Page 75 of After-Hours Heir

CHRISTOSWASAWAKENEDfrom sleep by the sound of Sylvie being sick in the bathroom.

He stood up and crossed the room, pushing the door open.

She was down on her knees in front of the toilet.

“Oh, don’t,” she said. “It’s awful. I have indigestion.”

“You’re unwell?”

“Yes,” she said, standing and flushing the toilet, then grabbing her stomach. “I feel awful.”

“It’s not labor, is it?”

“No. I’m not due for three more weeks. And it’s very common for women having their first baby to—” She stopped and doubled over. She was breathing hard. “I’m so dizzy. My vision is all blurry.”

“We need to go to the doctor.”

“No, we don’t. I just have a bug or something.”

“We need to get to a hospital,” he said. He walked over to her and tilted her face up. “You look…”

Panic tore through him. He had seen people close to death before. He could see it in her eyes right now. “It is an emergency. We are leaving now.”

She was in a nightgown, but they would only put her in a hospital gown when they arrived at the hospital. He pulled on a pair of pants, put on a shirt, only to avoid being arrested forindecency, and he took her hand and began to lead her out into the elevator.

“Christos…”

“Listen to me,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know when something is serious. We have to go to the hospital.”

Panic tore through him. He had to stay present for her.

He had to.

Sylvie…

The past few months had been ideal. He felt like he was…happy.

He had never been happy. Not in his memory. She took care of him and she… She was perfect and lovely. She was so much more than he deserved. If he lost her…

He couldn’t even think about it. He walked her into the front seat of his car, and they drove off into the night. Only belatedly did he think that he should have perhaps called an ambulance. He wove through traffic, grateful that it was the middle of the night so that it was somewhat diminished.

They pulled up to the hospital, and he left his car running as he went around to the passenger side. She was looking more pale, more fragile.

He unbuckled her and lifted her out of the car, carrying her in through the front. “My wife,” he said as soon as he walked into the reception area. “She’s pregnant, she… Something is wrong.”

“Come in here,” a woman in scrubs said, bringing them into a small room. “We’ll take her vitals.” She listened to Sylvie’s heart and frowned, and then she got out a blood pressure cuff. “How many weeks?”

“I… Thirty-seven,” he said.

Sylvie smiled. “You knew.”

“Of course I know,” he said. Of course he did. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but this. Nothing but her. Nothing but thatfuture that had left him so terrified that he couldn’t breathe only four months earlier.

And now he was…

The nurse finished taking Sylvie’s blood pressure, and suddenly her movements became urgent.

“Her blood pressure is too high,” she said. “I suspect preeclampsia. We’re going to send her back right away.”