“She was trying,” Henri said, throat raw from shouting at her, as if that would help. “They put a tube in her throat. Then she had a seizure. She wasn’t conscious after that.”
Ramon was crushing him with that hard arm across his shoulders, but Henri crumpled forward, elbows on his knees, stomach churning. Putting his hands over his eyes didn’t help. He still saw her blue lips, still felt the strength go out of her grip.
“Oh, Henri.” He could hear the plea for reassurance in his sister’s voice, but he had none to offer. He was terrified.
“I saw the yogurt this morning. I saw it had strawberries and I made a mental note she shouldn’t have any.” He had been restless, hadn’t slept properly. He’d been feeling guilty and angry and small. Defensive.
When Ramon had asked if he wanted to play tennis, he’d let the activity consume him, working out his frustrations in a hail of powerful volleys.
“I shouldn’t have been playing tennis. I should have been there, at the table, waiting for her, ready to warn her.”
“We all knew she was allergic. You told us last year when she came for your birthday. We just weren’t thinking,” Trella soothed. “Cinnia is always careful, too. She always asks. I don’t know why she didn’t today.”
“We’d had a fight. She wasn’t thinking.”
“This is not your fault, Henri.” Trella’s small hand dug into his arm, trying to press the words into him.
It was his fault.
If he had said the words that Cinnia had asked for last night, the ones that had burst out of him in the ambulance, everything would be different right now.
I know it’s one more burden you don’t want...
She loved him. He’d been touched, elated, filled with such tenderness he had reached to gather her in, wanting to hold her against his heart.
Then she had said something about feeling like a prisoner and kicked him out of bed.
He had walked out on a sense of righteousness, telling himself he would not let her make him feel obligated, but when had Cinnia ever done that to him? She had begun to lean on him lately, literally holding his arm out of physical exhaustion, but she had been carrying her love for him like a dogged little soldier, refusing to burden him with it.
He had always expected to feel hampered by love, but Cinnia’s love? Her sunny smiles and cheeky asides, her passion and even that streak of pigheadedness had kept him going for two years, not that he’d realized it at the time. It was only as he looked back on their separation, recalled how short-tempered he’d been after Cinnia had left, picking fights with Gili, of all people, that he recognized how badly he’d been missing Cinnia.
Since she’d been back with him, it had been one adjustment after another, but he’d attacked all of the changes with determined energy, eager to carve out her permanent place in his life. He hadn’t just accommodated her. He’d made her part of his foundation. He wanted to marry her.
Because he couldn’t live without her. There was no point.
Why hadn’t he told her all of that last night?
“I tried to tell her I loved her. In the ambulance. I don’t think she heard me.”
“She knows,” Trella said, brushing the tickling wetness from his cheek. “She knows, Henri. I promise you.”
“No. She doesn’t.” Because he had refused to say it. Refused to admit it even to himself until it was too late. “I do all these things, go to such great lengths, to try to keep us all safe. I told her she could trust me and what happens? A goddamned strawberry. What am I going to do if I lose her? What if I lose all of them?”
CHAPTER TEN
CINNIA OPENED HER eyes to such bright light, she immediately shut them again. Where was she? She peeked again at the tiled ceiling, the stainless-steel contraption beside her with an IV bag hanging off it.
Hospital?
Oh, right. She winced and tried to touch her belly, apprehensive because it didn’t feel nearly so heavy as it should.
Someone had hold of her hand.
“Chérie.” Henri’s whisper had grit in it. He carried the back of her hand to his closed mouth as he stood to loom over her.
She peered from one eye. He looked gorgeous even when he looked horrible. His eyes were sunk into dark sockets, his jaw coated in stubble, his clothes wrinkled.
Her eyes welled with fear.
She tried to say the babies? but her throat was a desert that caught fire as she tried to speak.
“Les filles sont très bien. Our daughters are beautiful,” Henri said with quiet urgency, setting his hand on the side of her face. “They’re very small, but they’re little fighters.” He stroked her cheek. “Just like their mama. And so alike, Cinnia.” He gave his head a bemused shake. “They are the most magical thing I have ever seen.”