Page 91 of Silence and Surrender

And now, against all odds, that future had survived everything. The shipping yard. The separation. Her captivity. My desperate search. It had endured drugs and cold and fear and uncertainty, growing quietly within her all this time. Our child had fought to exist with the same determination that had kept Isabella alive, that had driven me to find her.

In my entire life, I had never possessed anything so precious, so miraculous as this. Nothing compared to what we had created together. A life untainted by the darkness that had nearly destroyed us both.

Isabella made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. I pulled her into my arms, feeling her whole body shake against me.

“Mine,” I whispered into her hair. “Ours.”

“The baby appears healthy,” the doctor continued, after giving us a moment to absorb the news. “All preliminary tests are normal. I know you both were concerned about…well, there was no evidence of sexual assault on the physical examination. No internal scarring or lesions that I could find. No STIs. Everything looks healthy and normal.

I felt lighter, somehow freer. She hadn’t been tortured, hadn’t been hurt. “Are you certain?”

The doctor frowned slightly, but I didn’t care. I had to know, for one hundred percent certain, that she hadn’t been touched. Only to stop my own nightmares. Assuage some of the guilt I carried.

“Yes. Would you like to do an ultrasound?”

Isabella nodded against my chest, still trembling. Still processing.

The next hour passed in a blur of medical terminology and appointments and prenatal vitamins. But all I could focus on was the miracle residing in Isabella’s belly.

My child. Our child. Our future.

When we finally left the clinic, the Tuscan sun was high overhead. Isabella hadn’t spoken since hearing the results, but her hand stayed locked in mine.

“Talk to me,” I said as we reached the car. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She turned to face me, tears streaming down her face. But her smile…God, her smile could have lit up all of Italy.

“Yours,” she whispered. “Ours. A little piece of love in all that darkness.”

I cupped her face in my hands, my own vision blurring. “I love you. Both of you. So much.” I wasn’t afraid to admit it. Wasn’t afraid of her using it against me. For the first time in years…I felt free. Free to love openly. Free to declare it loudly.

“I was so afraid,” she admitted. “So sure it couldn’t be...that we couldn’t be this lucky.”

“We deserve some luck.” I kissed her tenderly, tasting salt and joy. “After everything.”

“The bank—”

“Can wait.” I pressed my hand to her stomach, marveling. “Right now, this is all that matters.”

The drive back to the vineyard felt surreal. Isabella dozed against my shoulder, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. My child. Our child. The thought kept hitting me in waves, each time more overwhelming than the last.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“Can you blame me?” I took one hand off the wheel to cover hers on her stomach. “Everything’s different now.”

“Good different?”

“The best kind of different.” I kissed her hair, remembering how close I’d come to losing her. How many nights I’d held her through nightmares, praying this baby was mine. “Though Cooper’s going to be insufferable as an uncle.”

That made her laugh—a real laugh, one I hadn’t heard since before her capture. “Clara will be excited about a cousin.”

“Clara will try to name it after her stuffed animals.” We both laughed for a moment, and then she squeezed my hand.

The vineyard came into view, a beacon of safety in the afternoon light. Cooper and Allegra waited on the terrace with Clara, all trying to look casual and failing miserably.

“Ready?” I asked, parking the car.

Isabella straightened her shoulders, that familiar pose that meant she was preparing for something important. “Ready.”

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