His Mistress with Two Secrets(56)

“They did and, yes, it is,” Hasna said with an absent smile. “Ooh, that’s tied it up again. Goodness, this is a nail-biter. The muesli is very good, too,” she added over her shoulder, then looked back to the rapid plonk, plonk of the ball.

Cinnia avoided the pink-tinged yogurt and went for the plain, sprinkling muesli without really looking and reseated herself to take a bite. She started to ask Trella what she was reading and felt the first tingle streak from the roof of her mouth down the back of her throat.

She swore. “The muesli.” She grabbed Hasna’s wrist. “Does it have dried strawberries? Call an ambulance.” Her tongue felt like it was swelling as she spoke. “Call Henri. Tell him I need my pen.”

“What?” Hasna asked with incomprehension.

“I’m allergic.” Her throat was growing raspy. She watched Hasna’s fear turning to pain as Cinnia increased her grip, driven by terror to impress how bad this was. She was barely able to force out the rest of her words. “To strawberries.”

“Henri!” Hasna screamed at the top of her lungs, standing to wave at him. “Cinnia ate a strawberry!”

Distantly she heard Trella say something, maybe that she would call an ambulance. Cinnia wasn’t tracking, just closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the table, concentrating on breathing, managing long, slow, strained wheezes. Rapid footsteps ran toward her and hard hands grasped her, moving her to a lounger. She kept her eyes closed, feeling like she was sipping tiny drinks of air through a narrow straw. A tiny, hollow piece of dry grass. Her throat strained, trying to pull her breaths through the constriction.

Henri’s voice was hard as he shouted for her purse. She opened her eyes. He looked gray. Angry.

Scared.

There was a spare pen behind the mirror in their bathroom. Did he remember that? She wanted to reach out to him, grab him, but her limbs felt heavy and her hands were on fire. Her ears itched inside her head and her brain had gone swimming.

A sting went into her thigh, like a bite or the snap of a rubber band.

“That’s one,” Henri said, cupping the side of her face very forcefully. “Stay with me, chérie. Breathe.”

She tried. The babies, she tried to say, but her lips were fat and numb. Tears filled her eyes. She was scared. Her entire body felt as though it was glowing with fire, her skin cooking, too tight to contain all this heat. What if her carelessness hurt the twins?

Henri took his hand away from her cheek as he accepted something. Another stab went into her thigh and he rubbed it hard.

She closed her eyes, begging the medicine to work, trying to listen for the ambulance, but her heart was pounding so loud she couldn’t hear anything. It took everything in her to draw a breath, then to focus on pulling in one more.

Her hand hurt. Henri was holding it and his voice was furious. “Cinnia. Breathe.”

She was trying.

* * *

Cinnia had been right last night, but he’d refused to admit it. He was being stubborn. He had shut her down. Shut her out.

But even as he had left her, fully aware she was beginning to cry, he had told himself this was for her own good. He was keeping her safe by keeping a clear head and withholding his heart.

Her safety meant everything.

Then he’d heard Hasna scream, “Cinnia ate a strawberry!”

He added it to the list of worst phrases he’d ever heard.

“We’re here.” Ramon appeared at his side and clamped a hard arm across his shoulders.

Henri staggered, only then realizing he was swaying on his feet.

On his other side, Trella took his arm. “Where is she? What did they say?”

Henri realized he was standing in the middle of the hospital hallway, staring at the doors where Cinnia had been whisked away from him. Of course Ramon was here on the heels of the ambulance. Of course their pregnant sister had climbed into the passenger seat for that hair-raising ride.

“Her blood pressure dropped,” Henri said, repeating all the terrible, terrible words. They detonated fresh explosions of despair as they left his lips and hit on fresh ears. “They said the babies might not be getting enough oxygen. They’re taking them.”

“Taking—” Trella gasped. Ramon swore.

“I should call her mother,” Henri said, dreading it. He had failed. I’m so sorry.

He didn’t think he could manage it.

“Mama is calling her. Kasim said he would arrange a flight to bring her.” Trella pulled out her phone while Ramon physically helped Henri to sit. “I’ll relay that she’s gone into surgery. Was she conscious in the ambulance? They gave her something, right? Medicine? She was breathing? She’ll be okay?”