Chapter Thirty
Sara
Sunlight, thick and golden, streamed through the massive windows of our suite. I sat on the deep sofa, a mug of coffee warming my hands, and watched as Ashen moved through the room with quiet, easy grace.
Sparkles gnawed on a bright red ball at his feet, tail thumping happily against the rug.
Leo had given it to her one afternoon, and ever since, she’d been a blur of golden fur whenever the ball appeared.
At first, Ashen had worried she’d wear herself out, but she looked healthier and younger every day.
Maybe rescues were like that—they just needed a chance to give and receive love.
Ashen caught me watching and arched a brow. “What?”
“You still don’t stir your coffee,” I teased. “You just dump cream in and drink it like it mixed itself.”
“It does mix itself,” he said evenly, picking up his mug. “It’s called gravity.”
I laughed and swatted at him with a throw pillow, Sparkles immediately bounding up as if she’d been invited into the joke. He reached down and rubbed her ears before sitting beside me, his knee brushing mine in a familiar, grounding way.
“Did you have a chance to speak with your mother?” he asked, his voice low and calm.
I nodded, taking a slow sip of my coffee. “Yes. I wasn’t surprised she had already figured out where I was. She said she was happy for me.”
“Good.” He laced his fingers through mine. His touch was warm, solid.
But a flutter of nerves rose in my chest as I thought of the day ahead. “Arthur said Ethan would be arriving soon,” I murmured. “It’s . . . a little intimidating. Meeting everyone all at once.”
Ashen squeezed my hand. “It’s probably better this way. Like pulling off a bandage.” His smile was gentle. “You’ll understand when you see them together. You’ll see why, despite everything, I feel so incredibly grateful.”
“Tell me,” I urged.
“You’ll see how different they all are,” he said, gaze drifting as if picturing them in his mind.
“The twins. Their families. Shared DNA can start a family, but it doesn’t guarantee one.
These people . . . they chose each other.
The adoptions, the separations, the lies—it didn’t stop them from finding each other and deciding to be family anyway. ”
A cold blade of doubt slipped under my ribs. “Do you think they’ll accept me? After . . . how I met you?”
He turned to me, brushing his knuckles softly along my cheek.
“You were doing your job. I broke into their homes. I nearly killed Dylan. And somehow, they accepted me.” His gaze was steady, unwavering.
“I believe they’ll forgive you for wanting to stop someone like Simmons.
And they’ll appreciate that you’ve kept what you uncovered quiet. ”
I wanted to believe him. But the thought of stepping into that circle with all my secrets trailing behind me made my stomach tighten. Sparkles, looked perfectly at home, content to be with us. I wondered if I would ever feel that at ease anywhere.
“The families of the women Simmons used . . . they deserve closure,” I whispered, the weight pressing into me again.
Ashen leaned in and kissed my forehead, his lips warm against my skin. “That’s part of what we’ll figure out how to do. Together.” Then he pulled back and smiled, a grin so pure it stole my breath. “But for now, today is about something else. You’re about to meet my family.”
The words made my heart lurch. My family. He’d claimed them. And they had claimed him. Suddenly, meeting them wasn’t about whether they would like me—it was about whether I could live up to what they’d already given him: belonging.
I pressed my forehead to his, whispering, “Whatever happens, I’m glad I’m here.”
His arm tightened around me, a vow in the gesture. “So am I.”
The speaker on the wall crackled to life. “Mr. Ryse, Ms. Linde, Mr. Rehoboth sends his apologies for rushing you, but he’d like you to join him in the kitchen. He’s just received a huge delivery of chocolate and would like your help sorting it out before the rest of the family arrives.”
Ashen’s lips twitched, his eyes sparkling with a familiar mischief. “A huge delivery of chocolate? No day can go wrong that starts like that. Ready?”
I took his hand in mine, my pulse skipping at the thought of everything ahead. “Ready.”
Arthur ushered us toward the kitchen with the air of a man both delighted and resigned to what was about to happen. I could already hear the bustle before we stepped inside: voices overlapping, the clatter of pans, children laughing, a dog barking faintly from outside.
Ethan Rehoboth stood at the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, directing a small army of staff hauling in long clear bags of chocolate chips and stacked molds. He looked every inch the formidable patriarch—until he barked:
“Careful with those pink chips. They’re precious, apparently. Pink! Who even needs pink chocolate?”
“Granddaughters do,” one of the staff shot back, making him grumble under his breath.
When his gaze landed on us, the room seemed to pause. His smile was brief but genuine as he reached for Ashen’s hand in a firm shake, then turned to me.
“Sara Linde,” he said, holding my hand in his large, cool one. His pale eyes narrowed, searching. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Ashen shifted closer, a protective palm pressing lightly to my back.
I forced myself to meet Ethan’s scrutiny with calm honesty. “If it was all good,” I admitted, “it wouldn’t be true. But that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful to be here.”
For a heartbeat, the weight of his gaze tested me. Then he nodded, once, satisfied.