AISLING
Six Weeks Later
The house feels like it’s breathing. Not the quiet, watchful breath it used to have when danger lived in every corner, but something warmer, happier.
Voices echo down the halls, overlapping laughter and arguments about seating and food and who parked where.
The Chiaroscuro house has always been large, but today it feels full in a way it never has before.
The renovations are finally finished, and the rebuilt Chiaroscuro house gleams in the unseasonably bright late-fall sun.
Cream-colored stone.
Wide windows.
Open terraces instead of scaffolding.
It looks magnificent now.
Loved.
Lived in.
Alive.
I stand near the window in the main sitting room, one hand braced against the glass, the other resting unconsciously on my stomach.
Raf catches my eye from across the room, his expression softening instantly.
A silent conversation passes between us, one we’ve been having a lot lately.
Are you okay? Do you need to sit? Are you overwhelmed? Are you happy?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Always yes.
He crosses the room without a word and slides his hand into mine, grounding me just as Sandro clears his throat loudly.
“Alright,” Raf’s twin announces. “Before someone starts a fistfight over the antipasti, I think Raf and Aisling have something they want to say.”
A dozen conversations grind to a halt.
Heads turn.
Smiles bloom.
My mother presses her hands together expectantly.
My father’s already grinning like he knows something he shouldn’t.
Miko lounges against the wall with a drink, sharp-eyed but amused as he keeps one arm slung around Anika and the newborn baby in her arms.
Leo and Gio hover nearby, relaxed in a way I’ve never seen them before, immersed in their discussion about shipping routes now that they’re taking over the legitimate side of the Chiaroscuro business.
But they lift their heads, turning their eyes to us upon Sandro’s request.
Raf squeezes my hand.
“You ready?” he murmurs.