“No. I’m fine. It helped.”
She steers me to one of the elegant settees arranged for clients to observe fittings, and I sink onto it with a gratitude I can't hide.
The room spins once, then settles. The worst has passed, but I feel wrung out. Hollow. Like someone reached inside me and scooped out everything solid.
“I found a packet of crackers in the break room,” Serena says, rushing over to hand them to me.
I tear them open and munch on a corner of a saltine while Yuki hovers nearby, worry pulling at her usually composed expression. Clara looks stricken. She’s young enough that she's probably never seen a client nearly collapse. Sofia, the lacespecialist, has retreated several steps but watches with soft concern, her hands clasped in front of her.
“There now. Your color’s looking better already.” Serena murmurs more reassurances, adjusting the cool cloth on my forehead. Her touch is gentle. Professional but caring.
Despite my embarrassment, something in me loosens at their concern. These women barely know me, but they've gathered around as though my wellbeing matters. As though I'm more important than the appointment, the dress, or the schedule they've carefully arranged.
It's not Nick's fierce, consuming protectiveness, but something else. It's kindness. And right now, kindness helps. I look up, taking in the faces around me. The concern. The empathy.
Nadiyah stands apart from her colleagues, near her workstation, the veil still draped across her hands like she never set it down. She doesn’t join the others fussing over me, not that I need or want one more person panicking when I’m sure this is nothing.
God, I hope this is nothing. What if it’s not? What if it’s the baby?
"Avery."
Kelsey's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She's crouched beside my chair. Close. Her voice pitched low enough that only I can hear.
Her expression is calm, but her eyes are serious. This isn't a suggestion coming.
"I have a duty to make sure you’re all right. So, either I'm calling 911 or I’m calling Nick. Your choice."
There’s no contest at all. Calling 911 means ambulances. EMTs. The press. It means risking this pregnancy becoming public knowledge before I've even had a chance to tell my own mother.
I want Nick.I wanthishand at the back of my neck,hisvoice in my ear telling me I'm fine, that he's got me, that nothing will touch me while he's there.
I need him right now, even if everything’s okay.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Please call Nick.”
20
NICK
The fifteen minutes ittakes to cross the city are the longest of my life.
Kelsey's voice is still echoing in my head—Avery nearly fainted, she's sitting down, she's conscious and alert—but the words collapsed somewhere between her mouth and my brain, leaving only the cold knot of fear that's been sitting in my gut since I grabbed my keys and ran. I've been gripping the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache. Every red light, every second that ticks by while I'm not with her, seeing for myself that she and the baby are okay, feels like endless torture.
I pull up outside the House of Delaire and I'm out of the car the instant I kill the engine.
Kelsey intercepts me in the reception area. "She's doing much better. She's had water and some crackers. She's alert and sitting up."
I hear the words this time. Process them. Let them loosen the grip of fear by one degree.
"Where is she?"
Kelsey nods toward the fitting area, and I'm already moving past her to find Avery.
And there she is. Seated on an elegant velvet sofa, a glass of water in her hand and a cool cloth draped across her neck. She's pale but she's upright, talking to Serena. When her eyes find mine across the room, she manages a small smile that releases some of my dread. Not completely, but enough that I can take a full breath for the first time since Kelsey's call.
I cross to her in long strides, sinking down onto my knees in front of her. My hands find her cheeks, and I cradle her face between my palms. A hundred words jam in my throat as I look at her, but I can't seem to find my voice.
"I'm okay," she says before I can ask. "Really. I'm fine. I got a bit overheated, and I probably should have eaten more than half a croissant before I left this morning."
