Chapter 20
NICK
The fifteen minutes it takes 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."
"You scared me." The admission comes out rougher than I intend, but I don't try to soften it. She needs to know.
"I know. I'm sorry." Her hands come up to cover mine, her fingers curling around my wrists. The warmth of her touch seeps into my skin, grounding me in a way nothing else can. "But I'm fine. I just got lightheaded, that's all."
I want to believe her. She's sitting here in front of me, talking and breathing and giving me that look that says she knows exactly how worried I've been.
But the echo of fear is still inside me, residue of the past fifteen minutes of anguish when I didn't know what to think.
I need more than her reassurances to quiet it completely.
"We're going to the hospital," I tell her. "I want you checked out properly."
Her and the baby both.
"Nick, that's not necessary." Although she doesn't say it, I know she understands how I feel about hospitals.
Too many memories of watching my mother's agony while disease slowly took her away.
None of that matters right now. Still, Avery's expression is tender as she frowns and shakes her head.
"I can just call Dr. Wilson's office. You don't have to—"
"I'm not taking any chances. Not with you." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, gentling my voice even as the words remain firm. "We're going to the emergency room, and we're not leaving there until I know for certain that everything's okay."
She searches my face for a long moment, and whatever she finds there makes her agree. "Okay. If that's what you need."
"It is." I help her stand, keeping my arm around her waist. She leans into me, even though she seems steady on her feet.
Kelsey holds the door as we pass through the reception area. “I’ll update Gabe, let him know what’s going on.”
“Thanks, Kelsey.”
Outside the fall air is cool, riffling Avery’s hair as I guide her to my BMW.
I open the passenger door, then carefully settle her into the seat.
When I reach across to fasten her seatbelt, her fingers brush the back of my hand in wordless permission and gratitude.
She may be okay outwardly, but that touch tells me she’s glad I’m with her now.
I close her in then round the car and get behind the wheel. Midtown traffic is chaos as usual, but I navigate into the fastest-moving stream of it and head for the hospital.
Avery rests her head back, eyes half-closed.
She’s pale and spent, but the pulse at the base of her throat is steady enough that I let myself breathe.
I have to believe she’s going to be okay.
I won’t let myself consider all the terrible possibilities that ran through my head before I arrived at the atelier.
But they’re there, just beneath the surface of my mask of calm.
Her hand settles on my thigh after a few blocks, warm through the fabric of my suit pants. Neither of us speaks. The fear is the same for both of us and naming it won't make it smaller.
Up ahead is the NYU Langone building. I pull up under the ER’s covered awning on First Avenue, angling in parallel between another parked car and an idling ambulance. I cut the engine. Then I'm around to Avery’s side and opening her door before she can reach for the handle herself.
A uniformed security guard moves forward, possibly to tell me I can’t leave my car at the curb. I don’t give him a chance to speak.
“I’m Dominic Baine,” I say, already moving past him. “My fiancée fainted. She’s six weeks pregnant.”
He nods and backs off as the ER doors slide open. Sometimes, my name and all the baggage that comes with it is actually a good thing. I assist Avery inside, holding her elbow in one hand and my other arm wrapped around her waist just to keep her steady if needed.
I walk her past the waiting area with its rows of occupied chairs, past a tech wheeling a monitor down the corridor, straight to the triage nurse behind the intake window. As soon as we arrive there, an orderly appears with a wheelchair for Avery.
“Just for safety, until we get you checked in,” the young man tells her.
I help her into the seat, standing by as the triage nurse gathers Avery’s information. The hospital is busy, but we’re shown to a curtained examination bay minutes later.
Avery sits on the edge of the wheeled ER bed while a nurse wraps the blood pressure cuff around her arm.
I take up a position next to the bed, barely resisting the urge to pace the small, harshly lit space.
Monitors beep on the other side of the privacy curtain.
Antiseptic odors permeate the cool air. A continuous chaos of voices and movement sound from all around us.
Cold, dark memories crowd in, but I push them away. This isn’t about me. The only thing I’m focused on is the woman I love, and the fragile life growing inside her. I feel a warm, light touch on my hand and glance down to find Avery’s fingers threading through mine. Grounding me, even now.
I squeeze her hand gently. “Doing okay?”
She nods, but I see the flicker of uncertainty behind her brave front. “You?”
“I’ll be better once I know you’re all right.”
Her numbers come back low but stable, and the pink is returning to her cheeks. Not the warm flush I know from mornings in our bed, but a hell of an improvement over what I found at the atelier.
The ER doctor is a young woman with a kind smile and a patient demeanor. She listens to Avery describe the fitting, the heat, the lightheadedness. Checks reflexes. Palpates her abdomen with careful pressure. I watch every shift in the doctor's face, looking for anything she's not saying.
The ultrasound tech arrives with a portable unit. Gel on Avery's abdomen, wand pressed flat. Our baby’s heartbeat fills the room. Steady and rapid, the same relentless rhythm we heard in Dr. Wilson's office last week. Still there. Still going strong.
Thank God.
My shoulders relax. My jaw unclenches. Avery's fingers tighten around mine, and when I look at her, the fear is gone from her gaze. Just relief now. Raw and uncomplicated, the kind that doesn't need words. In response, I lift her hand and press my mouth to her knuckles.
The tech confirms what the sound already told us.
The baby's perfect, no signs of distress.
With that, the unit is wheeled out. For a moment it's just us and the fading echo of that heartbeat. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and lean down to kiss Avery’s forehead, closing my eyes and simply breathing her in.
The doctor returns shortly after. "No complications.
No concerns." She addresses Avery directly, practical and reassuring. "What happened today is a combination of mild dehydration, low blood sugar, a warm environment, and the restrictive fit of the garment. It’s not uncommon in the first trimester. And the good news is, it’s very manageable. "
She goes on to offer preventive advice. Small, frequent meals. Water within arm's reach at all times. No coffee or tea. Avoid periods of prolonged standing and refrain from wearing restrictive clothing.
She pauses. "Most importantly, wherever possible, minimize stress."
Avery nods. “Thank you, doctor.”
The young physician wishes us well, tells us someone will be back with discharge instructions, then excuses herself. The privacy curtain whisks back into place behind her.
Minimize stress. Lately, our lives have been nothing but stress.
As for the rest of it, the dehydration, low blood sugar, too long on her feet, those things can be immediately improved. I’ll do my damnedest to make sure Avery is taking care of herself and not pushing herself too hard.
I think back to the half-croissant she barely touched this morning. The frequent nausea that’s made her turn gray even at the mention of breakfast. Now this. Fainting in the middle of the day
I glance at her and find her watching me instead. "I’m sorry I put you through this today," she says.
“Don’t.” I frown. "You didn't do anything wrong. Christ. I’m the one who did this to you."
“Did what? Knocked me up?” She smiles. “I seem to recall being a very willing participant.”
I chuckle in spite of myself. “You know what I mean. You’re going through all of this alone and all I can do is watch. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Nick, I’m fine. I can handle this.” A playful smirk lifts the corner of her mouth. “Ask me again in a few months when I’m big as a house and full of hormones, and I might have a different answer.”
I move in closer to her, reaching down to her flat stomach. “I can’t wait to see you big and round with my baby.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah. You’re going to be the sexiest pregnant woman. You already are.”
Leaning down, I lift her chin on the edge of my fingers and brush my lips over hers in an unhurried kiss. I could go on kissing her for a lot longer, but the sound of the privacy curtain opening makes us draw apart like a couple of teenagers caught making out in the back of a car.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the discharge nurse says as she enters with paperwork. She indicates where Avery needs to sign, then lets us know we’re free to leave.
I take the printed instructions we’re given and slide them into my jacket pocket.
Then I walk Avery back out to my car. The uniformed man at the door gives me a nod, then rushes out ahead of me to help.
I get Avery settled into the passenger seat while the guard waves other vehicles around us to give us space.
“Everything okay I hope, Mr. Baine?” he asks once I close Avery’s door.
“Yes. All good, thanks.” I pull a hundred-dollar bill from the cash in my suit jacket and discreetly hand it to him. “And thank you for letting me leave my car here.”
“No problem,” he says, grinning as he pockets the tip.
I head around to the driver's side, and pull into the traffic heading south.
Avery's eyes are closed before we hit the first light. Not asleep, just decompressing. Her breathing hasn't dropped into that deeper rhythm, but I can tell she’s spent. Now that everything is behind us, she’s content to let the day be over.
The city moves past us as I drive us toward home. None of it registering.
Minimize stress.
The doctor’s words circle back in the quiet. I glance at Avery. She's shifted toward me in the seat, her body curved in my direction the way it curls toward me in sleep. Her left hand rests on her belly, the diamond engagement ring on her finger catching what's left of the afternoon light.
Fuck. Our life right now is full of things that could stress Avery.
The tabloid ambush two weeks ago. The paparazzi staking out our building.
The security detail I put on her that she never wanted.
The numerous dress fittings. The wedding guest list that started at a hundred and metastasized to three-hundred-plus because of my business relationships and the social obligations I couldn't turn down. Then there’s the rest of it.
The publicists. The photographers. The caterers.
The florists. The venue coordinator. The rehearsal dinner logistics.
All of it pressing down on the woman carrying my child. All of it generating the exact thing the doctor just told us to eliminate.
Avery had made a joke about my guilt over what her body is going through to carry our child. I know she’s strong enough to handle it. She’s been strong enough to handle anything life has thrown at her. But even my capable, courageous Avery has her limits.
Her hand finds my arm, even with her eyes closed. I cover her fingers with my own and keep driving.
Taking us home.