No one knows that. Not even them.
The idea to create a firm focused on financing start-ups came, ironically, from Mark, just over two years ago. A careless remark at Ethan’s birthday. He said the only thing I wastrulygood at was “choosing where to put my money,” and that I should start using that particular talent.
He wasn’t wrong. Montgomery Clifford became what it was because I bled for it. And I built something new the same way. Sleepless nights. Methodical planning. Finding investors willing to trust my judgment rather than judge my past. Sixteen months in, the firm is growing faster than projected. Diverse partnerships, a strong pipeline, a portfolio that speaks for itself.
Naturally, Mark never lets me forget he considers himself my “muse.”
At least now, I have leverage. I meet every provocation by lingering half a second too long when I kiss his wife’s hand,smiling when I address her. Every time, I make it last just long enough to see him bristle.
I shake my head, a laugh escaping, and head toward my car.
The door opens before I can reach the bell, and something small collides with my leg.
I bend and find Stella laughing.
When I lift her into my arms, my chest tightens the way it always does. She’s a carbon copy of her mother. Exactly how I once hoped Alicia would be, in the moment when we found out we were having a girl.
“You’re going to give me gray hair,” Ceci says, and I lift my gaze to hers. “I barely opened the door and she shot out like a bullet.”
I pass Stella back to her. Ceci takes her with a playful smile.
She’s as beautiful as ever. Wearing a long green summer dress, her red hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Time has been kind to her, refining rather than erasing, revealing a deeper beauty each time I see her.
As Ceci gently scolds Stella about the dangers of running like that, the girl pulls on a serious expression.
Her eyes, however, gleam with mischief.
“Ali dada! Papà!”
The shrill little voice draws my attention downward. Alessio stands there, pointing at me, one small hand twisted in the fabric of his mother’s dress.
“Yes, sweetheart—that’s Alicia’s dad,” Ceci says softly, smoothing his light brown hair. Where Stella is her mother’s mirror, Alessio is a careful balance, his parents’ features blended with greenish eyes.
She looks back at me. “Do you want to come in, Colin? Alicia’s just finishing up. We were about to head next door.”
I don’t have time to answer. Alessio darts past me, and by the time I turn, thinking of stopping him from going on the road, he’s already throwing himself into his father’s arms. Alexander catches him mid-air, laughing, murmuring something in Italian that makes the boy grin even wider.
Ceci walks past me and waits at the top of the porch steps. Alexander joins her, presses a kiss to her forehead. I look away, knowing the sequence by heart. A kiss to the tip of her nose, then to her lips, sealing them inside a private world of their own making. I’ve witnessed it often enough.
They murmur between themselves, and I find the potted plant on the porch worthy of close inspection, until Ceci says something in Italian, her tone edged with complaint, followed by a sigh.
I turn back just in time to see Alexander’s hand settle on her lower belly. Possessive. Protective. Then he takes Stella from her arms, balancing both children with ease, one on each side.
“Alexander, she’s not that heavy,” Ceci says in English, exasperated. “You’re being dramatic and overprotective again.”
“I take care of what’s mine, Signora Santoro,” he says with a smile, brushing his hand over her belly once more before stepping back. His wedding band catches the late afternoon light.
I hate when he calls her that. But what hurts more is what they don’t need to say out loud. She’s pregnant again.
The first time I found out, almost three years ago, was the first time I drank in nearly two years. The second was the day she got married.
I close my eyes briefly, fighting the memory that insists on surfacing.
“I want at least four children.”
“What?” I’d said, covering her body with mine, my gaze locked on those blue eyes. “No. One child is fine. Two at most.”
“But you know I want a big family. We’ve talked about this...” Ceci had said, looking at me with insistence.
