Chapter 18: Luca

Maxim held my hand the whole way in the ambulance.

He sat on the jump seat in his tuxedo with his bow tie hanging open.

He did not say a word, and he did not let go.

"Eight weeks early," the paramedic said to the radio. "Rupture of membranes, mother stable."

"Stable," Maxim repeated, under his breath.

Nonna had refused to be left behind.

She followed in a taxi, still carrying her purse.

By midnight I was in a delivery room on the ninth floor with a monitor strapped across my belly.

The doctor looked at the screen and then at me.

"He's small, but his heartbeat is strong," she said. "We're going to meet him tonight. There'll be a team for him."

Maxim stood at the head of the bed.

I saw his eyes go to the monitor.

The little green line jumped and fell, and jumped, with a soft beep each time.

It was the sound he had fled from in the ultrasound room.

He stood in front of it now with his hand clamped on the bed rail.

"Look at me," I said. "Not at that. Me."

He looked at me.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "He's not going anywhere. Tell me what you see."

"Your hair is stuck to your face."

"Good. Keep going."

"You've got a freckle on your lip I never noticed."

"I've had it since I was six."

"Elena, I've worked beside you for nine years."

"Maxim, push this hair off my face."

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