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She nodded. “I will.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself.” He couldn’t resist any longer. He brushed her cheek with his hand, before quickly pulling it back.
Her lips parted and for a moment they stared at each other, the air around them crackling.
“Goodbye, James,” she whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You definitely will.” If that was all she had to offer he’d take it. And willingly so. The only thing worse than not being able to be with her would be not seeing her.
And he’d keep hold of that for as long as he could.
28
Being backstage at the fashion show was pure, adrenaline-fueled madness, but Harper was used to that. Having worked in costume departments on Broadway for years, quick changes didn’t faze her at all. As soon as her models walked off the catwalk and through the curtain separating the staging from the dressing area she was ready for them, holding her hands out to unfasten the ties that kept their previous dresses on, then lifting the next dresses carefully over their heads, careful not to touch their clipped-in hair.
“Okay, you’re done,” she told Lola when she’d fixed the tiny tiara on her golden hair. “Let me just get Annabelle ready and you two can walk on for the finale.”
The little girl was wearing Harper’s final design. This one was all-out glitz. A tight silver bodice – strapless on Annabelle and with spaghetti straps on Lola, attached to a hooped tutu made with layers of silver tulle. Each dress was embellished with hand-sewn rhinestones, which caught the overhead lights. They were the type of princess gown that little girls dreamed of wearing, and Lola couldn’t hide the excitement on her face.
“You look fabulous,” Harper whispered to her as she turned to Annabelle. The model already had her arms up, ready for Harper to lift the dress over her head, covering her strapless bra and silk stockings. As Harper pulled the eyelets at the back together, Annabelle stepped into a pair of silver shoes while the make-up artist touched up her lipstick.
“Ready for the final group,” the show runner shouted out.
Harper took a final look at her models, checking that their dresses were hanging correctly. “Okay. You’re good to go. Break a—”
Her last word was swallowed by a gasp. She put her hand to her stomach, wincing at the sudden pain shooting through her abdomen. It was enough to make her stagger to the left, reaching out to steady herself on a clothing rack. It shifted with her weight, but she managed to stay upright.
“Harper!” Annabelle’s voice was full of alarm.
“It’s okay,” Harper said, swallowing hard in attempt to not cry out again. “I’m fine. You need to get to the catwalk.”
“Are you sure? You want me to call anybody?”
Somehow Harper managed to force her lips into a smile. “It was just indigestion. Now go, before you miss your cue.”
With a final worried glance, Annabelle took Lola’s hand and walked over to the gap in the curtains where the catwalk began. As soon as her back was turned, Harper let out a low moan and collapsed into the nearest chair.
What was wrong with her? She gingerly touched her stomach to find it was hard, the skin pulled taut like a trampoline. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she held it for five seconds like her yoga teacher had taught her, then slowly exhaled through her mouth.
She could vaguely remember Ember talking about Braxton Hicks contractions. Sudden shooting pain that felt like real contractions, but were really the body preparing itself for birth. Is that what this was? Harper wasn’t sure.
“Designers, your call is in two minutes,” the show runner shouted. “Can you all come to the curtain.”
It was customary for the designers to walk on stage at the end of the fashion show, to accept the audience’s applause. But Harper found herself sitting exactly where she was, unable to find the strength to push herself back to standing.
“Harper Hayes? We need you,” the show runner called out.
Another wave of pain assailed her, making her double over. She couldn’t catch her breath, no matter how many times she tried to inhale. She let another moan out, deeper and more anguished.
Blood was rushing through her ears, drowning out the distant sound of clapping. Harper was vaguely aware of the curtain pulling back and the designers walking onto the catwalk, but everything else felt like it was blurring in front of her eyes.
“Harper!” The show runner ran over to her. “Is it the baby?”
Harper opened her mouth to answer, but only a groan came out.
“We need a doctor,” the show runner called out. “Is there a doctor around here?”
Annabelle was there, kicking off her shoes, and scooting down next to Harper, still wearing her silver evening gown. “Honey, are you okay?”
