Chapter 35
The Riva 88 Folgore cut across the Mediterranean like a bronze blade, its polished surface scattering sunlight in dazzling shards over the water.
I stood at the helm, wind whipping through my hair, my open long-sleeve shirt flapping in the breeze.
A smile tugged at my lips as I gripped the wheel with one hand, the other resting on the chrome rail, feeling like I owned not just the sea, but the horizon itself.
"You're showing off."
My gaze shifted to Sloane, leaning against the railing, barefoot, silk dress clinging to her curves. Her hair brushed across her face, unbothered.
Her eyes followed the yacht slicing through the waves.
I smirked. "And you don't like it?"
"I didn't say that." She pushed off the railing, letting the silk slip from her shoulders. Sunlight kissed her bare legs. "I just think it's more fun when I'm the one showing off."
I raised a brow, shaking my head, still focused on steering.
Dione's laughter rang out from the bow, the sea spray catching in her hair as she pointed toward the shore. "Pops! I can see the beach!" she shouted, grinning from ear to ear.
Sloane chuckled softly, stepping beside me, her hand brushing the railing. "She really loves places like this," she said.
"We can go more often while she's on break," I said with a shrug, pressing the button to lower the hydraulic platform as we neared the shoreline. With a mechanical hum, the two Belassi Burrasca jet skis bobbed in the water like impatient stallions, ready to ride.
I headed to the aft deck first, my feet barely wet as I mounted my jet ski. "Dione! Come!" I waved at her.
"Are we going to ride a jet ski, Pops?!" Dione practically bounced with excitement.
I nodded, extending my hand. She grabbed it, hopping onto the seat in front of me.
Sloane followed, effortless and bold. She straddled her jet ski, revving the engine before I could even settle Dione comfortably. The roar echoed across the water, her smile blazing.
"Ready?" I asked, revving my throttle.
"Ready, Pops!" she shouted back, eyes sparkling.
I held Dione's hands on the handlebars as Sloane and I launched together, slicing twin paths across the water. Gasps rose from Larvotto's shoreline as beachgoers turned to watch us.
Sloane swerved dangerously close, salt spray stinging our faces. "Try to keep up, darling!" she shouted over the roar of the engine.
"Mommy! You're so competitive!" Dione giggled as I revved even harder, pushing us forward. "Ah! It's so fun, Pops!"
I glanced at Sloane.
"Let's keep up with Mommy, sweetie," I said, guiding Dione to lean forward as we surged ahead.
The jet ski growled beneath us, water breaking in jeweled arcs around us.
For a moment, Sloane and I were neck and neck, wind tangling our hair, adrenaline coursing.
"You two are so slow!" Sloane teased, laughing as she swerved past us again.
I couldn't help but smile. She was radiant, alive in a way that made everything else fade, and Dione's laughter bubbled behind us, pure joy.
When we finally circled back to the looming Folgore, drenched and breathless, a quiet stretched between us.
"You almost knocked me into the sea," I laughed, helping Dione off the jet ski. I stepped closer as Sloane swung her leg off hers.
"Maybe I wanted to see if you'd swim after me," she said, patting my cheek with a wicked grin.
My hand found her wrist, smirking. "You know I would."
Sloane rolled her eyes but laughed anyway. She turned to Dione. "So, how do you like skiing, sweetie?"
Dione's grin stretched ear to ear. "It's so much fun, Mommy! I want to try it alone too!"
"Not until you learn how to ride it safely," I said, wrapping an arm around Sloane's waist. "I can teach you when we're back at our private harbor."
"Really?" Dione jumped in excitement.
Sloane nudged me playfully. "You're spoiling my daughter too much."
"What? She's my daughter too!" I protested. "Look at her—she even looks like me."
Groaning, Sloane pinched my hand slightly, making me wince. "If you want to learn skiing, we need to get you proper riding gear, sweetie."
I blinked, glancing between her and Dione. "Wait, are you—"
She crossed her arms, giving me a pointed look. "You said you wanted to teach Dione, right? She needs proper gear for jet skiing. I don't want her getting hurt without it. Only then will I let you teach her."
"Pops!" Dione exclaimed, grinning.
"Alright, we'll get you riding gear," I said, raising my hand. Dione returned a triumphant high-five. "Now, let's head to shore and have some snacks," I added, stepping off first. I extended a hand to Sloane—not just to steady her, but to claim her.
Sloane accepted with her usual languid defiance, rising from the deck in her silk dress that shimmered like spilled champagne. She slipped into step beside me as I turned to Dione, offering my hand again.
She grinned, grasped my hand, and splashed her way onto the shore. Her laughter rang out as I helped the crew with our belongings. I turned to Sloane, who waited patiently.
I wrapped a free arm around her waist, guiding her forward. My sunglasses hid my eyes, but my lips curved into a proud smile as whispers and glances followed us. I pulled Sloane closer, silently letting the world know: Yes. She's mine.
Dione waved at us, her giggles cutting through the murmurs. "Mommy! Pops!" she called, running ahead, making Sloane groan.
"This kid," she muttered, rubbing her temple, and then froze. She pulled to a stop, tugging at my shirt. "Ro... why is there paparazzi?"
I followed her gaze. Along the fringe of the beach, lenses clicked relentlessly. Shutters flashed, capturing every movement, every glance. Journalists whispered names, connections, and scandals with feverish urgency.
A sigh escaped my lips, but I didn't flinch.
I guided Sloane through the flashes, keeping my eyes on Dione, who seemed blissfully unaware of what was happening.
"The public will learn the truth one day, Sloey," I murmured, rubbing a hand over her curve as we headed toward Dione. "We can't keep her hidden forever."
"I should've known there'd be paparazzi here," Sloane muttered as we stopped in front of Dione. She glanced at me, then over her shoulder at the flashing cameras, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation.
I stepped around, positioning myself across from her and Dione, a silent shield. "Come on, don't mind them. Let's just enjoy this family time," I said, holding Sloane's hand and pulling her closer, while ushering Dione toward the private cabana I'd reserved for us.
Sloane exhaled, letting her hand rest on my back. "Maybe we should hire someone—a bodyguard—to protect Dione? I mean, we can't keep her at home all the time. She needs to be safe."
I nodded, drawing her closer. "Of course. I'll hire someone. Don't worry about it."
Dione walked ahead, humming as she looked around with wide-eyed excitement. I smiled, my heart tightening. "I won't let anything happen to her," I whispered to myself, as much a promise to Sloane as to our daughter.
?·???°???°???·?
In the middle of signing a document, my phone chimed. I glanced at the screen lighting up with Sloane's name. A smile tugged at my lips as I finished the last signature, closed the portfolio, and set it aside. I reached for the phone and unlocked it.
Honey, can you fetch Dione from her tennis practice? It'll end in an hour. I'm packed with meetings and can't pick her up.
My smile widened as I typed back: Alright, hun. I'll fetch her.
Just as I pressed send, the screen lit up again—Sloane calling. I chuckled and answered.
"Sol?" I said.
"Ro," her hushed tone carried through. "Did you get my message?"
"I did," I hummed, nodding to myself.
"Good. Please fetch our daughter, okay? Don't forget. This meeting's stretching longer than I thought, I won't make it." She sighed softly, the kind that told me she was exhausted already.
"You know you don't have to remind me every time. She's mine too, Sol," I said, a smile in my voice. "Focus on your meeting, I'll handle Dione."
"Thanks, darling. I'll have to go—bye! Love you!" Her words rushed out before the line clicked dead.
I blinked at the screen, laughing quietly. "Didn't even wait for me to reply," I muttered, tucking the phone away before standing to gather my things.
"Celeste," I called when I spotted her in the hallway. "I'm heading out early. If anything urgent comes up, call me."
She nodded, giving me a faint smile. I made my way to the elevator, humming under my breath. When the doors opened, I stepped out and crossed the lobby toward the parking lot.
That's when I caught fragments of a conversation behind me—two passersby, their voices low but sharp enough to reach me.
"According to the media, it's like the two of them have a love child... considering the girl's age."
I slipped my hands into my pockets, keeping my head forward. Their words clung like burrs, but I shrugged them off, my steps steady as I reached my car.
I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat. A sigh escaped as I ran my fingers through my hair before starting the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot.
One elbow leaned against the window, the other steady on the steering wheel. My mind wandered back to the words I'd overheard earlier. Could it be that the media had already released the beach pictures?
I bit my lower lip and forced my focus back to the road. The drive to Dione's tennis class wasn't long—fifteen minutes at most. As I pulled into the parking area, I noticed several reporters loitering near the entrance.
My brow furrowed. The moment I stepped out of the car, one of them spotted me, and suddenly all eyes turned my way.
"Ms. DeLacroix! Ms. DeLacroix!" microphones shot forward, voices clamoring over each other. I instinctively raised a hand to my chest and leaned back as they closed in, circling like vultures.
"Is it true you have a love child with the CEO of Duvall Capital Group?" one of them shouted.
I arched a brow, keeping my voice even. "I'm not taking interviews at the moment. If you'll excuse me."
I tried to push past, but they pressed closer until security rushed over, forcing a gap in the crowd. I gave the guards a small nod and moved forward, relieved—until one question froze me mid-step, ice in my veins.
"Is it really your child with Ms. Sloane Duvall—your wife? Or is it the child of Ms. Sloane Duvall with Ms. Margot Verne?"
My head snapped around. The woman stood just behind the line of guards, her microphone stretched toward me, her eyes glittering with provocation.
I drew in a sharp breath, spine stiffening as I stepped forward. "I beg your pardon?"
"Margot Verne, the owner of Maison Verne, is also intersex—our sources claim she has an ovotestis condition.
She could either father a child or not." The reporter shrugged, her tone deliberately casual, eyes gleaming like she wanted to draw blood.
"Considering how much the two of you resemble each other, wouldn't it be easy to say either of you could be the father of that child?
Unless, of course, you have proof that the one in those leaked photos is really yours.
That would settle the truth, wouldn't it? "
I scoffed, glaring at her. "I don't need to dignify baseless gossip. And as for Margot Verne—why would I care? She isn't part of my life. Now, if you'll excuse me."
I turned on my heel and pushed past them into the building. Security held the press back, their voices fading into a dull roar as the doors shut.
I sank onto a bench in the lobby, my pulse thundering in my ears. "Intersex?" I muttered. The word scraped against my throat. "Margot... is intersex too?"
I bent forward, fingers digging into my hair, eyes squeezed shut. "Why didn't she ever mention it? Why didn't Sloane tell me her business partner was intersex?"
The thought lodged like a splinter, festering. Was it true? Margot is an intersex just like me? My breath caught as a darker possibility struck. Then... is Dione really mine?
"Pops!"
The voice snapped me upright. Dione ran toward me, arms open wide. She launched into my chest, hugging me with the kind of pure joy only a child carries.
"I didn't know you were picking me up!" she beamed, pulling back to flash me her smile.
I froze, staring at her small, trusting face. Sloane swore she was mine. But the thought whispered again, sharp and cruel—What if this is another manipulation? Another perfect lie, just like the embezzlement?
I shook my head hard, forcing the darkness back. No. No, Sloane wouldn't give me a child that isn't mine.
I hugged Dione tighter, burying my face in her hair. The scent of her shampoo—sweet, familiar—anchored me, if only for the moment.
"Pops? Are you okay?"
I swallowed hard, forcing a smile as I looked at Dione.
Every detail of her face screamed mine—the curve of her cheeks, the way her eyes lit up—but the memory of Margot's resemblance gnawed at me like a worm in the dark.
I bit the inside of my cheek, willing myself steady.
"How was tennis class, sweetie?" I asked, reaching to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.
Dione's smile bloomed instantly. She clasped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. "It was so much fun, Pops! One day I'll be like you and Mommy too—I'll play at nationals and make you proud!"
A laugh rumbled in my chest, and I ruffled her hair. "You already make us proud, darling. Mommy and I don't need trophies. As long as you're having fun, we're proud of you."
Her arms wrapped around my waist, squeezing tight as she gazed up at me. "I'm so lucky to be your daughter, Pops. I'm so lucky you and Mommy are my parents."
My chest ached.
The words pierced through every doubt, and I let my guard fall for just a heartbeat.
I smoothed her hair, smiling down at her.
"And I'm the luckiest one, because you're my daughter.
" I pinched her cheeks gently, teasing. "Now, should we head home, or do you want to go somewhere else? "
She tilted her head, still clinging to me. "Maybe home, Pops. I'm beat from practice." A giggle escaped her lips. "Besides... can you help me with the design I'm working on? I sketched a gown, but I don't have any test fabrics."
"Then we should head home. I have test fabrics in my studio—lots of swatches you can choose from," I said, guiding her out of the building.
She grinned as we walked. "You really are the best, Pops! I love you!" she cried, beaming up at me.
I can't helped smiling back. "And I love you more, sweetheart," I answered, watching her.
My mind caved back inward. Sloane wouldn't let me raise a child that wasn't mine, would she? Dione is mine—she has to be. I swallowed, sneaked a look at Dione humming a tune, and the doubt clawed at me again. What if she isn't?
No. No. Don't go there, Ro. Dione is your daughter. Sloane will show you the proof.