“You know what’s worse?” Harper sinks back into the armchair, defeated. “She’s young... beautiful. Delicate. Huge brown eyes… like a porcelain doll.” Her voice cracks. “All I could see was her pregnant. Carrying Jonathan’s child. And all I could think was... that it wouldn’t be me.”
Felicity straightens, alarm flashing across her face. “Wait—has he already signed something? Has he started this without telling you?”
“No.” Harper shakes her head quickly. “The baby would be ours, genetically.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “She would just carry it.”
Felicity exhales sharply, still bristling. “Even so... it’s wrong. He shouldn’t be calling agencies or interviewing surrogates without you. Not without the two of you being on the same page.”
Harper nods. “I told him that. But he said he didn’t want to burden me with the logistics. That he was just trying to... ‘help however he could.’”
Then she tells us everything, how Jonathan came home two weeks ago and framed it as a possibility. He said he would never expect her to get pregnant at this age, that they could hire a surrogate. And when the baby arrived, there would be nannies.Plural. So her life wouldn’t have to change too much.
It would all be... managed.
A child, he said, to carry on the family legacy. But the longer Harper speaks, the clearer something becomes. It may have been a possibility when the words left his mouth. But in his mind, it’s already a plan in motion.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel watching another woman carry Jonathan’s child... even if it’s mine too.” Her shoulders sag. “And even if we hire a thousand nannies, I’m going to want to raise my own baby.”
She exhales shakily. “If my grandmother is watching this from wherever she is—that I didn’t carry my own child and let someone else raise it—she’d rise from the grave just to slap some sense into me.”
I draw a deep breath, her words sinking.
“Harper, I don’t know what to tell you that won’t sound generic or pointless,” I admit, meeting her eyes. “I’ve never lived through something like this. But if I’m allowed to give you one piece of advice...”
I pause, making sure she’s really listening. “Don’t put him first in a decision that’s going to change your life far more than it will ever change his.”
I hold her gaze.
“You’d be the one at home. The one whose routine, whose whole world, would change. His life wouldn’t stop. He’d still bewalking out the door every morning like nothing had shifted. You’ve done this before, you made his dreams a priority and folded your own away to make them easier for him to live. Just because he changed his mind now doesn’t mean you’re obligated to change yours. You don’t have to blindly step into yet another decision that was made without you.”
“Preach,” Felicity mumbles at my side.
I nudge her with my elbow, and Harper lets out a shaky laugh through her tears. And we laugh with her, loosening the tension in the room.
We spend another hour talking, moving onto safer ground. I give them a light version of my trip, everything buthim. Harper tells us about a new medical outreach initiative Montgomery Clifford is launching for underserved communities, and a little color returns to her face.
When she finally feels steadier, she decides to go home and face Jonathan again.
We walk her out to the car, saying our goodbyes with kisses and tight hugs. Then Felicity and I stand on the sidewalk and watch her taillights disappear around the corner.
Until Felicity says, “There’s more to this.”
I turn to her. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I don’t know,” she replies, folding her arms. Her gaze is distant. “Maybe it’s the sangre de bruja[LXVIII]my mother swears runs in our veins, but something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”
Then she looks at me.
“And besides the obvious, that Jonathan is a selfish asshole,” she adds dryly, “it felt like everything had already been decided without her. Like he’s just... managing her into it. Letting her believe it’s her choice. Or worse, why now? After years of being so sure he didn’t want children. Why change his mind about an heir now?”
I stare down the empty street where Harper’s car vanished, a chill pooling in my stomach.
“I just hope she realizes what he’s doing,” I murmur. “Before he finishes destroying what little confidence she still has left.”
As soon as I hang up with Valentina, I give in and open the folder with my photos from Italy. I’ve started doing this far too often.
I talk to Alexander’s family almost every day now. Someone is always sending me something they’re proud to share—my favorite Tuscan dish making an appearance at lunch, or a video of Nonna swatting Cesare out of her kitchen with a dish towel after catching him sneaking a finger into the marmalade.
And then today, Angelo sends a photo, of him tending to my flowers, already preparing them for the coming season.
