they were in this sport.
“How so?” Fiona traced a finger on her wineglass, her diamond wedding ring glinting in the light from a chrome pendant lamp.
Erika pointed down to the field, where the head coach and his team were now returning to the sidelines. “Adelaide Thibodeaux suggested I think of this as a ritual as old as time, like an ancient battle or a medieval jousting field. The imagery is working for me.”
“Hmm.” Fiona lifted one finely arched eyebrow. “That’s quite a sexy image. And fitting. Armor versus shoulder pads. It works. I’ll have to spin that for a future fund-raiser.”
“That sounds intriguing.” And it did. If it helped Erika to appreciate the game more, it could certainly appeal to someone else.
“Perhaps I should rethink the menu, too, as I may have overdone things with this event.” She picked up a nacho and investigated it.
“The food is amazing. Quite a lovely, fun spread,” Erika offered, smiling at her.
“But you want a chili dog—or so I overheard you say.”
“I hope you did not take offense, as I certainly did not mean any.” Erika fought the urge to panic. She bit down her nerves—and a wave of nausea. This was easily explainable. “I am in America. I simply want to experience American foods served at a regular football game.”
A server walked by with another fragrant tray of caviar nachos—too fragrant. She pressed her hand to her stomach as another wave of indigestion struck, cramping her stomach.
Fiona’s eyebrows rose but she stayed silent for a moment. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Did Fiona know somehow, even though she didn’t have children? There seemed to be an understanding—and a sadness in her eyes.
For a brief, fleeting moment, she wondered if Fiona had ever found herself in Erika’s situation. Not the pregnant-with-a-handsome-stranger situation, but the other one. The one where she was an outsider who shouldered too much responsibility sometimes.
The weight of that thought bore down on her, making her stomach even more queasy. She fought back the urge, praying she could get to her feet and to the ladies’ room before she embarrassed herself.
Erika bit her lip, shooting to her feet, only to find the ground swaying underneath her. Not a good sign at all, but if she could just grab the back of her seat for a moment to steady herself... There. The world righted in front of her and she eyed the door, determined. “I will be right back. I need to excuse myself.”
And the second she took that first step, the ground rocked all the harder under her, and she slumped into unconsciousness.
Gervais pushed through the crowds, eyes set on the chili dog vendor. As he weaved in and out, he saw recognition zip through their eyes.
The media had done a nice job planting his image in the minds of the fans even though he would have preferred a quieter role, leaving the fame to the players. But the family name also sold tickets and brought fans to their television screens, so he played along because he, too, loved the game and would do whatever was needed for the Hurricanes.
Many of the fans smiled at him, nudged a companion and pointed at Gervais. He felt a little as if he was in a dog-and-pony show. And while part of him wouldn’t mind pausing to speak to a few fans and act as an ambassador for the team, he really just wanted to get Erika that chili dog. Pronto.
So he flashed a smile as he continued, stopping in front of the food vendor, the smell of nacho cheese and cayenne peppers sizzling under his nose. Of all the things Erika could have asked for, he was strangely intrigued by this request. It was the most un-princess-like food in the whole sports arena. He loved that.
Gervais’s phone vibrated. He juggled the two chili dogs to one hand as he fished out his cell while taking the stadium steps two at a time. He glanced at the screen and saw his sister-in-law’s name. Frowning, he thumbed the on button.
“Yes, Fiona?”
“Gervais—” Fiona’s normally calm voice trembled “—Erika passed out. We can’t get her to wake up. I don’t know—”
“I’m on my way.” Panic lanced his gut.
His hand clenched around the hot dogs until a little chili oozed down his fingers as he raced up the steps faster, sprinted around a corner, then through a private entrance to the hall leading to the owners’ viewing box.
A circle of people stood around a black leather sofa, blocking his view. A cold knot settled in his stomach. He set the food on the buffet table and shouldered through the crowd.
“Erika? Erika,” he barked, forgetting all about formalities. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa where she lay unconscious. Too pale. Too still.
He took her hand in his, glancing back over his shoulder. “Has anyone called a doctor? Get the team doctor. Now.”
Fiona nodded. “I called him right after I called you.”
He brushed his hand over Erika’s forehead, her steady pulse throbbing along her neck a reassuring sign. But still, she wasn’t coming around. There were so many complications that could come with pregnancy. His family had learned that tragic reality too well from his sister-in-law’s multiple miscarriages.
Which made him wince all the more when he needed to lean in and privately tell Fiona, “Call the doctor back and tell him to hurry—because Erika’s pregnant.”
* * *
Erika pushed through layers of fog to find a group of faces staring down at her. Some closer than others.
A man with a stethoscope pressing against her neckline while he took her pulse must be a doctor.
And of course she should have known that Gervais would be near. He sat on the arm of the sofa at her feet, watching her intently, his body a barrier between her and the others in the room staring at her with undisguised interest.
Curiosity.
Whispering.
Oh, God. Somehow, they knew about the baby and she hadn’t even told her parents yet.
“Gervais, do you think we could have some privacy?”
He looked around, started, as if he hadn’t even realized the others were still there. “Oh, right, I’ll—”
Fiona stepped up. “I’ve got this. You focus on Erika.” She extended her arms, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s move to the other side of the box and give the princess some air...”
Her voice faded as she ushered the other guests farther away, leaving behind a bubble of privacy.
She elbowed up, then pressed a hand to her woozy head. “Doctor, what’s going on?”
The physician wearing a polo shirt with the team’s
