Keegan’s hand tightens on mine, and the doctor smiles at me. “Sorry, this won’t take too long. Just try to relax. It’s more accurate this way, given how early it is in your pregnancy. Okay, so this is the amniotic sack.”

I squint, trying to see what she sees as she taps on the screen and places marks around a dark circle.

“And this fluttering, right here, is the baby’s heartbeat.”

“Well, look at that,” Keegan murmurs.

“I don’t see a baby,” I say, tilting my head.

“You’re only about eight weeks along, so it doesn’t look like a baby quite yet, but we can see the heart fluttering. It looks strong and perfectly normal for this stage of things.”

“You said eight weeks?” I ask, counting back. I’ve been on the island for about three months. Which means that I got pregnant one of the first times we were together.

And it absolutely, positively cannot be Troy’s.

Thank God.

“Yes, that’s what you’re measuring here. Does that sound right to you?”

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” Keegan says. “Although, I usually wear a condom.”

“Condoms aren’t 100% effective,” Dr. Simpson reminds him. “Things happen. The good news here is you’re healthy, and the baby is healthy.”

The baby.

I’m going to have a baby.

She removes the wand and moves away from me. “Do you have any questions before I leave so you can get dressed?”

“Is this horrible nausea normal?” I ask. “I’m sick all the time.”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s the change in hormones. I can prescribe something for you if it’s too awful. And the good news is, after about twelve weeks, it should start to subside.”

“Oh, good, just another month to go.”

“You’ll need prenatal vitamins, avoid consuming alcohol, cut down on caffeine, and just keep yourself healthy.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. My nurse will set you up with monthly visits for a while. I’ll step out so you can get dressed.”

Keegan and I are quiet as I clean myself up and pull on my clothes. The nurse and I schedule the next three-months-worth of appointments, and then Keegan and I walk out to his truck.

But he doesn’t start it.

“You don’t want this baby,” he says quietly. “If that’s the way you feel, I wish you’d just say so, Isabella. Because I want to be happy here, and I can’t do that when I can see that the situation has you feeling miserable.”

I turn to him and feel my eyes fill with tears. “That’s not it.”

“Hold on.” He gets out of the truck and comes around to my side. He somehow manages to get me into his lap in the passenger seat and kisses my cheek.

“I’ve been sitting in your lap a lot lately. I kind of like it.”