Page 26 of False Heir

The drive back to Boston was a relatively quiet stretch of highway, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of tires on asphalt. Tristan sat behind the wheel, his focus unwavering as he navigated us closer to the life we were trying to reconcile with our own.

“Our meeting with Kieran…” I murmured, more to myself than to Tristan. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.

I wasn’t sure what I meant, so I shrugged. “I know he’s part of the family business and all, but this just seems like such an unkind thing to do. Like we’re putting him in danger too for no reason.”

Tristan glanced my way, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Adriana, my brothers have always been a part of this—of who I am. We don’t get to choose our blood.”

“Even if it drags you deeper into danger?” I pressed, searching his face for some sign of doubt.

He shrugged, a subtle lift of his broad shoulders. “It’s the life we lead. You knew that marrying into the Callahan family would never be simple.”

“Well, we’re not married, so…”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“Yeah, not yet,” he finally said, his voice huskier than it had been a moment before. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his fingers straining against the worn leather. “But I intend to change that.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. I stared at him, his handsome profile soft under the morning light as we sped down the deserted highway. We were heading towards danger and yet here was Tristan, talking about marriage like it was just another step we had to take.

“Tristan,” I started but cut myself off. What could I say? There was nothing to say about this. It hadn’t happened yet, and I appreciated his proposal…proposals, now. But until we were married, I just didn’t believe him.

“Ade…” he started, probably sensing it.

“It’s okay.” I sighed, resting my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the landscape blur into abstract shapes and colors. I understood loyalty, but it did little to soothe the anxiety clawing within me. “I’m just really tired right now.”

I managed to fall asleep. After what felt like only a few minutes, we got to the clinic. When we arrived at the doctor’s office, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the sterile beep of monitors greeted us like an old hymn. The stark white walls seemed to close in as we waited for our names to be called.

“Adriana Orsini,” the nurse finally said, her voice soft but somehow still jarring in the quiet space.

As I lay on the examination table, the cold gel spread across my belly, and the ultrasound began, my hand found Tristan’s. His touch was the anchor I needed as the tech moved the transducer, the screen flickering to life with images I couldn’t decipher.

“Everything looks good,” the doctor announced after he came in, the results in his hand and a smile in his voice. “The twins are developing well. They have nice strong heartbeats.”

A warmth spread through me, not from the room, but from within—a flicker of hope amidst the storm that was our lives. It didn’t matter what awaited us out there; here, in this moment, I had everything I needed.

“Thank you,” I breathed, relief washing over me. Tristan squeezed my hand, and even without words, I felt his reassurance.

But the day was far from over, even though I wanted to go home and crawl into my bed. It felt like it had been so long since I had slept in my own bed…

But no. We had to meet with the estate lawyer–the real one, not the pretend one–so Tristan had changed using the suit jacket he got from the car, his hand on mine as we walked from the car to the giant building.

The lawyer’s office loomed ahead—a fortress of glass and steel in the heart of Boston. We navigated through the imposing doors, and I felt the shift from the personal to the perilous as we entered.

“Mr. Callahan,” greeted the receptionist, her voice echoing slightly off the marble floors. “Mr. Hunter will see you now.”

The room we stepped into could have been cut from ice—chrome fixtures, sharp angles, and not a single personal touch. It was the kind of place designed to intimidate, but my focus was razor-sharp. I needed to catch every subtlety, understand the legal abyss we were skirting the edges of.

Turned out there wasn’t much to talk about. We walked into Mr. Hunter’s office. He was an immaculately dressed lawyer in his fifties, and he seemed to know Tristan.

“Malachy…”

Tristan watched him. The lawyer seemed to wince at his use of Tristan’s dad’s first name.

Mr. Hunter continued. “Excuse me. Mr. Callahan, he was meticulous,” the lawyer, a man with a button nose and eyes that looked like they missed nothing, said as he laid out the documents. “The estate and documents are pretty straightforward. His home will go to you, his money will go to you, with a trust fund for your youngest brother and an allowance for your middle brother. Your father had expectations of a salary for Kieran, which I assume you’re happy to fulfill, but honestly, there’s no legal backing for those. I don’t expect you have a problem with that.”

Tristan shook his head. “No. I’ll provide for my brothers.”

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