Tristan watches her with quiet approval. "You stood your ground."
"We all did," she says, looking around at the three of us. "Thank you. For having my back."
The elevator reaches the ground floor and we step out together. I feel strangely lighter, as if we've shed a burden that's been weighing on us for months. The sunshine streaming through the building's glass facade seems brighter somehow.
"What now?" Julian asks as we walk toward the exit.
"Now," I say, "we go about our lives and let the lawyers handle the rest."
Camille nods against my shoulder. "And we focus on what matters. Our family. Our future."
I glance down at her profile, at the determined set of her jaw and the protective way her hand curves around her belly—our child.
This family we've built, this strange, beautiful arrangement that defies explanation—it's worth protecting. Worth fighting for.
Fiona never stood a chance.
Chapter 38
Camille
The Italian sun warms my skin as I stretch out on the yacht's deck, my eyes closed against the brightness. It’s an unseasonably warm fall day and I want to soak up every ray of sunshine.
For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can truly breathe. No photographers lurking, no tabloid headlines screaming about my personal life, no Fiona poisoning the well with her lies. Just this—the gentle rock of the boat, the murmur of my men's voices nearby, and the impossible blue of Lake Como stretching before us.
"You look peaceful," Alex says, his shadow falling over me as he offers a glass of sparkling water.
I open my eyes to find him watching me, his usual intense gaze softened by something that might be contentment. It's a new look for him, one I've only started seeing since we arrived at his villa yesterday—a sprawling stone masterpiece tucked into the hillside with stunning views.
"I feel peaceful," I admit, taking the glass from him. My hand automatically moves to my belly, now prominently rounded at twenty-six weeks. "We both do."
The decision to come here was spontaneous—or as spontaneous as anything can be with all four of our schedules. After the confrontation with Fiona last week, we all felt the need to escape, to celebrate our victory in private. Julian suggested a trip and Alex said, "My place in Lake Como is perfect this time of year." Twenty-four hours later, we were on his private jet.
"God, what a beautiful day," Julian calls from the stern where he's adjusting the music coming from hidden speakers. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt that hugs his muscular chest.
Tristan appears from below deck, his tablet tucked under his arm. “It couldn’t be more perfect.”
Alex moves to the side of the boat, leaning against the railing with casual grace. "The cafe I mentioned is just around that bend. We have a reservation in an hour."
"Always the responsible one," I tease, pushing myself up to sitting.
The corners of his mouth twitch. "Someone has to be."
Julian drops down beside me on the padded bench, his arm finding its way around my shoulders. "Forgive him, he can't help himself. Once a control freak, always a control freak."
"Says the man who spent forty-five minutes arranging a perfect playlist for today," Tristan observes dryly, settling into a chair across from us.
Julian grins, unrepentant. "Ambiance is important."
I lean into his side, soaking in his warmth and the easy banter between my three men.
The yacht cuts smoothly through the water, guided by the captain Alex hired for the day. The shoreline of Lake Como reveals itself like pages in a storybook—clusters of sherbet-colored buildings clinging to the hills, grand villas with manicured gardens, ancient churches whose bells occasionally ring.
"I could get used to this," I say to no one in particular.
"To what?" Tristan asks, his blue eyes fixed on me with that intense focus that still makes my heart skip.
"All of it. This place. This feeling." I gesture vaguely at the surrounding beauty, at the four of us together without stress or scandal. "Just being us without the world watching and judging."
