Chapter Thirty-Six
Colton
I paced the private clinic’s waiting room, my footsteps echoing off the tile flooring. It was a small clinic, with just one receptionist sitting behind the desk, typing away on her computer. I focused on the sound of her fingers on the keys, willing the rhythm to help focus my nerves.
I’d never been so nervous before. I hadn’t given much thought to kids, other than ensuring that they weren’t a result of my affairs. I didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want anyone to have control over me.
Until Isabella.
I hadn’t imagined the baby at all, hadn’t given thought to anything except how it would affect her wellbeing and our relationship. But now, I let myself envision a future with her, my child growing inside her.
It was a beautiful picture, one I hadn’t know that I wanted, but now that the chance was here, I needed it.
Needed this baby to be mine.
And somewhere in this building, there was a piece of paper that would change everything.
Isabella sat perfectly still in one of the leather chairs, her hands folded in her lap. Controlled. But I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twisted together.
It had been ten weeks since we’d been together that night in the tunnels. For ten weeks, this child could have been growing inside of her.
If it was mine.
I’d spent the past few weeks holding her through nightmares, and watching her grow stronger. Of falling more in love with her every day. This baby…it just had to be mine.
The waiting room seemed to shrink around us, time stretching impossibly thin. Each passing minute amplified the questions spinning through my mind. What would this mean for us? For her? For the fragile future we’d barely begun to imagine? I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my pulse betrayed me, thundering in my ears.
“Isabella?” A nurse appeared with a clipboard.
Isabella’s hand found mine as we followed the nurse to a private consultation room. Her fingers were cold despite the warm Italian morning.
“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse said, closing the door behind her. I noticed an envelope tucked in the clipboard that she’d left. Was that it? The results?
Everything we’d been waiting for…
“Talk to me,” I said softly, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about probabilities.” Her voice was steady, even though her fingers shook. “About statistics and likelihood and—”
“Isabella.”
She broke off, squeezing my hand. “I’m terrified,” she whispered. “Either way, I’m terrified.”
“Whatever those results say,” I pulled her closer, kissing her temple. “Nothing changes. I love you. I’m here.”
“Everything changes.” But she leaned into me, seeking comfort. “If it’s not yours...”
The door opened and the doctor entered—an elegant Italian woman in her forties, her hair swept into a perfect chignon. The kind of physician who had probably delivered half of Tuscany’s elite.
“I have your results,” she said in lightly accented English, picking up the envelope. Her eyes were kind but professional. “Would you like me to tell you, or would you prefer to read them yourselves?”
Isabella’s hand tightened on mine. “Tell us. Please.”
The doctor opened the envelope with careful movements. I felt like my heart might explode from my chest.
“The paternity test is a positive match,” she said simply. “Congratulations, Mr. Moreau.”
The world stopped spinning.
Then started again, brighter. Clearer. More real than it had ever been.
In that frozen moment, every fear I’d buried came rushing to the surface. All those nights I’d lain awake, terrified the test would confirm my worst nightmare—that someone had violated her during those blank spaces in her memory, that her body had been used in the most intimate way without her consent. That every time she placed her hand on her growing belly, she was touching a reminder of trauma she couldn’t even remember.
The relief hit me like a physical force. Not some nameless monster’s child. Mine. Ours. Created in love, not violence.
My mind raced back to that night in the tunnel. The desperate fear as we fled, the way we’d sought comfort in each other’s arms, finding a moment of connection in the darkness. How we’d clung to each other, finally giving voice to feelings we’d danced around for too long. We had created life that night. While danger pursued us, we had unknowingly done the most defiant thing possible…we had created a future.
And now, against all odds, that future had survived everything. The shipping yard. The separation. Her captivity. My desperate search. It had endured drugs and cold and fear and uncertainty, growing quietly within her all this time. Our child had fought to exist with the same determination that had kept Isabella alive, that had driven me to find her.
In my entire life, I had never possessed anything so precious, so miraculous as this. Nothing compared to what we had created together. A life untainted by the darkness that had nearly destroyed us both.
Isabella made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. I pulled her into my arms, feeling her whole body shake against me.
“Mine,” I whispered into her hair. “Ours.”
“The baby appears healthy,” the doctor continued, after giving us a moment to absorb the news. “All preliminary tests are normal. I know you both were concerned about…well, there was no evidence of sexual assault on the physical examination. No internal scarring or lesions that I could find. No STIs. Everything looks healthy and normal.
I felt lighter, somehow freer. She hadn’t been tortured, hadn’t been hurt. “Are you certain?”
The doctor frowned slightly, but I didn’t care. I had to know, for one hundred percent certain, that she hadn’t been touched. Only to stop my own nightmares. Assuage some of the guilt I carried.
“Yes. Would you like to do an ultrasound?”
Isabella nodded against my chest, still trembling. Still processing.
The next hour passed in a blur of medical terminology and appointments and prenatal vitamins. But all I could focus on was the miracle residing in Isabella’s belly.
My child. Our child. Our future.
When we finally left the clinic, the Tuscan sun was high overhead. Isabella hadn’t spoken since hearing the results, but her hand stayed locked in mine.
“Talk to me,” I said as we reached the car. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She turned to face me, tears streaming down her face. But her smile…God, her smile could have lit up all of Italy.
“Yours,” she whispered. “Ours. A little piece of love in all that darkness.”
I cupped her face in my hands, my own vision blurring. “I love you. Both of you. So much.” I wasn’t afraid to admit it. Wasn’t afraid of her using it against me. For the first time in years…I felt free. Free to love openly. Free to declare it loudly.
“I was so afraid,” she admitted. “So sure it couldn’t be...that we couldn’t be this lucky.”
“We deserve some luck.” I kissed her tenderly, tasting salt and joy. “After everything.”
“The bank—”
“Can wait.” I pressed my hand to her stomach, marveling. “Right now, this is all that matters.”
The drive back to the vineyard felt surreal. Isabella dozed against my shoulder, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. My child. Our child. The thought kept hitting me in waves, each time more overwhelming than the last.
“You’re thinking too hard,” she murmured without opening her eyes.
“Can you blame me?” I took one hand off the wheel to cover hers on her stomach. “Everything’s different now.”
“Good different?”
“The best kind of different.” I kissed her hair, remembering how close I’d come to losing her. How many nights I’d held her through nightmares, praying this baby was mine. “Though Cooper’s going to be insufferable as an uncle.”
That made her laugh—a real laugh, one I hadn’t heard since before her capture. “Clara will be excited about a cousin.”
“Clara will try to name it after her stuffed animals.” We both laughed for a moment, and then she squeezed my hand.
The vineyard came into view, a beacon of safety in the afternoon light. Cooper and Allegra waited on the terrace with Clara, all trying to look casual and failing miserably.
“Ready?” I asked, parking the car.
Isabella straightened her shoulders, that familiar pose that meant she was preparing for something important. “Ready.”
Clara reached us first, running down the stone steps. “Bella! Uncle Colton! Did you bring me presents?”
“Better than presents, ma petite ,” Isabella scooped her up, and my heart clenched at the sight. Soon she’d be holding our child like that. “We brought news.”
Cooper and Allegra approached more slowly, but I could see the tension in my brother’s stance. The hope in Allegra’s eyes.
“Well?” Cooper demanded when we reached them. Always the less patient twin. I was surprised his impatience hadn’t led him to camping outside the clinic.
I looked at Isabella, letting her choose how to tell them. She shifted Clara to her hip and took my hand.
“It seems,” she said carefully, “that Clara’s going to have a little cousin. Another little Moreau .”
Allegra burst into tears, pulling Isabella and Clara into her arms. Cooper grabbed me in a fierce hug, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “thank God” in Italian. Then, “You should have called me from the car, jackass.”
“A baby?” Clara looked between us all, confused by the adults’ reaction. “Like my dolls?”
“Better than dolls,” Isabella told her, and I saw fresh tears in her eyes. “A real baby. Your baby cousin.”
“Can I name it?”
“No,” we all answered simultaneously, then laughed.
“Come,” Allegra wiped her eyes. “This calls for a celebration. Clara, help Mama get the special juice for Bella.”
“The sparkly one?” Clara bounced in Isabella’s arms.
“Sparkling cider,” Allegra confirmed. “The good Italian kind.”
They disappeared inside, Clara chattering about baby names and dolls and cousins. Cooper stayed behind, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“A niece or nephew,” he said softly. “Never thought I’d see the day my workaholic twin became a father.”
“Never thought I’d see the day you became a legitimate business owner,” I countered. “Life’s full of surprises.”
He sobered. “The bank—”
“Will still be there.” I watched Isabella through the windows, saw her laugh at something Clara said. “Right now, this is what matters.”
“They’ll come for you both, eventually.”
“Let them.” A wave of hardness entered my voice. “I’ve got more to protect now. More to fight for.”
“We’ve got more to protect,” he corrected. “Family, remember?”
Family. The word felt different now. Bigger. More vital.
Inside, Isabella caught my eye through the window. Her smile could have powered all of Tuscany.
Mine. Ours.
For now, that was enough.
Dusk wrapped around the Tuscan countryside, transforming the vineyard’s terraces into a tapestry of light and shadow. I watched from the kitchen window as Cooper showed Steele the improvements he’d made around the property, their voices carrying up through the warm air. In the three months since we’d arrived here, my brother had fully embraced his role as host. Beside them, Ember and Clara raced through the rows, their laughter echoing off ancient stone walls.
“Your brother is different than I imagined from your stories,” Isabella murmured, sliding her arms around my waist. Her belly pressed against my back, still barely showing but present in a way that made my heart race. “More...settled.”
“Italy changed him.” I covered her hands with mine. “Though I suspect Allegra and Clara had more to do with it than the wine.”
After everything that had happened in London, watching Isabella recover here among the vines had been its own kind of healing. Each day brought back more of her light, her strength returning as our child grew within her.
In the kitchen behind us, Allegra and Ashlynn worked on dinner, their easy conversation punctuated by the sounds of chopping and simmering. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air—Allegra’s signature chicken soup that had helped coax Isabella to eat during those first difficult weeks.
“They’re good together,” Isabella observed as Steele caught up with the girls, swinging one under each arm while they squealed in delight. “I wouldn’t have expected it, knowing what I do about his old life.”
“People can surprise you.” I turned to face her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. These quiet moments still felt precious after how close I’d come to losing her. “Speaking of which, are you ready to meet Steele? He knew your father well.”
She tensed slightly, but nodded. “It’s time.”
Outside, Cooper was heading back up with Steele and the girls. Ember had her father’s height and Ashlynn’s grace, all long limbs and ballet-trained posture. Clara bounced around them with perpetual energy, still chattering about the rabbits they’d spotted near the olive grove. Watching them, I couldn’t help imagining our own child running through these vines someday.
“Dinner’s ready!” Allegra called from behind us. “Everyone wash up!”
The chaos of getting two excited children cleaned up and settled at the table felt strangely natural. Isabella helped Clara with her napkin; they’d formed a special bond during these weeks of recovery, with Clara appointed as official “helper” in caring for Isabella. Meanwhile, Ember regaled us all with a detailed description of her latest dance recital, complete with demonstrations that nearly knocked over the bread basket.
The long wooden table on the terrace was set with Allegra’s best dishes, and candles flickered in the evening breeze. Bowls of olives and fresh bread dotted the weathered surface, and the wine Cooper had chosen caught the last rays of sunlight.
“Isabella.” Steele’s voice was gentle as we all took our seats. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you properly. Your father spoke of you often.”
She stilled beside me, but her voice was steady. “He did?”
“Yes, always fondly. We worked together in Paris, years ago.” He accepted the wine Cooper poured. “He was a good man. Taught me everything I know about art authentication. The way he could spot a forgery...” Steele shook his head, smiling at the memory. “Like magic.”
“He used to say it was about feeling the artist’s intent,” Isabella said softly. “Not just seeing the technique.”
“And other things, I imagine,” Steele’s eyes held understanding.
“And other things,” she agreed. “He’d talk about his work with you. Never details, but...I knew he enjoyed it.”
“He’d be proud of you. Of what you’re doing.” Steele’s voice carried weight. “Of who you’ve become.”
I squeezed her hand under the table, feeling the slight tremor there.
“Uncle Colton,” Clara interrupted, oblivious to the moment’s weight, “can I feel the baby?”
“Not yet, ma petite ,” Isabella recovered smoothly, using the endearment she’d told me her father had used. “But soon.”
“My mama’s having a baby too!” Ember announced proudly. Her accent was a mixture of everything: French, British, and American. “A brother!”
“Really?” Clara’s eyes went wide. “Can I have him?”
“No,” Ashlynn laughed, one hand resting on her more prominent bump. “But you can help me teach him things when he arrives.”
“Like what?”
“Like being gentle,” Steele said pointedly as Ember accidentally knocked over her water while reaching for a slice of bread.
The conversation flowed easily after that. Cooper told stories about our childhood in Marseille—tales of twin boys getting into trouble that made Isabella laugh. Her real laugh, not the careful one from those first weeks here. Allegra and Ashlynn talked of pregnancy symptoms and birthing plans, while Steele and I discussed the vineyard’s security upgrades.
“The perimeter sensors are good,” he noted, “but you might want to consider thermal imaging for the south access road.”
I nodded, making mental notes. After everything that had happened, I wasn’t taking any chances with my family’s safety.
The girls had moved on to planning elaborate games involving their future cousins, though their plans seemed to mostly involve dress-up and tea parties.
“This is nice,” Isabella murmured to me. “Normal.”
I knew what she meant. After months of high-stakes deception followed by weeks of recovery and nightmares, simply sharing a meal with family felt revolutionary.
Later, as the sun set and the girls grew sleepy, we moved to the sitting room. Ember curled up in Steele’s lap while Clara leaned against Cooper, fighting to keep her eyes open. The adults’ conversation turned softer, more reflective.
“We’re thinking of naming him Dillion,” Ashlynn said, her hand linked with Steele’s.
“It’s perfect,” Isabella smiled. “Though I bet Ember had other suggestions.”
“She wants to name him Sparkles,” Steele said dryly.
“Still better than Clara’s suggestion of Grape,” Cooper chuckled, kissing his daughter’s head.
I watched Isabella throughout the evening, saw how she fit so naturally into this world we’d created. How she smiled at Allegra’s stories and answered Ember’s endless questions. How she seemed to glow in the candlelight, one hand occasionally drifting to her stomach in an unconscious gesture of protection.
When Clara finally fell asleep, Cooper carried her to bed with Allegra following. Steele and Ashlynn excused themselves soon after, taking a drowsy Ember back to the guest house that had replaced the old groundskeeper’s cottage.
Isabella and I moved back out to the terrace, watching the stars emerge over the vines. She settled between my legs on the lounge chair, her back against my chest, and I wrapped a light blanket around us to ward against the cooling air.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?”
“For this. For them. For giving me a family again.” Her voice caught slightly. “When my father died, I thought...I didn’t think I’d ever have this again.”
I tightened my arms around her, one hand splaying protectively over our child. “They’re yours now. All of them. The good, the bad, the slightly insane.”
She laughed quietly. “I love them.”
“Even Cooper?”
“Especially Cooper. He’s your twin…he’s a part of you.” She turned her head to kiss my jaw. “Like a particularly persistent vine. The way he and Allegra took care of me these past few weeks...” She trailed off, emotion thick in her voice.
“They love you too. You’re part of us now. Forever.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the night sounds of the vineyard. Crickets chirped in the herb garden. A night bird called from the cypress trees. Everything was peaceful.
“I love you,” I murmured into her hair. “Both of you.”
She snuggled closer, guiding my other hand to where our child grew. “We love you too. Though your child is currently making me debate whether I want to throw up dinner or not.”
“My child, is it? Not ours when they’re misbehaving?”
“Definitely yours. I recognize that stubborn streak.”
I chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Get used to it. Moreaus are notorious for being difficult.”
“Mmm.” She was getting sleepy, her words softening. “Good thing I like difficult. And complicated. And impossible.”
“We’ve had enough impossible,” I said softly.
She turned in my arms, facing me. In the starlight, her eyes held that fierceness I’d fallen in love with. “No more impossible missions after we take down the bank?”
“No more.” I brushed my thumbs over her cheeks. “Just family. Just love. Just watching our child grow up safe.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I held her until her breathing evened out, memorizing the weight of her in my arms. The scent of her hair. The way she fit against me like she was made for it.
The stars shone overhead, ancient and unchanging. Somewhere in London, the bank’s crimes continued. Somewhere, there were still battles to fight and wrongs to right.
But here, in this moment, there was just us. Just family. Just love.
And for now, that was everything.