Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 66

Chapter 66

ADRIAN

It had been ages since we last gathered for a family dinner at the beach house. The salty breeze, the sound of waves crashing nearby—it all felt like a distant memory until now.

I could easily see how thrilled Gemma was about finally making this happen. For months, she’d been nudging me, persistently encouraging a family dinner, and now here we were. Her excitement was palpable, lighting up the room like a beacon.

Before the meal began, Emiliano joined me for a quick Negroni. As I sipped my drink, I caught his gaze lingering on Valentina in a way that immediately set me on edge. He was careful not to act on it—his instinct for self-preservation was strong—but I knew him too well. He always checked out every attractive woman in the room, and sadly, that habit hadn’t changed. He’d betrayed my sister during every one of her pregnancies. The first time I discovered his infidelity, I warned him fiercely, threatening to dismantle him piece by piece if he didn’t stop. But Gemma had asked me to stay out of her marriage. She loved Emiliano and chose to pretend his betrayals didn’t exist. Out of respect for her wishes, I kept silent, and Emiliano became even more secretive about his affairs.

Gemma had a sixth sense when it came to cheating—she immediately knew when I found out about Serena’s affair, but I never revealed the details to her. The only person I confided in completely was Valentina. I’m not sure why I trusted her with that secret—maybe it was our strange connection.

My father and Faro would have been the obvious confidants, but with Valentina, despite the age gap and our stark differences—our views on life, our experiences, our moral compasses—we somehow complemented each other perfectly.

From across the table, Gemma shot me a proud look, as if she could read my thoughts. She had opposed my marriage to Serena from the beginning and had supported Valentina from the moment she first saw her. She was right about Serena, and I hoped she’d be right about Valentina, too.

The next morning, I woke just after dawn, eager to rouse Stefan as I had on his last two birthdays. But his bed was empty. I found him sitting on the floor by the windows, tossing a ball for Milo, our dog. His throws were clumsy and short, but the fierce concentration on his face, quickly followed by pure joy, made my chest tighten. “Happy birthday, buddy,” I whispered.

Startled, Stefan dropped the ball. It rolled toward me and bumped against my bare foot. Milo hesitated, unsure whether to pick it up. I bent down, grabbed the ball, and rolled it back to Stefan. He caught it and threw it again. Milo eagerly retrieved it and brought it back. Stefan stared down at the ball in his hands.

“We’ll open your presents once Valentina and Sofia wake up, okay?” I said softly.

He held up the ball, and it took me a moment to understand why. I approached cautiously, afraid he might change his mind, then tossed the ball across the room for Milo. She bolted after it, full of energy, and returned, dropping it right in front of me. I sat down beside Stefan, holding the ball out to him. “Your turn.”

For the first time in months, his eyes met mine. There was a question in them, a silent plea. If he had asked, I would have told him anything he needed to know. Slowly, he curled his small fingers around the ball and threw it.

We continued this way for a long while, the quiet rhythm of play filling the room until Milo was panting heavily and finally carried her ball to her basket, signaling she was done.

That’s when I noticed Valentina standing half-hidden in the doorway, her eyes soft and warm—so tender that my heart skipped a beat. She cradled Sofia against her chest, the baby still looking sleepy and delicate.

“Happy birthday, baby boy,” Valentina said gently as she stepped inside. “Ready for some cake?”

I froze, stunned by the simple word—the first he had spoken in my presence in months.

Wow, indeed.

I couldn’t agree more—not just because of the cake’s rainbow layers. Valentina placed a plate in front of me and sat down beside Stefan, Sofia resting on her lap. In a mischievous moment, Sofia dipped her tiny fingers into Valentina’s slice of cake.

Valentina’s laughter rang out, clear and bright like a bell. She quickly caught Sofia’s hand and licked the buttercream off before wiping her fingers with a napkin. I found myself unable to look away.

She caught my gaze, and her expression shifted from embarrassment to confusion. She touched her face, as if expecting more cake to be there, then nervously brushed her bangs away—a gesture I’d come to recognize.

I couldn’t believe how much time I’d wasted focusing on what I thought were Valentina’s flaws—her bangs, her quirky dresses, her youth—when all along, I should have been seeing the good.

And there was so much good. Even the little quirks faded into the background. Valentina was perfect for my children and me. Maybe it was her age—her youthful optimism, her fearless recklessness, her bold unconventional spirit.

She wasn’t the wife I thought I wanted, but damn, she was exactly the one I needed.