Epilogue
Gualtiero
Five months later
Ireach for Ella, but my arms come up short.
My eyes fly open.
Her side of the bed is crumpled and cold.
How did I not notice her getting up?
I push myself upright, my pulse already skidding out of rhythm, and scan the dark room. Moonlight spills through the window, washing the furniture in a pale, silvery glow. The bathroom door stands open, but it is dark.
I drag in a breath and force logic to the forefront of my mind.
I pull on a bathrobe, grab my phone from the nightstand, and head for the kitchen.
She was probably thirsty. Pregnancy does that. She went to get a glass of water or a midnight snack. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.
So why does unease crawl up my spine?
The oven light is on. My steps slow.
“Ella,” I call softly.
A low groan drifts in from the living room. My blood turns to ice.
Fuck. What happened?
Images crash through my mind before I can stop them. Falls. Blood. Pain. Her crumpled on the floor while I slept, completely unaware.
Almost losing her more than once has rewired something in me permanently. There’s no such thing as calm anymore. Only vigilance.
The need to protect her, to know she’s safe, alive, breathing, never leaves me. It lives in my bones now.
Moving faster, my heart pounds, already bracing for the worst.
I nearly slip when my foot lands in a puddle of something wet, and I catch myself on the counter.
Did she drop a glass of water?
What if she stepped on a broken piece? That would explain the pained sound.
“Ella?” I call again, louder now. “Are you alright?”
No answer. Just another strained groan from the living room.
My breath refuses to go all the way in.
I switch on the flashlight on my phone and scan the floor, moving carefully, bracing myself to see shards glittering in the light.
There are none.
No glass. No mess. Just water.
And then the dots connect.
Merda!
“Angel!” I yell this time, panic settling in.
I run to the living room. She’s perched on an exercise ball, rocking and bouncing through a contraction. Her face is drawn tight with pain, her head tipped back as she drags in slow, deliberate breaths.
Relief and terror collide in my chest all at once.
I rush to her side, dropping to my knees and taking her hands in mine.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay even.
Ella doesn’t answer. She keeps bouncing on the ball, her breathing deep and deliberate, riding the contraction.
Needing to touch her, I slide my hands up and down her arms, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin.
“It’s all going to be alright,” I murmur, leaning closer. “We’re fine. Just stay calm.”
Who am I trying to convince? Her or myself?
Keeping one hand locked around hers, I fumble for my phone with the other and pull up our midwife’s number. It rings twice before the call connects.
“Barbara,” I say, not bothering with greetings. “She’s gone into labor. Come now. You need to be here in the next five minutes.”
“Calm down,” she replies evenly. “El has already called me. I’m on the way.”
Good. And she sounds unruffled, in control. Completely unlike me.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“That’s not quick enough,” I whisper-shout, turning slightly away from Ella so she won’t hear the edge in my voice.
She ignores me and asks instead, “How is El doing?”
My gaze snaps back to Ella. Her body is moving rhythmically, her breaths steady despite the pain pulling her face tight. She’s doing exactly what Barbara taught her.
“She’s in pain. What do you think?” I snap, then immediately soften, squeezing Ella’s hand and brushing my thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m here,” I murmur to her. “I’ve got you.”
“Well, that’s to be expected,” Barbara says calmly. “Now tend to your wife. I need to focus on driving in the dark. You wouldn’t want me to end up in a ditch, would you?”
I bite back a growl.
Smartass women. I seem to be surrounded by them these days.
“Just get here,” I bark and end the call.
I drop the phone onto the couch, turn back to Ella, and press my forehead to hers.
My heart is beating out of my chest.
It’s in moments like these that I wish I still had all the resources of my former life at my fingertips. A qualified doctor would be comforting to have right about now.
Barbara has a lot of experience and knowledge, I know that, but it’s not a medical degree.
Ella is happy with her, which is what matters. She keeps telling me Barbara is far more useful than Dr. Agosti could ever be.
I agree with her. Then I point out that I had an obstetrician hired.
Her reaction?
She rolled her eyes.
“How are you holding up, angel?” I ask, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
It’s not enough. The contact doesn’t settle me the way it usually does. My nerves are shot. I need more.
My hands tremble as I cradle her face, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing her in like it might anchor me.
“Better than you, it seems,” she says gently. “What’s going on, my love?”
I draw in a slow breath. Then another.
The words lodge in my chest.
“I don’t like this,” I say quietly. “Not knowing. Not being able to do anything.”
Ella stills. Her bouncing slows, then stops altogether.
She lifts her hands to my face, forcing me to look at her.
“Why?” she asks softly. “What’s scaring you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
For a second, I consider lying.
“I’m afraid something will happen to you and Peanut,” I finally say, my voice barely holding together. “… Like it did to my mother and sister.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, like I’ve been punched.
Goosebumps erupt across my skin as the memories crash in, grief and fear tangling until my body breaks out in a cold sweat.
Understanding dawns on my angel’s face. Her eyes soften, filling with love and compassion. She brushes her lips against mine.
“Nothing will happen to me,” she says firmly. “You and I have been through so much, and all along we’ve been looked after.”
She presses her forehead to mine.
“That’s not going to change now. In fact…” Her mouth curves into a faint smile. “I have this weird sense that our mothers are here with me… with us… to see their granddaughter come into the world safely.”
“Or grandson,” I correct automatically. It’s become our standing joke.
She giggles. It’s not as full or carefree as usual, but it’s enough.
I brush a strand of hair from her face, staring at her in awe.
“I’ve been so nervous about going into labor,” she admits. “But I’m not afraid anymore. Even though these contractions already hurt like hell.”
As if to prove the point, her face tightens and her body tenses as another one hits.
“Claudette!” I shout, my voice echoing through the house.
God, did she not hear me call Ella’s name earlier? That woman sleeps like the dead.
I tighten my grip on Ella’s hands to let her know I’m here, that she’s not alone, even though I have no idea how to help her through this.
The truth lands hard. I’m useless.
Get a hold of yourself.
This isn’t about me. Ella is the priority. She needs me focused, present, and solid.
I shove my panic aside and reach for the glass of water on the coffee table, lifting it to her lips.
“Have a sip, angel,” I murmur. “You need to stay hydrated.”
She takes the glass from me and drains it in a few quick gulps.
“More?” I ask.
“Do we have lemonade?”
I nod. “I’ll check. Are you going to be okay by yourself for a minute?”
That earns me a small, breathless chuckle.
“I’ve been okay by myself for the last hour.”
Right. While I slept in blissful ignorance.
I press a kiss to her temple before stepping away, then grab my phone again and cue up the music we’ve been using for the breathing exercises. The soft, familiar melody fills the room.
It works on me too.
For the first time since I woke to an empty bed, I manage a full, grounding breath.
I move back to her side.
I can’t take her pain. But I can be here for every second of it.
“How long have you been having contractions?” I ask when I return to the living room with a pitcher of lemonade.
“For a while now,” she pants.
That’s not an answer I like.
I set the pitcher down and dab her forehead with a cool washcloth. Her skin is damp and overheated. Ella leans into my touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second as she soaks in the relief.
“Oh god,” she groans. “Here comes another one.”
I glance at my watch.
Two seventeen a.m.
Ella draws a deep breath in through her nose and lets it out slowly, exactly the way Barbara taught her. Controlled. Focused.
She’s doing better than I am.
I realize I’ve been holding my breath and force myself to exhale.
“Claudette!” I shout again, irritation edging into my voice.
Where the hell is she?
“So… you’ve been having contractions for a while,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady as I rub slow circles along Ella’s back. “How far apart are they?”
“I don’t know,” she moans, barely managing the words.
Her fingers clamp around my hand, crushing my knuckles together with surprising strength.
“Oh shit,” she cries. “They’re getting worse. Fuck. This one really hurts.”
Her head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, a raw sound tearing from her chest.
I pant right along with her. Pain shoots up my arm as my wedding ring bites into my finger, her grip relentless. She’s going to break something if this keeps up.
I don’t pull away, though. I won’t.
When her hold finally loosens, I suck in a breath and glance at my watch again.
“Ella,” I say quietly, my throat tightening. “They’re less than five minutes apart.”
Fuck.
My heart stutters, then races. Light-headedness washes over me as the reality settles in.
This is happening. And it’s happening fast.
“Claudette!” I bellow again as I shift Ella’s grip from my hand to my wrist.
Why is it so hot in here?
I shrug off the robe, leaving me in nothing but boxers and a thin shirt, my skin damp with nervous sweat.
When Ella opens her eyes, her gaze drifts slowly down my body.
A faint, mischievous smile tugs at her lips.