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She trailed off, finally sipping her wine.
“But?” I prompted.
“She mentioned it could be hereditary.” Gabrielle’s eyes met mine then, and I saw it—that quiet desperation she was trying so hard to smother. “That maybe there’s a reason Mom only had one pregnancy.”
The weight of that landed heavier than I expected.
Mom never talked about fertility. She didn’t talk about much, honestly—not the big stuff. Not unless we dragged it out of her. I’d always assumed she didn’t want more kids, that we were enough. But maybe… maybe she didn’t have a choice.
“She’s not here to ask,” Gabrielle added softly, as if reading my mind. “And now we’ve both got a question mark we can’t erase.”
I sat quietly, swirling my glass. The wine caught the sunlight and cast little pink constellations on the tablecloth. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how I felt.
Gabrielle looked down at her hands. “I’m scheduled for another test next week. Then we’ll talk about IVF.”
“And Anthony…?”
“He knows some of it. But I haven’t told him about the odds. The condition. Any of it.” She looked up. “I wanted to tell you first.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my twin. I don’t have to explain things to you. You’ll understand even when I don’t make sense.”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t have to make sense to me, Gabs. You just have to tell me the truth.”
She smiled, but it was forced. “I’m scared this might be it. That Julian was the only chance I had. And if that’s true… I just needed someone to know.”
I reached across the table and laid my hand over hers.
She squeezed back, then added, “You should get checked too. If you ever think you might want kids. You might not—but if you do, you need to know.”
I tried to laugh. “You do realize I’m still in the ‘I need a three-day recovery window after a wild weekend’ phase of my life, right?”
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “You also realize that the phase can run out at any moment.”
“Not everyone’s clock is ticking.”
“No,” she said quietly. “But some of ours start early.”
That one got to me.
I looked out over the green, blinking against the sun. Then, like she couldn’t help herself, Gabrielle added one more thing—casual on the surface, but sharp underneath.
“You know, if youdowant kids eventually… IVF isn’t so bad. Some women use anonymous donors. Or they ask someone they trust.”
I smirked. “You offering Anthony up?”
She gave me a look. “God, no. But you already sleep with a billionaire who has unnervingly good genes and zero emotional boundaries.”
I nearly choked on my rosé. “You want me to askDamianto be my sperm donor?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just saying… it wouldn’t be the worst cocktail to shake.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe. But you’re the one sleeping with him.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re not exactly picking china patterns.”