She let the door swing closed, leaving me with the steady, rhythmic clicking of the infant monitors.
At two o’clock, the door did not click; it swung wide, hitting the rubber wall bumper with a dull thud.
Adrian walked in first, his winter coat unbuttoned, his face flushed with the cold air from the street.
Directly behind him came Celeste Monroe, his corporate consultant, her long wool coat draped over her shoulders like a cape.
In the crook of her elbow, she carried a brand new black leather handbag with a heavy gold clasp, the leather so stiff and pristine it looked as though it had never been touched by outdoor air.
“We were in the neighborhood for the West Loop development meeting,” Adrian said, his voice filling the room as he adjusted his cuffs. “I told Celeste she had to see the boys.”
Celeste stepped closer to the bassinets, her movements slow and deliberate, the high-grade leather of her bag brushing against the metal safety rail.
“They look so remarkably small, Evelyn,” Celeste said, her voice a low, formal purr that sounded entirely out of place in a recovery room. “Though Samuel seems a bit pale compared to the other two.”
