Epilogue Valentina
SEVERAL MONTHS LATER
I read all the books. Listened to my mother’s and Emma’s stories, took the classes with Cillian who sat through every single one like it was a final exam he needed to ace.
I watched the videos. I prepared.
None of it prepared me for this.
“I’m going to kill you,” I gasp as a wave of pain overwhelms me, Cillian’s hand locked in mine, his bones grinding together in a way that should concern me more than it does. “This is your fault. All of it.”
“I know,” he says, in an infuriatingly steady voice. This motherfucker. He can be calm because he’s not currently experiencing what I am currently experiencing. Fucking Eve. She had to go and eat the forbidden fruit. “You can kill me later. Right now you need to breathe.”
The snarl I release is inhuman as I glare at him, my sweaty hair plastered to my face. “Don’t tell me to breathe—ah!”
The contraction peaks and the swear words I unleash are so colorful it makes a nurse gasp.
When it finally ebbs, I fall back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling, trying to remember why I thought this was a good idea.
“How much longer?” I ask Dr. Hidalgo wearily.
“You’re doing great. Almost there.” She looks up at me from the foot of the bed, radiating calm. I guess I would be calm too if I did this every day. It’s the only reason I don’t say something unforgivable. “Another few pushes and you’ll meet your daughter.”
Daughter.
We’re having a girl. Cillian unashamedly cried at the twenty-week ultrasound while I sat there with my hand over my mouth unable to make a single sound.
A daughter.
Half me and half this impossible man beside me, who is currently letting me destroy his hand bones together without complaint.
Another contraction builds and I stop thinking about anything except getting through it.
“That’s it,” Dr. Hidalgo says from behind her mask. “One more big push. Come on, Valentina.”
Cillian is saying something close to my ear, and I focus on his voice and push with everything I have left, which is not much, and then—
A cry.
High and indignant and furious at the world. I burst into tears.
“She’s here.” I can see Dr. Hidalgo’s smile. “Congratulations.”
They put her on my chest and my arms instinctively come around her. She’s still crying, her tiny face scrunched up in outrage. She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
“Hi,” I whisper, in awe of this tiny creature. “Hi, sweet girl. I’m your mama.”
She quiets slightly at the sound of my voice, and something in my chest cracks open and doesn’t close again.
I look up at Cillian.
He’s staring at her with an expression I have never seen on his face before. Like something has undone him completely, down to the foundation, and he doesn’t mind at all.
“Cillian,” I whisper, my cheeks sore from smiling. “Look at her.”
He looks at me and his eyes are wet. “She’s perfect,” he says roughly. “You’re perfect. I can’t—” He stops and swallows. “I love you so much.”
I choke out a wet laugh, feeling our daughter nuzzle against my chest. “I love you too.”
The doctor is doing something that I’m only distantly aware of. My entire world is this baby, this man, and this moment.
A nurse comes by and takes my baby from me.
I want to protest and scream give her back but Cillian goes with them, hovering over the nurses and watching whatever they’re doing. I relax slightly.
Cillian won’t allow anyone to hurt her.
But the more I watch, the more I see him fall to pieces over our daughter.
When they bring her back, she’s swaddled in that ugly hospital blanket with a tiny pink knit hat on her head. Cillian holds her like she’s made of something irreplaceable, which she is.
“Hey, little one,” he murmurs, staring at her in awe. “I’m your dad.” He pauses, drawing her closer and pressing his lips to her small forehead. “And I promise I’m going to spend the rest of my life keeping you safe.”
My throat tightens so fast it hurts and tears prick my eyes.
This man. This dangerous, ruthless, occasionally infuriating man who married me as a political transaction and somewhere along the way became the person I would burn the world down for. He’s holding our daughter like she’s the axis everything else turns on.
“Nora,” I say hoarsely.
We’d debated—argued—it for months. Cillian has objectively awful taste in names, and we managed to narrow it down to a top three. Nora was on there, but I wasn’t sure of it. But when I look at her tiny face, I know.
Cillian looks at the baby, studying her face. “Nora Brennan,” he says softly, trying out the name.
“Nora Gabrielle Brennan,” I correct him. “After Gabriel.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Nora Gabrielle Brennan,” he says softly. He looks down at her. “What do you think, Nora? Do you like your name?”
Nora yawns enormously and falls asleep.
Cillian laughs, quiet and low, the kind of laugh that’s mostly just breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
By evening the room is full. I was born into a family that treats privacy as a loose suggestion.
Leo, Emma, and Seraphina arrive within the hour.
Emma makes a beeline for Nora and immediately starts crying, which sets me off again.
Leo stands in the doorway with the car seat, looking at his baby sister holding a baby and doing an extremely unconvincing impression of a man who is not emotional about it.
“You look terrible,” he tells me, his eyes bloodshot.
I give him my most withering glare. “I just gave birth, Leo.”
“Well I know that. I’m just saying, you might want to—” he moves his hand around in the air.
“Finish that sentence,” I say sweetly, but my eyes promise death. I used to beat up my brother when we were kids and I’ll do it again. “Please. Finish it.”
He wisely does not finish it. Emma smacks his arm anyway, on principle.
Leo is so lucky I’m so blissfully happy because otherwise I definitely would tease him for crying.
He thinks he’s being subtle about it, standing in the corner pretending to be very interested in something on his phone, but his nose keeps running and he keeps sniffling. He claims its allergies. I let him have his dignity and don’t say a word. I’m generous like that.
My mother arrives twenty minutes later.
Gianna Santoro does not cry. She didn’t even cry at Gabriel’s or our father’s funeral.
We’ve always thought our mother was a robot. She sweeps into the room and kisses my cheeks, her eyes darting around, looking for someone.
When she sees Nora, her face just crumples. She takes her granddaughter from Emma with trembling hands and she openly sobs, not even bothering to hide her emotions.
“Her name is Nora,” I tell her, my throat tightening. “Nora Gabrielle.”
My mother sobs again, pulls Nora closer, and cries harder. Emma’s eyes are teary, but Leo stares at Mamma in amazement. “I have never seen that happen before in my life.”
Emma smacks him. “Are you serious right now?” she hisses, wiping her eyes. “This is a beautiful moment and that’s what you decided to say?”
“No, I’m being genuine,” he says, still looking shocked. “I didn’t know she could do that.”
Emma smacks him again.
“Emma, I’m serious, I once broke my arm when I was eight and she told me to walk it off.”
“Leo.” Emma sounds pleasant, which means shit is about to hit the fan. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up right now.”
Leo closes his mouth but looks at our mother crying over his niece before he looks at me. Finally, it seems to hit him what the baby’s middle name is and his throat bobs.
This time I can’t resist. “Are you crying, Leonardo?”
“No,” he says immediately.
“Yes, you are. I think it’s very sweet.” I smile at how uncomfortable my brother looks.
“I’m not crying.” He straightens up to his full height. Pfft, as if that’s going to intimidate me; I stopped being afraid of him by the time I was six. “I have something in my eye.”
What a shitty excuse. I’m almost disappointed in him for it. “Both of them?”
“It’s very dry in here. Hospital air. It’s a known phenomenon.”
From nearby, Cillian stifles a laugh and I roll my eyes. “Sure it is.”
“Valentina.” He points at me with the hand not holding his phone. “You just gave birth. You’re supposed to be tired and incapacitated. Stop being annoying.”
I shrug, smiling at him sweetly. “I’m a multitasker.”
He looks back at his phone, his jaw working. His eyes are absolutely wet. He looks so emotional that my traitorous heart goes out to him. I decide to stop teasing him.
“Leo,” I say, more gently.
“I’m fine,” he says curtly, still staring at his phone.
I smile and let him have it.
Eventually Emma settles into the chair beside my bed with Seraphina asleep in her arms. The room sorts itself into separate conversations, and it’s just us for a moment.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, eyes raking over me as if to check herself.
“Exhausted.” I reach over and stroke Seraphina’s dark hair. She doesn’t stir. “Sore. Deliriously happy.” I pause. “Is it always this terrifying? Loving someone this much?”
“Always,” Emma says, smiling gently. “It gets worse, actually. Wait until she smiles at you for the first time. You’ll be completely ruined.”
I let out a small laugh. “I’m already ruined.”
She laughs too. “Then you’re doing it right.” There’s a moment of silence before she shifts closer to me, pitching her voice low. “Any word on…?”
She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to.
“Nothing,” I say quietly, feeling that icy ball of fear settle in my stomach. “Completely cold. Whoever hired Claire is still out there and we have no idea who they are.”
Emma’s already pale face goes even pale. “That doesn’t scare you?”
“It scares the shit out of me,” I confess as I look across the room at Cillian, who is holding Nora with one arm and talking to Leo.
They’re probably talking about security measures for the girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re discussing how tall their towers should be to lock up Seraphina and Nora.
“But I can’t live in fear,” I continue, my gaze still fixed on my baby. “None of us can. We have to be vigilant and smart and trust that we’ll see the next move coming.”
Emma follows my gaze. “You and Cillian are stronger now than you were before, you know. What happened with Claire—it could have destroyed you.”
“It almost did,” I whisper, my heart seizing at the memory of those dark times when I really thought I had lost my husband.
“But it didn’t.” She looks at me, her green eyes fierce. “That’s what matters.”
Across the room Cillian glances up, catches me watching him, and something passes between us that doesn’t need words.
He holds my gaze for a second before looking back down at Nora.
He adjusts his grip slightly, and I watch him press his lips to the top of her tiny head.
An arranged marriage.
A fake paternity claim.
Weeks of lies and hurt and distance and somehow we came out the other side of all of it with this—a room full of people we love, a daughter who already has her father’s stubbornness written all over her face, and a marriage that’s stronger for having been tested.
Whoever is still out there, watching and waiting—they’re still there.
I know that.
I feel it sometimes, that particular prickle at the back of my neck.
But tonight Cillian Brennan kisses our daughter’s head like she’s the most important thing he’s ever held.
They didn’t win. We’re still here.
Whatever comes next, we face it together. And this time, we’ll be ready.