Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
alastríona
Sixteen Months Later
Boston in September is beautiful, all crisp air and turning leaves that catch the afternoon light streaming through the ballroom windows. I'm sitting at a round table with the people I love most in the world, watching strangers celebrate love, and thinking about how far we've all come.
Lorenzo and Quinn's wedding reception is in full swing around us. The bride and groom don't know us well—we're here as allies more than friends—but their happiness is infectious. Quinn looks radiant in her ivory dress, and Lorenzo can't stop staring at her, like he's afraid she might disappear.
It's sweet. Reminds me of how Freddie looked at me on our wedding day.
"Beautiful ceremony," Jessica says, bouncing Patricia on her knee. Our eighteen-month-old goddaughter is all chubby cheeks and bright eyes, completely fascinated by the crystal glasses catching light on the table.
"Very traditional," Lisa agrees, smoothing her burgundy dress. "Though I thought Quinn might faint when she saw how many people were watching."
"Three hundred guests," Clodagh adds, shaking her head. "Can you imagine? I was nervous with thirty."
I laugh, remembering my own wedding to Freddie eight months ago. It was small, intimate, just family and close friends in Dublin. Nothing like this elaborate Boston affair, but perfect for us.
"Where's Dylan?" I ask, noticing Clodagh's lap is empty.
"With his da, terrorizing the dessert table. Emmanuel thinks if he keeps the boy distracted with sweets, he won't notice how many strangers are here."
Dylan Emmanuel Dellinger. Fifteen months and already showing his father's stubborn streak. He was named after Clodagh's brother, who was murdered by Emmanuel's father—another ghost given new life through love.
"And Henry?" Freddie asks, settling into the chair beside me with our son in his arms.
"Charming everyone in sight," I say, watching our year-old boy wave at a passing waiter. "He's got your smile and absolutely no fear of strangers."
Henry Stephen Kinnock. Named for the grandfather he'll never meet and the man who's become like a father to Freddie. He's got my eyes and Freddie's dark hair, plus a laugh that makes hardened criminals go soft around the edges.
"I wonder where he gets that from," Freddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Definitely his father."
The music changes, and couples begin moving toward the dance floor. Lorenzo spins Quinn in a slow circle, both of them laughing at something she whispers in his ear. Young love, new love, the kind that makes everything seem possible.
"That could be us," Maverick says to Lisa, offering his hand.
"If you can manage not to step on my feet," she replies, but she's smiling as she takes his hand.
They've been married six months now, and the honeymoon phase shows no signs of ending. Maverick's found his balance between leading the crew and being a husband. Lisa's found her place in our complicated world.
"Emmanuel's dancing with Clodagh," Jessica observes. "And holding Dylan. That man's got skills."
"Practice," Stephen says, wrapping his arms around his wife and daughter. "You learn to multitask when you marry into this family."
I watch our friends move onto the dance floor, each couple finding their rhythm. It's peaceful, this moment. Normal in a way our lives rarely are.
"Freddie," I say quietly, "I need to tell you something."
"What kind of something?"
"The good kind. I hope."
He turns to study my face, searching for clues. "Tríona?"
"I'm pregnant."
The words hang between us, and I watch his expression shift from surprise to wonder to pure joy.
"Pregnant," he repeats, like he's testing the word.
"About six weeks. I found out yesterday."
"Six weeks." He's still processing, one hand unconsciously moving to rest on my still-flat stomach. "Another baby."
"Are you happy?"
"Happy?" He lifts Henry Stephen higher in his arms and kisses our son's dark hair. "I'm fucking ecstatic."
"Language," I scold, but I'm laughing.
"Sorry. I'm very happy," he corrects, grinning. "Extremely, wonderfully, incredibly happy."
"Good. Because this one might be a girl, and you'll have to learn a whole new kind of terrifying protection."
"I'll manage."
"Famous last words."
From across the ballroom, I spot Vittoria sitting with her husband, Cesare, at the family table.
She's holding Matteo, her almost two-year-old, who's clearly bored with the formal proceedings.
Even from here, I can see her maternal instincts at work, keeping him entertained with quiet games and whispered stories.
Vittoria. My best friend from Belfast, now married to Lorenzo's father. Life has a strange way of connecting people.
"I should go say hello properly," I tell Freddie.
"Want company?"
"Take Henry Stephen to see Uncle Stephen. I'll be right back."
I make my way through the crowd, past tables full of Boston's most dangerous families trying to look respectable for the cameras. The kind of gathering that would have terrified me two years ago. Now it just feels like business.
"Tríona!" Vittoria stands when she sees me approaching, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure. "I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk."
"You look beautiful," I tell her, and mean it. Marriage suits her. Motherhood too. She's got that glow that comes from being exactly where you're supposed to be.
"So do you. Though you look tired."
"Long flight with a toddler. You know how it is."
"I do indeed." She glances at Matteo, who's now trying to fold his napkin into various animal shapes. "This one kept me up until midnight asking questions about airplanes."
"Speaking of keeping you up," I say, sitting in the empty chair beside her. "How are you adjusting to Boston?"
"Better than I expected."
"And Lorenzo?"
"A good stepson. Protective of Matteo, respectful to me. He was worried I was only marrying his father for the wrong reasons, but I think he sees now that it's real."
I study her face, looking for signs of doubt or regret. I find none. Just contentment, the kind that comes from making the right choice, even if it wasn't the expected one.
"I'm glad you're happy."
"I'm glad you are too. When you disappeared from Belfast, I was terrified something had happened to you."
"Something did happen. Just not what either of us expected."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the reception flow around us. Two women who've found their way from arranged marriages to real love, from Belfast to Dublin to Boston, from survival to happiness.
"Tríona," Vittoria says quietly, "there's something I need to tell you."
"What?"
"Your mother contacted me last month."
The words hit like a physical blow. Mam. Who left me alone in Belfast when Dad died, who disappeared to London without a word.
"What did she want?"
"To know if you were safe. If you were happy. She's been trying to find you for months."
"And you told her?"
"Only that you were alive and well. Nothing more. I wasn't sure if you'd want contact."
I take a deep breath, processing this information. Part of me is angry—furious that she'd try to come back into my life after abandoning me. But another part, the part that still misses her despite everything, wonders what she wanted to say.
"Did she leave a number?"
"She did. I can give it to you if you want. Or not. Your choice entirely."
"I don't know what I want."
"That's okay. You don't have to decide today."
She's right. This is something I'll need to think about, discuss with Freddie. Another ghost from the past trying to find its way into our present.
"Thank you," I say. "For telling me. And for not giving her more information."
"You're family, Tríona. Real family. I protect the people I love."
The words make my chest tight with emotion. Family. Once upon a time, I thought that was something you were born into, something that couldn't be chosen or changed. Now I know better.
Family is the people who show up. The people who stay. The people who'd die for you without question and expect the same in return.
"I should get back," I say, standing. "But we should have dinner sometime. Real dinner, not wedding food."
"I'd like that. And bring Henry Stephen. Matteo's been asking about the baby he met earlier."
I make my way back through the crowd, past dancing couples and laughing children, toward the table where my real family waits. Freddie's deep in conversation with Stephen and Maverick, probably discussing security or business or one of the thousand details that keep our world running.
Henry Stephen is on Jessica's lap now, clapping along to the music with Patricia. The two babies seem to have formed some kind of alliance, communicating in a language only they understand.
"How was Vittoria?" Freddie asks when I sit down.
"Good. Happy. She said to tell you hello."
"Just hello?"
"And that Mam's been looking for me."
Freddie goes very still. "Your mother?"
"Apparently, she's been trying to find me for months. Vittoria gave her limited information."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Confused. Angry. A little curious, if I'm honest."
He nods, understanding the complexity of family relationships, of love and abandonment and the way the past never really lets go.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe nothing. Maybe call her. It's complicated."
"It always is with family."
The band starts playing something slow and romantic, and Quinn and Lorenzo take the floor for what might be their last dance as newlyweds before heading off to their honeymoon.
"Dance with me?" Freddie asks, offering his hand.
"What about Henry Stephen?"
"Jessica's got him. Don't you, Jess?"
"Of course. Patricia and I are excellent babysitters."
On the dance floor, surrounded by other couples but feeling like we're alone, I let myself think about the future we're building. Our son playing with his cousins, the baby growing inside me, the house in Dublin that's become our sanctuary.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Freddie murmurs, spinning me slowly.
"Just thinking about how lucky we are."
"Lucky how?"
"To have survived everything. To have found each other. To have this." I gesture around us, at our friends and family, at the celebration of love despite all the violence that surrounds our world.
"We are lucky. But it's more than luck."
"What is it then?"
"Choice. We chose each other, chose to fight for this, chose to build something beautiful despite all the ugliness."
He's right. Love isn't luck—it's work. Daily work, choosing each other again and again despite the fear and uncertainty and all the ways the world tries to tear people apart.
"I love you," I tell him, the words carrying the same weight they did the first time I said them.
"I love you too. More every day."
"Even when I'm hormonal and impossible?"
"Especially then."
The song ends, but we don't separate. We just stand there holding each other while the music changes and other couples move around us.
"Ready to go home?" Freddie asks.
"More than ready."
We collect our son from Jessica, say goodbye to the bride and groom, and gather our coats from the hotel's coat check. A normal ending to a normal evening, except nothing about our lives is really normal.
In the taxi back to our hotel, Henry Stephen falls asleep against Freddie's chest, worn out from a day of being admired and spoiled by strangers who see in him the future of our complicated world.
"He's getting so big," I say, smoothing our son's dark hair.
"They grow fast at this age."
"All of them do. Patricia's walking, Dylan's saying actual words. Where does the time go?"
"Into building the future. Into making sure they have better than we did."
I rest my hand on my stomach, thinking about the child growing there. Another piece of our future, another reason to keep fighting for the peace we've built.
"What do you think it is?" I ask. "Boy or girl?"
"Doesn't matter. As long as they're healthy."
"Diplomatic answer."
"Honest answer. Though if it's a girl, I might need Stephen to give me lessons in protective father techniques."
"He's done well with Patricia."
"So far. Wait until she starts dating."
I laugh, imagining Stephen trying to intimidate teenage boys while Jessica rolls her eyes in the background.
"That's years away."
"Never too early to start planning."
In our hotel room, we settle Henry Stephen in his portable crib, change into comfortable clothes, and collapse onto the bed like the exhausted parents we are.
"Long day," Freddie says, pulling me against his side.
"Good day though."
"The best kind."
I curl closer to him, one hand resting where our second child is growing, the other holding onto the man who turned my whole world upside down in the best possible way.
Tomorrow, we'll fly home to Dublin, back to our house with its garden and security systems and all the normal complications of daily life. Henry Stephen will toddle around, getting into everything while I battle morning sickness and Freddie pretends he's not already planning the baby's nursery.
But tonight, in this moment, surrounded by the quiet contentment that comes after celebration, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Loved. Protected. Home.
And that's enough. More than enough.
It's everything.