Page 202 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Absolutely not.

“I fainted at the gala? In that dress?”

“Yes.”

I cover my face with my free hand. “Please tell me I did it elegantly.”

A pause. “No.”

I peek at him through my fingers. “You could’ve lied.”

“I could have.”

“You’re a cruel man.”

His mouth shifts, barely. “You scared me.”

The words slip under my ribs before I’m ready for them.

I lower my hand.

He isn’t joking now. Not even a little. His gaze moves over my face like he’s checking I’m still assembled correctly, as if he’s personally responsible for all my organs remaining in their assigned departments.

“I’m okay,” I say, though I have no idea if that’s true.

“You will be. The doctors are still running tests.”

I look around the room again, trying to make my brain work. There’s a monitor beside me, a blood pressure cuff, a folded blanket over my legs, and my beautiful green dress hidden beneath a hospital gown that makes me look like a Victorian patient with bad insurance.

“Oh, no,” I say, horror dawning. “Did they cut the dress?”

“No.”

I exhale. “Thank goodness.”

His eyebrow lifts faintly. “That’s your primary concern?”

“It was an expensive dress, Ethan.”

“You fainted.”

“And yet fashion remains relevant.”

Relief crosses his face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

Then the curtain shifts, and a doctor steps in with a tablet in hand.

She’s maybe in her forties, calm in the way people get when they’ve explained terrifying things to strangers for a living. Her badge says Dr. Patel.

“Adeline?” she asks warmly. “Good. You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately, yes, and apparently publicly dramatic.”

Dr. Patel smiles. “You gave everyone a scare, but you’re stable now.”

Stable.

There’s that word again. Bryce used it like an insult. The doctor uses it like a mercy.