Chapter Forty
Isabella
I found him on the terrace where we’d spent so many evenings during my recovery. The Tuscan night wrapped around us like silk, the mole cricket’s song mixing with the fountain’s gentle splash. Colton stood at the stone railing, his usual pressed suits replaced by casual clothes that still somehow looked elegant on him. Always the lawyer, even in repose.
“You’re thinking too much,” I said softly, moving to stand beside him.
He smiled slightly. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
“Your side of the bed was cold.” I leaned against the railing, watching the moonlight play over the vines below. “What’s keeping you up so late?”
“I’ve been thinking about documentation,” he said carefully. “About how we try to make everything fit into neat categories. Contracts. Evidence. Proof.”
I smiled, used to his lawyer’s mind by now. “And what fascinating legal conclusion has kept you from sleep?”
“That sometimes the things that matter most can’t be documented.” He turned to face me fully. “After Catherine, I made everything in my life precise. Controlled. I turned relationships into carefully orchestrated encounters that could never hurt me.”
Something in his tone made me look at him more closely. He seemed...not nervous exactly—Colton Moreau was never nervous—but there was an intensity to him I hadn’t seen before.
“Then you walked into my office,” he continued quietly, “and dismantled every careful wall I’d built. Made me want things I’d convinced myself I didn’t need. Didn’t deserve.”
His hand found mine on the railing, warm and steady. My heart started beating faster as understanding began to dawn.
“I’m not getting down on one knee,” he said softly. “I’m not making grand speeches. That’s not us.”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s not.”
“But I am asking you to marry me. Before London. Before whatever comes next.” His eyes held mine, intense and certain. “Not because of the baby, or the danger, or any logical reason. But because I love you. Because for the first time in years, I want something real instead of something safe.”
Tears pricked my eyes but I smiled. “That sounds suspiciously like a speech.”
“Occupational hazard.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “Lawyers talk too much.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, we talk too much?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I slid my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Though I hope you have an actual ring, or this proposal is sadly lacking in material evidence.”
He laughed softly, reaching into his pocket. The ring was perfect, a simple platinum band with a single diamond that caught the light from the moon and stars. No ornate settings or flashy designs, just clean lines and quiet elegance.
“It reminded me of you,” he said as he slid it onto my finger. “Beautiful without trying to be. Strong without showing off.”
“Now who’s being poetic?”
“Don’t tell Cooper. He’ll never let me live it down.”
I looked at the ring, then back at him. “When?”
“As soon as possible. Before we go back to London.” His arms tightened around me. “I want us to face whatever comes next together. Completely.”
“Tomorrow might be ambitious, even for your organizational skills.”
“Next week then.” His lips found my temple. “Small ceremony here at the villa. Just family.”
The week that followed passed in a blur of quiet preparation and precious moments. Allegra took charge of arrangements with her usual grace, while Cooper alternated between teasing his brother and making sure every detail was perfect. Steele and Ashlynn came back to stay; the girls were ecstatic about their roles as flower girls, spending hours practicing their petal-throwing technique in the courtyard.
I found myself watching them all, memorizing details I wanted to keep forever. The way Clara and Ember danced through the vines, their laughter echoing off the ancient stones surrounding the property. How Allegra hummed while arranging flowers, her hands moving with artistic precision. The quiet conversations between Cooper and Colton, heads bent together like they were planning a heist instead of a wedding.
One evening, I found Ashlynn in the kitchen, sorting through some of Allegra’s old recipes. Her pregnancy was more visible than mine, her hand resting on her bump as she worked.
“My father should be here,” I said suddenly, the words escaping before I could stop them.
She looked up, understanding in her eyes. “He is, in his own way.”
“He would have liked Colton,” I continued, surprising myself. “Would have appreciated his mind. His determination to do what’s right.”
“He would have been proud of you,” she said softly. “Of everything you’re doing.”
Later that night, Colton found me in our room, staring at old photographs. He didn’t say anything, just held me while I cried for everything lost and everything found.
The morning of our wedding dawned clear and perfect. The courtyard had been transformed with simple elegance—white flowers and twinkling lights woven through the ancient stone archways. A few wooden chairs had been arranged in a row, facing an altar draped in white silk. The Tuscan hills providing a natural backdrop that no cathedral could match.
Allegra helped me dress in the cream silk I’d chosen, its flowing lines perfect for the small bump that held our future. When she pinned my mother’s pearl earrings in place—a gift my father had saved all these years, retrieved from my safe deposit box by Steele—we both pretended not to notice each other’s tears.
“He’d be so proud,” she whispered. “Of who you’ve become. Of the family you’re building.”
Ashlynn appeared with Clara and Ember, both girls already scattering practice rose petals in their pristine white dresses. Their excitement was contagious, filling the room with laughter and light.
“Bella, look!” Clara twirled, her skirt floating around her. “I’m practicing my flower girl dance!”
“No dancing,” Allegra corrected. “Just walking and dropping petals. Remember?”
Ember demonstrated her own petal-dropping technique with grace. “Like this, Clara. See? Elegant.”
The girls’ chatter helped ease the emotions tightening my throat. These people, this family I’d found…made the absence of my own feel less sharp.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Not because of the dress or the careful styling, but because of the joy radiating from within. The woman looking back at me was loved. Was whole. Was ready.
The ceremony itself exceeded every hope. Clara and Ember managed to contain their enthusiasm to a relatively sedate procession, though their smiles could have lit all of Tuscany. Cooper stood beside his brother, both of them handsome in suits that spoke of Italian tailoring rather than London precision.
But it was Colton who took my breath away. He’d always been handsome, but today there was something different about him. A softness beneath his usual precision. When our eyes met, everything else faded away.
We spoke our vows simply, meaning every word. His hands were steady as he slid the wedding band beside my engagement ring. Mine trembled slightly as I gave him his, but his smile told me he understood.
“I love you,” he whispered as he kissed me, and for once the lawyer in him had no other words.
The celebration afterwards transformed the villa’s courtyard into something magical. Lanterns cast golden light over long tables laden with Allegra’s finest cooking. Cooper’s wine flowed freely, each bottle specially chosen from the cellar. The girls danced with abandon, teaching Steele steps that made him laugh.
Cooper’s best man speech, which was really just a toast, managed to be both touching and slightly inappropriate, telling stories of their childhood that made Colton groan and me laugh. But there was real emotion in his voice when he welcomed me to the family.
“My brother,” he had said, raising his glass, “has always been the careful one. The precise one. The one who needed documentation for everything.” He smiled at Colton. “Then Isabella walked into his life and proved that the most important things can’t be contained in contracts. Love doesn’t need paperwork. Sometimes it just needs courage to be real.”
As the sun set, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Colton pulled me close for our first dance. No carefully choreographed steps, just us moving together to music that seemed to come from the villa itself.
Later, after the children had been put to bed and the adults had retired, Colton led me to our room. Someone—probably Allegra—had scattered rose petals on the bed and lit candles that filled the air with soft light. The Tuscan night spilled through our open windows, bringing with it the scent of jasmine and the distant sound of mole crickets.
He pulled me close, his kiss deeper now that we were alone. All the control he’d maintained during the ceremony slipped as his hands found bare skin under silk.
“My wife,” he murmured against my throat, and the words sent shivers through me.
“My husband,” I replied, working the buttons of his shirt. “The lawyer who finally let love breach his defenses.”
He laughed softly, the sound rough with desire. “Only for you.”
In the candlelight, every touch felt heightened. His hands traced paths they’d memorized months ago, but tonight each caress carried new meaning. New promises. When his fingers found the zipper of my dress, I felt him pause.
“What?”
“Just...memorizing,” he said softly. “How you look right now. How this feels. I want to remember every detail.”
The dress slid to the floor, leaving me in delicate lace chosen for this night. His deep intake of breath made me smile.
“Like what you see, counselor?”
His eyes darkened. “You know I do.” His hands skimmed my sides. “You’re beautiful. Carrying our child. Wearing my ring. Mine.”
I stepped closer, helping him out of his jacket, then his shirt. Even now, months into our relationship, the sight of him made my breath catch. The perfect suits had always hidden a warrior’s body, and tonight that body was mine. All mine.
“I love seeing you like this,” I murmured, tracing the deep grooves on his chest. “No fake facade. No careful walls. Just you.”
His hands tangled in my hair, tilting my face up. “Just yours.”
We took our time, exploring each other with new reverence. Every touch felt weighted with promise. His mouth traced paths down my throat, across my collarbone. When he finally moved inside me, I felt complete.
“I love you,” he breathed against my mouth. “God, Isabella, I love you.”
I wrapped myself around him, taking him deeper. I repeated back his catch phrase to him, demanding he make good on his promise. “Show me.”
He did, with exquisite care and burning passion. When I came apart in his arms, he swallowed my cries with his kiss. His own release followed moments later, my name a prayer on his lips.
Afterward, we lay tangled in sheets that smelled of roses and love. His hand rested protectively over our child while I traced patterns on his chest, memorizing how he looked in this moment—utterly relaxed, and completely mine.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, catching my wandering hand and bringing it to his lips.
“That I love you.” I propped myself up to look at him. “That whatever comes in London, whatever battles we have to fight, this is real. This is true.”
His kiss was gentle. “No documentation required.”
We made love again as night gave way to dawn, slower this time, savoring every touch. When sleep finally claimed us, we were still tangled together, his arm curved protectively around my waist, my head on his chest where I could hear his heart beating steady and strong.