Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 99

**Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren**

**Chapter 99**

**ADRIAN**

Even before Valentina delicately slid the small silver box across the breakfast table on that crisp Christmas morning, I sensed the truth in my bones: she was pregnant.

I had been aware for weeks, my intuition sharper than ever.

It wasn’t merely the way she had consistently pushed her wineglass aside at every family dinner since early November, opting instead for sparkling water, accompanied by a guilty little smile that flickered across her lips. No, it was the subtler hints that had begun to unravel the secret. I noticed how she would pause on the staircase some mornings, her hand instinctively drifting to her chest as if her body had suddenly declared war on every bra she owned. And then there were the afternoon naps on the couch, where she would curl up with Milo, our dog, nestled on her lap like a furry hot-water bottle, her face betraying a faint green tinge at the mere sight of bacon, as if it were a personal affront.

I chose not to confront her about it. I wanted her to come to grips with this monumental change in her life and share it with me when she felt ready.

Christmas dinner at the grand house was as boisterous as ever. The sound of laughter and playful shouts filled the air, with all the cousins gleefully chasing each other beneath the table. My father, ever the storyteller, recounted the same war tale for what felt like the seventeenth time, while Milo barked at every unfamiliar face that passed by the window. Valentina, radiant as ever in her dark-green silk dress, sat among the chaos, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. Yet, she still hadn’t touched a drop of her beloved Pinot Grigio. My father, of course, noticed. His keen eyes missed nothing, even if his legs had long since betrayed him.

As the last of our relatives donned their coats and the children squabbled over who received the larger slice of cake, Father caught my sleeve and wheeled himself into the library. I followed, already bracing myself for the impact of his words.

“Adrian.” His expression was grave, his voice steady. “I need to speak with you.”

I closed the door behind us, my heart racing. “What is it, Father?”

He wasted no time. “The child. You must conduct a paternity test this time. Do it discreetly, before the baby is born.”

His words hit me like a slap across the face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“If it’s a boy, he’ll be your heir. But you need to be certain.”

“This conversation is over.”

“Adrian. I’m sick and old. I don’t know how much longer I have left on this earth—”

“Which is precisely why you should remain in your lane if you wish to preserve the relationship we currently have.”

“There will be no test,” I stated coldly. “Stefan is my son. Sofia is my daughter. This baby will be my child. End of discussion.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of indignation crossing his features. “I’m trying to protect the bloodline—”

“No. Whatever you’re doing right now is for your own sake, and I want no part of it!”

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity, a fleeting expression of regret passing over his weathered face. Finally, he gave a curt nod and gestured for my mother to take him away. I watched as the wheelchair slowly disappeared down the hallway, feeling the weight of thirty years of expectations lift from my shoulders like a heavy rain finally giving way to sunlight.

Valentina stood waiting by the front door, her cheeks flushed from the cold air that swept in with each opening. She searched my face, concern etched in her features. “Everything okay?”

I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Perfect.”

Later that evening, once the house had settled into a tranquil silence and the children lay sprawled under a mountain of discarded wrapping paper, I found Valentina seated on the floor of our bedroom, the silver box resting in her trembling hands.

With a mix of anticipation and trepidation, I lifted the lid.

Inside lay a pristine white onesie, folded with meticulous care. In delicate script, the words “Hello, daddy” were emblazoned across the front.

For several heartbeats, I was rendered speechless. I was thirty-six years old, having buried one wife, navigated the turbulent waters of raising two children through grief and nightmares, and had sworn to myself that I was done. Yet here was the most extraordinary woman I had ever known, presenting me with the one thing I had long since stopped allowing myself to hope for.

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