“How?” Isabella asks, intrigued.
“Thanks to directions from a very helpful waiter, I once came to the rescue of a very well-known chat show host who needed to sneak out.”
“He was escaping the press, too?”
“His ex was lurking around, actually. He didn’t want to risk bumping into her. Anyway”—I gesture one way down the corridor—“we should probably get going.”
“Right.” Isabella nods, moving forward.
Unfortunately, my memory of the back corridors of The Langham proves somewhat hazy, due in part to the several mojitos I’d enjoyed that evening, and we get lost more than once. This doesn’t go down too well with Isabella, whose contractions seem to be getting closer together and more painful.
At one point, Ryan takes her hand, chanting, “Breathe, breathe,” before yelping in pain as she grips his fingers and goes, “You fucking breathe.”
“I think my thumb is broken,” he whispers to me as she bumbles on ahead down the stairs.
“Oh, poor thing, we all feel very sorry for you,” she calls back, overhearing him. “Because that sounds just as painful as pushing a basketball out of your vagina.”
“To be fair, she has a point,” I tell him, stifling a laugh. “But don’t worry; we can have your hand checked out at the hospital, too, if you like.”
“I’m fine,” he grumbles.
We make it to a corridor I recognize, knowing that the outside world is just a few steps away. A couple of the kitchen staff look a bit puzzled as we pass, but as soon as I say I need fresh air because I feel I’m going to be sick, they quickly point toward the correct door, no questions asked.
We finally burst outside. Ryan and I check a couple of taxi apps, but all of them are coming up with drivers unavailable. It’s a busy night, and we’re in the heart of Central London.
“We should call an ambulance,” Ryan suggests.
“No! You don’t call an ambulance when you go into labor!” Isabella balks. “I just need a bloody car to get me to the hospital.”
“I really think an ambulance is a good idea,” he insists gently.
“No ambulance,” she seethes.
“Okay, I’ll try the main road for a black cab,” Ryan says, hisvoice much higher-pitched than usual as he shudders under her glare. “You going to be okay here for a bit?”
“Sure, take your time,” Isabella replies, “it’s not like I’m having a baby or anything.”
I give him a thumbs-up as he scuttles away.
“Poor guy. It’s not his fault. I’m just pissed off at men not having to go through any of this. Oh god,” she says, trying to steady her breathing and pushing her hair out of her face, “this is not how this was supposed to go.”
“It’s going to be fine, I promise,” I assure her. “We’ll get you to the hospital.”
“No, I mean—” she throws her hands up in the air “—having a baby on my own. I thought Elijah would be here. I thought that I’d have someone to face all this with. The baby’s father doesn’t want anything to do with me, and now I’ve messed up a relationship with someone who was happy to help raise the baby even though it wasn’t his. I’m all alone. This baby is coming and… it’s just me.” She looks at me, her eyes glistening as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
She starts having another contraction, and I put my arm around her as she cries out in pain, before she begins steadying her breathing again. I watch her in admiration, waiting until the contraction is over to speak.
“Isabella, you can’t plan everything out in life. No one can. Nothing is supposed to be a certain way. It is what it is and we make the best of it.”
“I know, but this baby doesn’t have a family.”
“Are you kidding? This baby hasyou!” I say, squeezing her arm. “You’re their family. Trust me, this baby doesn’t need anyone else.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whimpers.
“Of course you can do this. I know you can do this.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. “I’m not so sure.”
