Page 33 of Captive Bride

“No, I’m not,” I replied. “I mean, I kind of want to honor the 911 operator who helped, but Jeanette isn’t my kind of name.”

Adriana frowned thoughtfully, her deep brown eyes twinkling with mischief as she nudged me gently. "Well, we can't name her '911 operator', Tristan."

I let out a low chuckle, the sound echoing through the room and drawing our sleeping babies' attention. "You're right. What about Jean?"

"Jean?" She repeated, testing the name on her tongue.

"Yeah, Jean." I affirmed, watching my daughter with newfound wonderment. The soft light pouring in from the window bathed her tiny face in a warm glow; it felt fitting, almost prophetic.

Adriana squeezed my hand gently and nodded. "Jean it is." Then, turning to her son, she sighed softly. "Jean Catherine, maybe?”

"That sounds…good. But not there yet."

“What about Catherine Jean? And she can go by her middle name. That sounds a little better. And that way, we can keep honoring your mom.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

Catherine Jean. A name that was a blend of things old and new, like our little family.

"And our son?" Adriana asked after a pause, her gaze moving to the silent bundle in the other bassinet.

"Callum doesn't fit him, does it?" I muttered, feeling the weight of a decision that could shape this tiny being’s identity.

Adriana laughed softly, her voice echoing off the sterile white walls. "No," she agreed. "He looks like… I don't know. But not a Callum."

We were silent then, both lost in thought as we observed our son. He was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the world around him and the people who were trying so hard to do right by him.

"What about…Aaron?" Adriana suggested suddenly, her eyes sparkling with hope as she turned to look at me.

“That’s like the WASPiest name there is.”

“Actually, I think that name is Josh.”

"Josh Callahan," I chuckled, rolling the name around in my mouth. “Nah.”

"No, it doesn't fit him," Adriana agreed. Her gaze was locked on our son, her expression soft, almost reverent.

"It's fine, we've got time." I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. In reality, I was panicking slightly. Names meant things; they carried weight and expectation. And the world had enough expectations for this little boy already.

Adriana smiled at me, a little sadly. “I love them so much,” she said. “But this isn’t what I expected. I mean, giving birth at home, without my mom or sister around…”

“Yeah,” I said, biting my lower lip. “I think you’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we need to call our families.”

Chapter Fifteen: Tristan

The pale morning light filtering through the blinds washed over the sterile room, casting a soft glow on the clear incubators where my two newest reasons to breathe lay wrapped in cotton blankets. Adriana's even breathing was the only sound punctuating the silence, her peaceful face a stark reminder of the chaos we'd left behind.

Their little wristbands said “Baby Boy O’Connell” and “Baby Girl O’Connell,” which I didn’t love. But beyond that, they were…perfect.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the stubble that had formed overnight scratch against my palm. It should have been easy, just reaching for my phone and dialing the numbers that would bring our families rushing to our side. But those same numbers felt like shackles, threatening to drag us back into the life we fought so hard to leave.

"Orsini and Callahan," I murmured under my breath, the names tasting like a legacy I wasn't sure I wanted to pass on. We were supposed to be the Smiths now; simple, untraceable, free. But as I looked at Adriana, her dark hair splayed across the pillow like a shadow against the stark white sheets, I couldn't deny the pull of blood and loyalty. She needed her sister, Carmen, with her sharp tongue and sharper wit, and Alessia, her mother, with hands that could calm with a single touch.

And I didn’t like thinking about this…considering everything that had happened…but I needed my brothers.

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