“Adrian—”
“She tried to ruin you. Misery is a mild outcome.”
They reached their box—the very place where he had first trained his opera glasses on her. As they carefully lowered herinto her chair—eliciting gasps from nearby boxes—the ache of memory softened the increasing pains.
“This brings back memories,” she said.
“You refused to look away,” Adrian murmured, his hand covering hers. “You were magnificent. I knew you would either save me or destroy me.”
“And which did I do?”
“Both. Destroyed who I was. Saved who I might be.” His other hand caressed her stomach, where their child executed another ambitious revolution.
The orchestra began its tuning—strings whining, horns muttering, the familiar chaos somehow oddly soothing. But as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, Marianne knew with sudden, crystalline certainty that she had made a grave miscalculation.
The pains were no longer ten minutes apart. They were perhaps five, and growing stronger with each occurrence. She gripped Adrian’s hand as the performance began its familiar dance—noise, light, and motion blurring together while her attention tightened on the rhythm of her own breath.
“You’re crushing my fingers,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” she whispered—but another pain struck, and along with it a sudden, unmistakable wet warmth.
Oh no.
“Adrian,” she whispered.
“Shh, the aria is beginning.”
“Adrian, I think—”
Her words vanished as her waters broke in a spectacular rush.
“Adrian,” she said urgently.
He turned—and whatever he saw drained all colour from his face.
“No.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Here? Now?”
“The child appears to favour theatricality.”
“This is not happening.” He shot to his feet. “We are leaving. Immediately.”
“Adrian, I cannot walk.”
Another contraction tore through her, forcing a small involuntary sound from her throat.
“Catherine!” Adrian barked. “Fetch Mr Peterson. He’s in Colonel Morrison’s box.”
“What—oh! Oh dear!” Catherine paled, then fled.
Timothy turned green. “Should I—er—fetch something?”
“Hot water,” Adrian said wildly. “Linens. A midwife. My sanity.”
“Adrian,” Marianne gasped, gripping his sleeve. “We will not reach home in time.”
