'You mean whom.' Marc smiles. 'She comes recommended by Denise Crompton. Happy?'

'Yes.'

Marc opens the door, and we find a clean, quiet waiting area with gla.s.s coffee tables and leather sofas.

'It's quiet,' I remark, looking around.

'Of course,' says Marc. 'I didn't want anyone staring at you.'

'What did you do ban all the other patients from turning up?'

'In a manner of speaking.' Marc's lips twist. 'I booked up every appointment in the clinic this morning.'

'Marc, you didn't have to-'

'Yes I did.'

A door creaks open and a lady in a green nurse's uniform appears.

'Ah! Mrs Blackwell. Right on time.'

It takes me a moment to realise she's talking about me.

I can't resist sharing a grin with Marc. 'You booked me in as Mrs Blackwell?'

'It's your name.'

The nurse smiles. 'Will you come this way please? Dr Christian will see you now.'

6.

Dr Christian is a smiling, sixty-something woman. She wears a crisp black suit. Her white hair is neatly clipped and her face is wrinkled with laughter lines.

She shakes my hand warmly. 'A pleasure to meet you Mrs Blackwell. The wedding was just yesterday I hear?'

'Yes.' I nod.

'And you're happy for Mr Blackwell to stay?'

'Yes, definitely.' I slide my hand into Marc's.

'Please take a seat.' Dr Christian gestures to a comfortable-looking leather sofa, and Marc and I sit me still clutching Marc's hand.

'Now. What seems to be the problem?' Dr Christian asks.

'Um ... well it's not a problem exactly.' I feel myself smiling. 'I think I could be pregnant.'

'What makes you think that?'

I shrug, feeling silly. 'I just ... it's a feeling I suppose.'

'Nothing wrong with feelings. A woman's intuition is very powerful. Especially where her health is concerned. Okay so a pregnancy test is pretty simple.' She opens a drawer and takes out a white stick. 'If you could just wee on this stick for me and bring it back. We'll know in a few minutes. There's a toilet right outside.'

Obediently, I take the stick and head out.

It's a little bit awkward trying to hold the stick while I pee, but I manage it. Then I have the humiliating job of bringing it back into the room.

'It's okay,' Dr Christian rea.s.sures me. 'I do this all the time. Don't be embarra.s.sed.'

'Thanks,' I mutter, as she places the white stick on a napkin.

I sit down and grab Marc's hand.

Marc squeezes my fingers.

'Okay,' says Dr Christian, watching the white stick. 'Sophia. The test is telling me you're not pregnant.'

'I'm not?'

'When did you last have your period?'

'Maybe three weeks ago?'

Dr Christian smiles. 'Then it's too soon to tell. The test looks for pregnancy hormones. But they're only around a few weeks after pregnancy has taken hold. Are you fairly regular? I mean, do you menstruate regularly?'

'Yes. Pretty regularly. I mean, maybe a day or two here and there ...'

'And may I ask have there been many times ... without contraception?'

Now I feel really stupid. 'Twice,' I admit.

'So come back in two weeks and we'll take the test again.'

'Two weeks? Do we really have to wait that long?'

'I know it's frustrating. The not knowing. I've been there myself, believe me. But if there's one thing pregnancy will teach you, it's patience.'

'Do you think I'm pregnant?' I ask. 'I mean ... tests aside and everything. You're a doctor. You've seen lots of women. What do you think? In your medical opinion.'

'Honestly, I really couldn't judge,' says Dr Christian. 'It would be unprofessional of me to give an opinion either way. I'll book you in for another appointment in two weeks' time. Maybe you're pregnant already. But chances are ... if it was just twice you're probably not. There's no hurry, okay? You've only just got married.'

I know Dr Christian is right. But surprisingly, my insides ache with disappointment.

Even though the timing was all wrong, it felt right thinking I was carrying Marc's baby.

7.

'You're disappointed,' says Marc, as we walk towards the limo.

I nod, feeling tears spring under my eyelashes. 'Sorry. I don't know why I'm so upset. We only just got married. It's too soon to have a baby anyway. This is stupid.'

'It's not stupid.' Marc puts an arm around me.

'Are you disappointed?' I ask.

'Me? How could I be? I've just married the most perfect girl in the world.'

'You know what I mean. Did you like the idea of me being pregnant?'

'Of course I did.' Marc squeezes me tighter. 'But Dr Christian didn't say you're not pregnant. She just said it was too soon to tell. And there's no rush. For me, it was a relief to get you checked over. Especially after how you were feeling in the car.'

'That was just nerves.'

'How are those nerves now?'

'A little better. I just feel deflated, that's all. When I thought I was pregnant, I had this lovely bubbly excited feeling. But now I just feel sort of empty. Sad. Silly isn't it? I don't know why. I mean it's too soon ...'

'In two weeks you might get that excited feeling back again.'

I manage a smile. 'I know. I'm sorry about all this. Being so dramatic ... it's just I was so sure before. And now ... for the test to come back negative ... '

Marc leans down to kiss me, and I feel my body melt into his.

The kiss is soft and tender, and I feel cold disappointment turn to warmth.

'Now,' Marc murmurs. 'You, Mrs Blackwell, haven't eaten breakfast yet. And if you do happen to be pregnant it's important you're well nourished.'

'I do feel a tiny bit hungry now,' I admit.

'Good. So I'll buy you breakfast and afterwards I'll take you shopping. We are in London, after all.'

'Shopping?' I ask. 'What for?'

'Something very important.'

'So where are we going exactly?' I ask, as the limo turns into Covent Garden.

'A very good restaurant,' says Marc. 'There's in New York. I used to go there all the time. And the London one is just as good.'

'Am I dressed okay for a restaurant?' I ask.

I'm wearing a loose, flowery dress and my hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

Marc is impeccably groomed as usual in a black suit jacket, t-shirt and jeans. His soft brown hair flops adorably over his forehead and his blue eyes are as intense and bright as ever.

The corners of Marc's lips tilt. 'Okay? That's a word I'd never use to describe you. You're a million times better than okay. No matter what you're wearing.'

'They say love is blind,' I tease.

Marc's eyes go hard and serious. 'Sophia, any restaurant would be lucky to have you as a patron. Never forget that.'

'We don't all have your confidence.'

'I wasn't always confident. It was something I had to work at.'

'You? Not confident? I don't believe it.'

'Believe it. I was shy as h.e.l.l as a child. Every audition was a nightmare. All the new faces. But when I started acting-'

'All your shyness disappeared,' I finish.

'How did you know I was going to say that?'

'Because I feel exactly the same way.'

8.

The limo pulls up outside a pretty restaurant with a dark-wood front. Through the huge gla.s.s window I see crispy baguettes, loaves and pastries under orange lights.

'After you, Mrs Blackwell,' says Marc, opening the door.

I smile. 'I still can't get used to that name.'

'Funny. Because it suits you.'