Chapter 12 Isabel
ISABEL
The Stonehouse looked like something from a fairy tale.
Stone walls rose from gardens that should have been dormant in February, but weren’t—not entirely.
Pink roses climbed the entrance, their winter blooms stubborn against the cold.
Ivy crept across the facade, softening the historic structure with green tendrils.
A low stone wall enclosed the courtyard, and through the open French doors, I could see twinkling lights strung across the vaulted ceilings even though it was barely noon.
I stood beside Kick at the entrance, my hand gripping his so hard my knuckles had gone white.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
I wasn’t fine. The building was full of Avilas.
Through the doorway, I could see them gathered inside—Kick’s brothers, their wives, their children running between adult legs, and Lucia presiding over it all from near a tasting bar with polished shelving behind it.
The noise alone was overwhelming. Laughter, overlapping conversations, a toddler’s shriek of delight, someone calling out about wineglasses.
This was nothing like the Van Orr household. Nothing like the silent dinners and empty hallways I’d grown up in.
“Hey.” Kick turned me to face him, his hands warm on my shoulders. “They’re going to welcome you with open arms. You know that, right?”
I managed a nod that fooled neither of us.
“We don’t have to do this today. We can wait,” he offered.
“No.” I straightened my spine. “I’m ready.”
Another lie. But I’d been lying to myself for so long that one more barely registered.
Kick pressed a kiss to my forehead, letting his lips linger there for a few seconds. His breath was warm against my skin, and I let myself draw strength from his steadiness.
“I love you,” he murmured. “Remember that.”
“I love you too.”
He took my hand, and we walked inside together.
The room went quiet when we entered.
Not silent—there were too many people for true silence—but the conversations died down as heads turned in our direction.
I felt every pair of eyes cataloging my appearance.
The loose waves in my hair instead of my usual tight bun.
The slight swell of my stomach that I’d stopped trying to hide beneath structured blazers and empire waists.
Lucia reached us first.
“Mijo.” She pulled Kick into a hug that looked like it might crack his ribs, then turned to me with that same warm smile from last night. “Isabel. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Before I could respond, she embraced me too. Her arms were strong and sure, and she smelled like cinnamon and something floral—gardenia, maybe, or jasmine. My throat tightened at the unexpected tenderness.
“Thank you for having me,” I managed.
“Having you?” She laughed, a rich sound that filled the space around us. “You’re family now. No invitation necessary.”
Her words landed in my chest and stayed there, sharp-edged and uncomfortable.
Kick’s brothers descended next. I’d met them before at various wine industry events, but usually from a distance.
Always as Baron Van Orr’s daughter, the woman who made a spectacle of herself at the bachelor auction every year.
Now, they shook my hand, clapped Kick on the shoulder, and made jokes about their baby brother finally settling down.
Brix was the quietest of them, his handshake firm but brief.
His dark eyes assessed me without revealing his conclusions.
Cru was warmer, asking about our work at Whitmore with genuine interest, wanting to know about the reserve program and distribution channels.
Bit grinned and told me I must be a saint to put up with Kick, then ducked when his younger brother swung at him.
Tryst, Kick’s uncle, held my hand in both of his. “Welcome to the family, Isabel. Kick is lucky to have found you.”
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it, even as I wondered how long it would take them all to realize their mistake.
The other women hung back at first, watching from near the tasting bar.
Saffron was the first to approach me. She stepped forward and squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad you’re here, Isabel. I mean that,” she said with a smile that meant more than she probably knew.
“Everyone,” Kick called out, clapping his hands to gather attention. “Isabel and I have news we’d like to share.”
The room went quiet again. This time, true silence. Even the children stopped moving, as if they sensed the gravity of the moment. A toddler—little Trystan, I remembered, Bit’s son—squirmed in Eberly’s arms but didn’t make a sound.
Kick squeezed my hand. We’d talked about this last night, how we wanted to announce it together, how he’d take the lead if I needed him to. I needed him to.
“Isabel and I are having a baby,” he said, looking at me with so much emotion that my heart swelled. “She’s my family now. And that means she’s yours too.”
For three heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Lucia burst into tears.
“A baby,” she whispered, pressing her hands to her chest. “Another grandbaby. Oh, mijo.”
The room erupted. Congratulations poured in from every direction. Brix shook Kick’s hand and smiled at me. Actually smiled. Cru embraced him and pounded his back. Bit whooped loud enough to startle little Trystan into crying, which made everyone laugh.
The women moved toward me in a tide of smiles and questions. Addison reached me first, her red hair catching the light from the twinkling strings overhead.
“When are you due?” she asked.
“July.”
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“Not yet.” If someone else was asking me these same questions, I’d probably bristle. But Addy was one of the nicest people I’d ever met.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine, mostly. Tired sometimes.”
Daphne appeared at my elbow, her smile genuine. “The exhaustion gets better in the second trimester,” she said in an Australian accent.
“You’ll want ginger tea,” Eberly added, bouncing little Trystan on her hip. “I lived on it for months.”
The responses seemed to satisfy them. No one asked how Kick and I had gotten together or why we’d kept the pregnancy secret for so long.
No one mentioned my history with Snapper or the chaos I’d caused at last year’s Wicked Winemakers’ Ball.
They just accepted the news. Like none of that mattered anymore.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
“Wait, wait.” Cristobal raised his hand from across the room. He stood beside a woman with auburn hair and kind eyes—Ainsley, I remembered. His wife. “As long as we’re sharing news…”
He looked at Ainsley. She looked back at him. An unspoken question passed between them, then her cheeks flushed pink, and she nodded.
“We’re pregnant too,” Ainsley announced. Her smile was radiant, transforming her whole face. “Due in September.”
The room erupted a second time. More tears from Lucia, who seemed incapable of containing her joy. More hugs and congratulations. Cristobal beamed as his brothers surrounded him, their teasing loud and affectionate.
“Two grandbabies in one year,” Lucia said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue that had materialized from somewhere. “Alfonso would be so happy. He loved having a full house.”
I watched from the edge of the celebration, my hand resting on my own stomach. Two pregnancies announced in the same moment. Two families about to grow. Ainsley caught my eye across the chaos and raised her glass of water in a small toast. I raised mine back, trying to mirror her easy happiness.
She seemed nice. They all seemed nice.
That was the problem.
The men left twenty minutes later.
“The guys and I won’t be far if you need anything.” Kick led me over to the French doors while the women started setting up for lunch. Through the glass, I could see the gardens stretching toward a wooded area with bare branches reaching toward a gray sky.
“I don’t suppose I could come with you instead?” I said, only half teasing.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and his fingers lingered at my temple. “You’re gonna be fine. More than. I promise.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me, soft and sweet, his hand cupping my cheek. “You belong here, Isabel. I know you don’t believe it yet, but you do. Just give them a chance to show you.”
When he left with his brothers and Tryst and the door closed behind them, the room felt bigger without his presence. Emptier.
Saffron appeared at my side before I could take a breath. “You doing okay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because you look like you’re about to bolt.” She said it without judgment, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “I recognize the look. I wore it myself not that long ago.”
“How did you stop yourself?”
“I realized that none of them are perfect either.”
She had no idea how much that resonated with me. Or maybe she did.
“They don’t expect you to be anything other than who you are. That’s the weird part. They actually mean it.” When she touched my arm, it grounded me. Even if only for that moment.
I surveyed the room, wanting so much to believe her.
But twenty-seven years of learning the opposite was hard to unlearn in an afternoon.
Lucia had taken charge of the food.
Platters covered the tasting bar—finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off, salads bright with winter vegetables, and fresh bread that smelled like it had just come from the oven.
Pitchers of lemonade and sparkling water sat alongside carafes of coffee.
The children had been corralled into a corner with toys and snacks, supervised by a teenage girl Eberly introduced as a neighbor’s daughter.
“Come, sit.” Lucia gestured to an oblong table that had been arranged near the fireplace, set with flowers and cloth napkins in deep burgundy. “Eat. You’re eating for two now.”
I took the seat she indicated, between Saffron and an empty chair that Lucia claimed for herself. The other women filled in around us—Addison across from me, Ainsley beside her, Alex at the head of the table, Daphne, Eberly, and Jaicon completing the circle.