I Held My Belly in the Ballroom While Mason Kept Dancing With Her...

The lock clicked louder than I meant it to.

I stood with my back against the door of the dressing suite, my hand pressed low on my belly where the baby had gone tight and still. The marble chill came up through my heels. Outside, the ballroom music bled through the walls, low and bright, and I could hear my own breathing too fast in the small room.

The mirror across from me caught my gown, the off-the-shoulder line slipped a half inch. I fixed it without thinking. My diamond ring flashed when I moved my hand back to my stomach.

Then his knuckles hit the wood behind my shoulders. Twice. I jumped.

"Emily?" Mason's voice was close. Controlled. The public one. "Come on. Open the door. What's going on?"

I didn't answer right away. I watched my face in the mirror try to arrange itself into something calm. My eyes were still wet from the ballroom floor.

"Emily, please," he said. His tone thinned. "You're making people look over here. Talk to me."

I closed my eyes. The air smelled like hairspray and lilies from the arrangement by the sink. My chest pulled tight again, that band of pressure I'd been pretending was nothing all night.

"I just needed air," I said. It came out flat. That was the evasion, and we both knew it.

Silence on the other side. Then shoes on tile, lighter steps, hurried. The older woman's voice came, breathless from following him down the hall.

"Mason, wait. Don't crowd her." A pause, then softer, to the wood. "Emily? Honey, it's me. Are you all right in there? You looked pale."

I pressed my forehead to the door. The wood was cool against my skin. I could picture her short gray hair, her shimmering dress catching the hallway lights, her hand hovering like it had in the ballroom.

"My stomach's tight," I admitted, quiet. "I need a minute."

"Okay," she said quickly. "Okay. Just sit down for me. Please sit. You shouldn't be standing and getting upset like this, not pregnant."

Mason cut in. "Upset about what? That's what I don't get. One minute you're fine, next minute you're—" He stopped himself. When he spoke again, he'd smoothed it. "Baby, if I did something, tell me what it was."

My fingers tightened around the fabric over my belly. The baby shifted, a slow roll, and the tightness eased a fraction. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I knew if I opened that door now, with him right there, it would become his conversation. His apology smile. His hand on my back steering me back out to the tables. I wasn't ready to be steered.

"Don't," I said. One word, before he could knock again.

"What?" he said.

I turned so my shoulder was to the door, my mouth close to the seam. "I need you not to keep asking through a door."

It wasn't loud. It wasn't everything I meant. But it was a boundary, and it held in the hallway air.

Another beat of quiet. I heard him exhale, heard the shift of his shoes as he leaned closer, then the older woman's hand, maybe, on his arm.

She spoke again, lower. "Mason, step back and give her room. Emily, I'm right here. Will you let me in? Just me. You can lock it again after. I want to see your face and make sure you and the baby are okay."

My hand was already on the lock. My ring tapped against the metal. I looked at the mirror once more, at the blonde hair stuck to my damp temple, at the gown I'd chosen so carefully that morning.

I didn't want him watching me decide.

"Mason, move down the hall," I said.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but his voice moved. I heard two steps back, then three. The older woman murmured something I couldn't catch, a calming sound.

"Are you back by the sconce?" I asked.