Page 93 of Silence and Surrender

In the kitchen behind us, Allegra and Ashlynn worked on dinner, their easy conversation punctuated by the sounds of chopping and simmering. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air—Allegra’s signature chicken soup that had helped coax Isabella to eat during those first difficult weeks.

“They’re good together,” Isabella observed as Steele caught up with the girls, swinging one under each arm while they squealed in delight. “I wouldn’t have expected it, knowing what I do about his old life.”

“People can surprise you.” I turned to face her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. These quiet moments still felt precious after how close I’d come to losing her. “Speaking of which, are you ready to meet Steele? He knew your father well.”

She tensed slightly, but nodded. “It’s time.”

Outside, Cooper was heading back up with Steele and the girls. Ember had her father’s height and Ashlynn’s grace, all long limbs and ballet-trained posture. Clara bounced around them with perpetual energy, still chattering about the rabbits they’d spotted near the olive grove. Watching them, I couldn’t help imagining our own child running through these vines someday.

“Dinner’s ready!” Allegra called from behind us. “Everyone wash up!”

The chaos of getting two excited children cleaned up and settled at the table felt strangely natural. Isabella helped Clara with her napkin; they’d formed a special bond during these weeks of recovery, with Clara appointed as official “helper” in caring for Isabella. Meanwhile, Ember regaled us all with a detailed description of her latest dance recital, complete with demonstrations that nearly knocked over the bread basket.

The long wooden table on the terrace was set with Allegra’s best dishes, and candles flickered in the evening breeze. Bowls of olives and fresh bread dotted the weathered surface, and the wine Cooper had chosen caught the last rays of sunlight.

“Isabella.” Steele’s voice was gentle as we all took our seats. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you properly. Your father spoke of you often.”

She stilled beside me, but her voice was steady. “He did?”

“Yes, always fondly. We worked together in Paris, years ago.” He accepted the wine Cooper poured. “He was a good man. Taught me everything I know about art authentication. The way he could spot a forgery...” Steele shook his head, smiling at the memory. “Like magic.”

“He used to say it was about feeling the artist’s intent,” Isabella said softly. “Not just seeing the technique.”

“And other things, I imagine,” Steele’s eyes held understanding.

“And other things,” she agreed. “He’d talk about his work with you. Never details, but...I knew he enjoyed it.”

“He’d be proud of you. Of what you’re doing.” Steele’s voice carried weight. “Of who you’ve become.”

I squeezed her hand under the table, feeling the slight tremor there.

“Uncle Colton,” Clara interrupted, oblivious to the moment’s weight, “can I feel the baby?”

“Not yet,ma petite,” Isabella recovered smoothly, using the endearment she’d told me her father had used. “But soon.”

“My mama’s having a baby too!” Ember announced proudly. Her accent was a mixture of everything: French, British, and American. “A brother!”

“Really?” Clara’s eyes went wide. “Can I have him?”

“No,” Ashlynn laughed, one hand resting on her more prominent bump. “But you can help me teach him things when he arrives.”

“Like what?”

“Like being gentle,” Steele said pointedly as Ember accidentally knocked over her water while reaching for a slice of bread.

The conversation flowed easily after that. Cooper told stories about our childhood in Marseille—tales of twin boys getting into trouble that made Isabella laugh. Her real laugh, not the careful one from those first weeks here. Allegra and Ashlynn talked of pregnancy symptoms and birthing plans, while Steele and I discussed the vineyard’s security upgrades.

“The perimeter sensors are good,” he noted, “but you might want to consider thermal imaging for the south access road.”

I nodded, making mental notes. After everything that had happened, I wasn’t taking any chances with my family’s safety.

The girls had moved on to planning elaborate games involving their future cousins, though their plans seemed to mostly involve dress-up and tea parties.

“This is nice,” Isabella murmured to me. “Normal.”

I knew what she meant. After months of high-stakes deception followed by weeks of recovery and nightmares, simply sharing a meal with family felt revolutionary.

Later, as the sun set and the girls grew sleepy, we moved to the sitting room. Ember curled up in Steele’s lap while Clara leaned against Cooper, fighting to keep her eyes open. The adults’ conversation turned softer, more reflective.

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