearly visible. There was absolutely no way her fundal height reflected any more than twenty weeks gestation. I’d wanted to ask Axel the last time he had slept with her, but I figured he had already accounted for that.