Chapter 9 - The Architecture of a Family
Six months later.
The spring sun melted the last stubborn patches of winter snow from the hills surrounding Lake Geneva. The bare branches of the oak trees had exploded into vibrant, emerald leaves, and the blue waters of the lake lapped gently against the wooden dock.
I sat on the wide cedar porch, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. On the floor between my legs, Leo was furiously stacking brightly colored wooden blocks, his little brow furrowed in deep, serious concentration.
Every time the tower reached four blocks, Mia, crawling at lightning speed on all fours, would screech with delight and swat the tower down with her chubby hand.
Leo would let out an indignant squawk, look up at me with his slate-gray eyes, pointing at his sister with absolute moral outrage.
"I know, buddy," I laughed, reaching down to ruffle his thick brown hair. "She’s a menace. But she’s your sister. You have to share the construction site."
Mia giggled hysterically, pulling herself up onto my knee, flashing her two newly sprouted bottom teeth, burying her sticky, apple-coated face directly into my clean shirt.
I didn't care about the shirt. I wrapped my arm securely around her waist, kissing her warm cheek until she squealed with laughter.
"Luca, stop riling her up before naptime," a voice scolded gently from the screen door.
Natalie walked onto the porch carrying a tray with two tall glasses of iced lemonade.
She was wearing a simple white sundress, her auburn hair falling in soft waves over her bare shoulders. The hollow exhaustion that had haunted her cheeks in Madison had completely vanished, replaced by a radiant, healthy glow. Her smile was unreserved, luminous, and every time she looked at me, the knot of guilt in my chest loosened just a fraction more.
We hadn't rushed.
When the legal dust had settled—when Victor Vance was sentenced to twenty-two years in federal prison and Evelyn had fled to Europe after settling her civil liabilities—I hadn't pushed Natalie to move back into the city.
I had stepped down as CEO of Moretti Infrastructure, handing the daily reins to an ethical, independent management trust, retaining only my board seat. I moved my entire life to Lake Geneva.
For six months, I earned my place.
I learned how to warm bottles to the exact right temperature. I learned that Leo needed to be rocked while humming an old Italian lullaby my grandmother used to sing, and that Mia wouldn't sleep unless her favorite yellow blanket was tucked precisely under her chin. I sat on the porch with Natalie every evening, talking through the years we had lost, untangling the grief, apologizing a thousand times in a thousand different ways, until the ghosts finally stopped haunting our conversations.
"They're not going to sleep anyway," I said, grinning as I handed Mia a wooden teething ring. "They take after their mother. Utterly stubborn."
"Is that so?" Natalie set the tray down on the low wicker table, sitting beside me on the outdoor sofa. She leaned her head naturally against my shoulder, her fingers intertwining with mine. "I seem to remember someone spending three hours building a custom crib because the commercial one was 'structurally deficient by two millimeters.'"
"It was an engineering hazard," I retorted smoothly, kissing the top of her head.
We sat together in comfortable, peaceful silence, watching our children play on the sun-drenched deck. The lake sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon light.
"Luca?"
"Hmm?"
"David Sterling called this morning," she said softly. "The asset recovery is complete. All the funds Victor stole from your father’s legacy have been returned to the foundation."
"Good," I murmured. "We'll use it to fund the new pediatric center in Chicago. The Natalie Moretti Children's Pavilion."
Natalie turned her head, looking at me with those deep, warm hazel eyes that had held my soul for ten years.
"Natalie Moretti?" she echoed, an arched eyebrow playing on her lips. "I haven't gone by that name in a very long time, Mr. Moretti."
My heart, which had faced boardrooms, federal courts, and multimillion-dollar crises without a flutter, suddenly skipped a violent beat.
I gently set Mia down beside her brother, who was already busy rebuilding his wooden tower.
May you like
I reached into the pocket of my jeans.
***
