Celeste glanced over. ‘You’re early.’
Nathan crossed the room, unbuckled Isla with shaking hands, and pulled her against his chest. She rooted blindly, still crying, her little body hot with distress. He pressed his cheek to her head and dropped to his knees beside Rowan.
‘Ro,’ he whispered. ‘Rowan. It’s me. Open your eyes.’
Her skin felt cold and damp. He touched two fingers to the pulse point under her jaw and found a faint beat. Relief came hard and brief, immediately swallowed by fear.
‘Rowan, please.’
Her lashes moved.
Celeste sighed.
It was such a small sound, but it cut through the kitchen like a knife sliding from a drawer.
‘Nathan, don’t encourage this,’ she said. ‘She fainted because she refused to pace herself. I warned her not to be theatrical.’
Nathan lifted his head slowly.
‘Theatrical?’
His mother set down the tongs with delicate care. ‘The Harringtons are coming at six. Your aunt and uncle as well. I mentioned that a proper dinner would make a lovely impression after all the chaos of the baby. Rowan insisted she wanted to help.’
Rowan’s fingers twitched against the tile.
‘No,’ she breathed.
The word was barely there, more air than sound. Nathan might have missed it if he had not been watching her mouth as if his life depended on it.
Celeste heard it too. Her face tightened.
‘She has been like this all day,’ she said. ‘Whispering, sighing, making everything harder than necessary.’
Nathan stared at the table. Twelve settings. His mother’s good candlesticks, moved from her condo without asking. The white roses she loved because they photographed well. The crystal that had been boxed in their basement until Celeste decided their everyday glasses looked common.
This had not been help.
This had been a performance.
‘You made her cook dinner for twelve people,’ Nathan said.
‘I did not make anyone do anything.’ Celeste lifted her chin. ‘I simply reminded her that a wife should be able to welcome family into her home. Women have babies every day, Nathan. They do not all turn into invalids.’
‘She had surgery.’
‘And survived it.’
The words were so cold, so casual, that Nathan felt something inside him go very still.
For thirty-six years, Celeste had trained him to translate her cruelty into strength. When she insulted waiters, she was particular. When she criticized his clothes, she wanted him respected. When she called his father weak for leaving the marriage after twenty-nine years, she was defending the family. When she ignored Rowan’s discomfort, she was old-fashioned.
He had softened every sharp edge of her in his own mind because the alternative was admitting his mother enjoyed the sound of people apologizing to her.
But Rowan was on the floor.
Isla was hiccuping in his arms from crying too long.
There was nothing left to translate.
Nathan pulled out his phone and called emergency services. He answered the dispatcher’s questions with a calm that frightened him. Yes, his wife was conscious but weak. Yes, she had given birth recently. Yes, she had collapsed. Yes, the baby was breathing.
Celeste watched him as if he had slapped her.
‘Must you involve strangers?’ she asked.
Nathan did not answer.
When the paramedics arrived, Celeste changed instantly. Her voice softened. Her hand went to her throat.
