Chapter One
AMANDINE MONROE LLOYD SAT with her legs pressed together and ankles crossed in Dr. Silverman’s office. The good doctor had a prosperous practice in Los Angeles, catering to the significant others of the rich and famous. The waiting room was decorated in soothing sage and creamy yellow, just like the office. Instead of posters warning women about the dangers of various illnesses, the clinic walls had tasteful prints of modern art, the kind that people in Amandine’s husband’s social circle would easily drop a few million dollars to own. If they had been the originals, of course.
Until her marriage, she’d never been able to afford a gynecologist who had a private practice, much less one as high-class as Dr. Silverman’s. She squirmed in her seat. Her pink chiffon Oscar de la Renta dress and matching Manolo Blahnik stilettos cost more than what most people made in a month and should have been enough to make her feel like she belonged in the office. But they were something her personal shopper—one her husband had hired—had bought to ensure she looked the part of Mrs. Gavin Lloyd. She would never have spent that much on something she’d end up wearing only once or twice, but her shopper bought something new every other day. Maybe the woman was trying to compensate for the fact that Amandine didn’t want her clothes custom-tailored in Europe like Gavin.
She studied the little pots of aloe on the window sill, counting their spiky leaves. What could be taking Dr. Silverman so long?
A few minutes later, the doctor walked in and took her seat at the desk. In her early forties, Dr. Silverman was model-thin and short—shorter than Amandine’s five-five—with a friendly face and warm green eyes. She wore a white doctor’s lab coat over a peach tunic and a skirt as brown as her hair. Her shoes were sensible pumps, unlike Amandine’s impractical stilettos.
“Congratulations again.” She handed Amandine a discreet ivory envelope made of expensive paper. There was nothing on the outside except the clinic’s logo. “Here’s the sonogram so you can share it with your husband. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
“Thank you.” Amandine put it in her purse, her hands less than steady. She and Gavin had never discussed having children. But it’d been three years since they’d gotten married, so wasn’t it about time they thought about the next generation?
Okay, so their third anniversary was tomorrow. Almost three years.
“By the way…” Amandine began.
Dr. Silverman put her hands together. “Yes?”
“Does it matter that we used birth control all this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is the baby” —Amandine put a hand on her belly— “going to have a problem because of that?”
“Not at all. Don’t worry. No birth control works one hundred percent of the time. But that doesn’t mean that pregnancies occurring during usage aren’t viable, or that your baby will run a higher risk for any particular condition.”
“Okay.”
“The most important thing for you right now is to relax, eat healthy and do some light exercise three to four times a week,” the doctor said, ticking off the points on her fingers. “The receptionist will give you a booklet with everything you need to know. It has two copies of Nutrition, one for you and one for your staff. I’m sure your cook can come up with something acceptable based on my recommendations. If you need more information or have any other concerns or questions, feel free to contact me at any time.”
“Thanks.” The reassurance made her feel a little better. Gavin paid a hefty fee every year to ensure that Amandine could remain a patient at the private concierge service clinic, and unlike some physicians, Dr. Silverman really was available at all times via phone, email or text.
“I want to do another exam in two weeks. Please see the receptionist to schedule your next visit.”
“I will.”
“Again, congratulations.”
Amandine walked out of the office and into the
waiting area. Her best friend and personal assistant Brooke de Lorenzo rose from the comfortable white leather couch. She had on an eye-popping outfit, as usual; this one consisted of a sleeveless magenta top, a teal mini-skirt and a golden loop belt. The top was slightly loose, but the skirt was tight enough to show off her butt, the “spoils of the gym” as she called it. Big gold hoops dangled from her ears, her short sassy bob framing a pretty face. Her black platform boots moved silently over the carpeted floor as she approached, two bags hanging from one of her shoulders.
“Everything good?” she asked, her eyes level with Amandine’s. The two of them were the same height, and today so was their footwear.
“No problems.”
“Great. When do you want your next appointment?” She pulled out a tablet.
“Two weeks from now.”
She conferred with the receptionist and nodded. “Okay. Ten o’clock.”
The receptionist tried to hand Brooke a card with the time written on it, but she waved it away. “Got it.” She flashed the fancy tablet and put it in one of the bags.
Brooke and Amandine walked into the elevator together. “I should call Gavin.” Amandine wanted to tell Brooke the news, but of course her husband should be first.