Chapter Fourteen Where We Begin #4
“And then she reminded me she's my mother and therefore considers everything her business.”
Naomi laughed.
They began walking again.
After a moment, she asked,
“Do you still want them?”
Lucas looked at her.
“Children?”
“Yes.”
“Very much.”
Naomi nodded.
“So do I.”
His steps slowed.
She smiled.
“Not tomorrow.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“What did my face say?”
“It started planning nurseries.”
Lucas looked offended.
“I am an architect.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed.
Naomi slipped her hand into his.
“One day.”
“One day,” he agreed.
They reached the bridge.
Naomi leaned against the stone railing.
London moved around them.
Cars.
Voices.
Lights.
Ordinary life.
Lucas stood behind her and wrapped his coat around both of them.
She rested against his chest.
“I used to think finding out where I came from would explain who I was,” Naomi said.
Lucas kissed her hair.
“Did it?”
“No.”
She looked across the dark water.
“It explained some things.”
Amara's talent.
Adrian's face.
Joseph's choices.
Serrano's shadow.
Elias's damage.
But none of them could fully explain her.
Naomi smiled.
“I think I've decided something.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It usually is.”
She turned in his arms.
“I don't want our children growing up obsessed with bloodlines.”
Lucas's expression softened.
“They should know the truth.”
“Everything age appropriate.”
“No mysterious pendants?”
“Absolutely no mysterious pendants.”
“Hidden monasteries?”
“Grounds for divorce.”
Lucas laughed.
Naomi touched his face.
“I want them to know their history.”
She paused.
“But I want them to understand it is history.”
Not an order.
Not a sentence.
Not destiny.
Lucas took her hand and kissed her wedding ring.
“Deal.”
They began walking again.
Naomi glanced behind them once.
The Thames reflected the city in broken streaks of gold.
For generations, people in their families had tried to preserve power by controlling what came next.
Edmund.
Arthur.
Elias.
Mercer.
Serrano.
Kells.
Each had believed the future could be managed if enough information remained locked away.
They had been wrong.
The future had never belonged to the person holding the key.
It belonged to the people brave enough to open the door and then decide for themselves where to go.
Lucas squeezed Naomi's hand.
“Where are we going?”
She smiled.
“Home.”
He looked at her.
And together, they kept walking.
Not toward a prophecy.
Not toward an empire.
Not toward a bloodline demanding to be continued.
Toward a life.
Their life.
One they would fill with fabric and blueprints, ridiculous family dinners, unfinished healing, work worth doing, kisses in museums, arguments over music, children perhaps, laughter certainly, and mornings when the greatest emergency might be Lucas Taylor insisting once again that he did not snore.
Naomi already knew better.
She smiled into the London night.
For once, there was nothing chasing them.
Nothing waiting beneath the ground.
Nothing hidden inside the walls.
Only the road ahead.
And this time, they were free to choose it.
One Year Later
Naomi Taylor knew something was wrong when she cried over a button.
Not a sentimental button.
Not one from Joseph's coat.
Not an antique button connected to a secret organization, a dead relative, an international criminal, or any other category of object that had historically complicated her life.
It was an ordinary pearl button.
And it was crooked.
Naomi stood inside the Belonging studio staring at the cream blouse hanging from the mannequin.
The button was perhaps half an inch out of alignment.
Maybe less.
It had been sewn onto a sample garment and could be corrected in under two minutes.
Naomi burst into tears.
Her assistant, Amelia, froze across the worktable.
“Naomi?”
“It's crooked.”
“Yes.”
“Why is it crooked?”
“Someone made a mistake.”
Naomi wiped her face.
“Who makes a mistake with a button?”
Amelia stared at her.
“Human beings?”
Naomi began crying harder.
“Oh my God.”
Amelia slowly put down her pencil.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Should I call Lucas?”
“No!”
“Your mother?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Which one?”
Naomi stopped crying.
She looked at Amelia.
“Don't start.”
Amelia raised both hands.
Naomi sniffed and stared at the offending button.
Something was definitely wrong.
For the past two weeks, she had been exhausted.
Not normal exhausted.
Not launching-a-fashion-collection exhausted.
She had fallen asleep during a movie with Lucas at seven-thirty.
She had nearly fallen asleep during a design meeting.
Yesterday she had taken a twenty-minute nap on the sofa in her office and awakened two hours later with a piece of pattern paper stuck to her cheek.
Then there was the food.
Coffee suddenly smelled terrible.
Naomi James Taylor loved coffee.
Now the scent made her stomach turn.
And that morning she had eaten pickles with scrambled eggs.
Lucas had stared at her across the breakfast table.
She had threatened him with the fork.
Naomi slowly stopped wiping her face.
Amelia watched the realization cross her expression.
“What?”
Naomi counted silently.
Then counted again.
“Oh.”
“What?”
Naomi reached for her handbag.
“I have to go.”
“What about the meeting at two?”
“Move it.”
“The fabric supplier?”
“Tomorrow.”
“The button?”
Naomi looked at it.
Another wave of emotion threatened.
“Burn it.”
Amelia blinked.
Naomi grabbed her coat.
“Don't actually burn it.”
“Thank you for clarifying.”
Naomi was already halfway out the door.
Two hours later, Naomi sat in a private examination room staring at a monitor.
Her doctor smiled.
Naomi did not.
She was still trying to understand the first piece of information.
“You're definitely pregnant.”
Naomi blinked.
Pregnant.
She looked down at herself.
Her hand slowly moved to her stomach.
There was nothing to see yet.
No curve different from the softness already there.
No movement.
No obvious sign that another person had begun growing inside her.
A baby.
Lucas's baby.
Her baby.
Their baby.
A laugh escaped.
Then tears came immediately behind it.
The doctor smiled.
“That's a fairly common reaction.”
Naomi covered her mouth.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Yes.”
Naomi laughed again.
“Oh my goodness.”
She wanted Lucas.
Immediately.
She wanted to see his face.
She wanted to tell him in person.
She wanted to hear whatever ridiculous British sentence came out of his mouth when his brain stopped working.
The doctor adjusted the ultrasound.
Then her expression changed.
Naomi noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing bad.”
Naomi's heartbeat jumped anyway.
“Don't make that face and then say nothing bad.”
The doctor smiled.
“I just need another angle.”
Naomi stared at the screen.
“What are you looking at?”
The doctor adjusted the image again.
Then smiled wider.
“Well.”
Naomi's eyes narrowed.
“Well what?”
“It appears congratulations are slightly more complicated.”
Naomi's heart began pounding.
“What does that mean?”
The doctor turned the monitor toward her.
“Naomi, you're carrying twins.”
Silence.
Naomi stared at her.
Then at the monitor.
Then back at her.
“No.”
The doctor laughed softly.
“Yes.”
“No, I heard you. I mean—no.”
The doctor pointed toward the screen.
“There are two.”
Naomi looked.
Two.
Her mind went completely blank.
Then everything arrived at once.
Two babies.
Two cribs.
Two car seats.
Two sets of diapers.
Two crying newborns.
Two college funds.
Two people calling her Mama.
Naomi's eyes widened.
“Oh, Lord.”
The doctor laughed.
Naomi stared at the monitor.
“Twins?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“Very.”
“My mother had twins.”
“Which increases the possibility in some types of twin pregnancy.”
Naomi barely heard the rest.
She was staring at those tiny images.
Her and Adrian.
Twins separated at birth.
Two babies who had entered the world together and been deliberately pulled apart by adults who believed they had the right to rearrange their lives.
Naomi's eyes filled.
Her hand covered her stomach.
“No.”
The word came differently this time.
Softly.
Emotionally.
Not disbelief.
A promise.
Her children would enter a family waiting for both of them.
No one would separate them.
No one would assign them roles.
No one would decide one mattered differently from the other.
They would grow up together.
Fight over toys.
Annoy each other.
Have birthdays side by side.
Maybe become best friends.
Maybe drive each other crazy.
Maybe both.
Naomi laughed through her tears.
“Two.”
The doctor handed her a tissue.
“Two.”
Naomi looked at the monitor again.
Her happiness was enormous.
So was the fear sitting beneath it.
She whispered, “How am I supposed to do this?”
The doctor looked at her.
“You don't have to know today.”
Naomi nodded.
That helped.
A little.
She touched her stomach again.
“Hi, babies.”
Her voice cracked.
“I'm your mama.”
And that sentence changed everything.
Lucas came home at six-twelve.
Naomi knew because she had been watching the clock since five-thirty.
She heard the door open.
“Naomi?”
“In the kitchen.”
He entered carrying architectural drawings beneath one arm.
Then stopped.
The kitchen table was completely empty except for a small white box.
Naomi sat across from it.
Lucas looked at her.
Then at the box.
Then back at her.
“What happened?”
“Why does something have to have happened?”
“Because you're sitting silently at a table with a mysterious box.”
Naomi considered that.
“Fair.”
Lucas put down the drawings.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Is someone else secretly related to you?”
Naomi laughed.
“No.”
“Thank God.”
“Sit down.”
His face immediately became concerned.
“Naomi.”
“Lucas, sit.”
He sat.
She pushed the box toward him.
He looked suspicious.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Lucas lifted the lid.
Inside were two tiny pairs of white socks.
He stared at them.
Naomi watched his face.
Nothing happened.
Three seconds.
Five.
Seven.
Lucas picked up one pair.
“These are small.”
Naomi bit her lip.
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
Then at the socks.
Then back at her.
His eyes widened.
“Are you—”
Naomi smiled.
“Pregnant.”
Lucas stopped breathing.
Actually stopped.
Naomi waited.
“Lucas?”
He stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“You're pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“With a baby?”