Page 37

August 2024

Isabella

Villa Dún Solas, or Fortress of Light, isn’t the grandest villa in Hunter’s property portfolio, but being on the coast of Southern Spain makes it the one that feels most like home. Nestled into the hillside surrounded by olive trees with expansive views of the crystal water lapping against the beaches, it feels like it was built just for us.

The warmth of the sun is different here. It’s constant without the burn you normally feel on an unexpected sunny day in London. The heat lingers like a blanket, wrapping around in familiar comfort. The rays stretch over the terracotta tiles and glittering waves like a lazy cat, golden and at peace.

I sit in the shade of a large palm tree, a complete history of Ireland open on my lap. Page one hundred and five, and I’m still nowhere near done. So much of my husband’s story is rooted there, and I want to learn it all.

The mid-afternoon breeze lifts a fraction, and my flowing summer dress clings to my six-months’ swollen belly. When I look up at the villa, Hunter is looking down at me from our bedroom balcony, glass of wine in hand. He smiles softly, looking the relaxed father-to-be he has become since arriving here only a month ago. As always, he looks sexy in an open neck white shirt and dark linen trousers. Even this far into my pregnancy, we still can’t keep our hands off each other.

Since the wedding that didn’t happen—since the war ended quietly—we have been blessed with peace in our lives. I pray it lasts.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, high-pitched and chaotic. My focus moves to Damon sprawled beneath a parasol beside the pool. His daughter, Annie, crawls over him, a half-melted popsicle in her hand. Emma’s perched on a lounger beside him, sunglasses propped on the end of her nose as she reads the instructions of the bottle of sunscreen in her hand. She barks orders at Damon as if it’s a military operation, and he lies silently listening to both the women in his world.

Across the pool, Violet is on her own sun bed, toddler Evie on her hip as she feeds their four-month-old son, Theo. She balances a bottle in one hand, Theo in the crook of her arm, as she plays with her daughter’s hair. Motherhood turned into art, perfect and priceless. Harrison hovers around his little family, poised to grab any child who may slip, even though they all look completely at ease. Fatherhood suits him, and he revels in each moment with them, the constant grin on his face never wavering.

Connor and Russell are deep into a game of water polo; they hurl the ball at one another, hoping to knock the other out. Samantha lies on a nearby lounger in her bright red bikini, blonde hair pulled in a high pony tail, insanely large sunglasses propped on her head. The rings both men gave her dangle on a chain around her neck.

Samantha lifts the glass she’s holding in my direction, filled to the brim like my own with sparkling water and fresh lime. Her bump is smaller than mine, though we’re due within days of one another. Their announcement had been something more of a surprise, but she wears the silent pride I recognize in myself—the understanding that our bodies are doing something amazing, creating life.

On paper, she and I would never be friends. We have nothing in common, but our simultaneous pregnancies have given us something to bond over. We trade horror stories of heartburn and morning sickness, or late-night texts when our fears won’t leave our mind.

She doesn’t try to be anyone she isn’t, still as bold and brash as she was the first time I met her in that underground gym fight months before. That’s why our friendship works—she is perfect just as she is. Fierce and strong, more than capable of controlling two possessive men.

She told me once, during a midnight phone call when I was panicking over motherhood, “You don’t have to be soft to be a mother. You need to be solid, consistent, and love every damn bone of them. Be you.” As two women in a similar life stage, connected to men with blood on their hands and guns trained on their foreheads, I accept that she’s right. We are building something unbreakable.

Russell and Connor swim to the edge, asking for her opinion on who won. She responds by asking if they’ve read the parenting book she placed in each of their rooms. Connor smiles wide as he tells her he’s finished, while Russell disappears below the waterline only to appear at the other side of the pool, where he climbs out to grab a drink from the bar. A powerful trio in so many ways, as dysfunctional as they are right. Their joy is their own, and they created it on their own terms.

Samantha stands, kisses Connor still hugging the pool side, then walks in my direction, sitting down on the lounger beside me. She leans over and rubs my bump.

“Who would’ve thought,” she says. “Both of us barefoot and pregnant.”

“Not me,” I respond with a laugh. “But I wouldn’t change it.”

“Rather you than me,” Emma mutters with a cheeky wink as she wanders over to join us. Still the youngest among us with a figure that defies the fact she’s given birth in recent years. “The sickness was awful. But damn, you make it look easy. You’re both glowing.”

“Thanks, Em,” Samantha says, a genuine flutter of happiness on her lips.

“I already want another one,” Violet chimes in, clearly having wandered over, not wanting to miss any girl talk. Harrison has taken her place on the lounger, Theo in his arms and Evie at his feet. “But Harry says we should wait.”

“Spoilsport,” I tease.

“I’ll convince him.” She raises her eyebrows naughtily. “We hold the power, ladies.”

“Very true,” Samantha agrees. “Even men like ours can be led around by their dicks.”

“At least your men didn’t threaten to microchip you,” I mutter, with an eyeroll.

“I have no doubt they would, given the chance.”

We all laugh, and I thank my lucky stars to have found these women who I can call friends. Women who live my life, but understand the need for independence. Who know what it’s like to be the wife of a man like Hunter, but also want to be me.

None of us expected this is how our lives would turn out. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer, or more seen. Not just by my husband, but by my village. My sisters. My unexpected tribe.

***

Hunter

I’ve spent the afternoon on the balcony watching my friends from above. They all arrived here over the past few days with their families in tow. The villa has been filled with childish laughter, female gossip, and roaring men ever since. It’s been as wonderful as it has been overwhelming.

Isabella sits surrounded by three women she can call friends. They laugh and joke together as if they can read each other’s minds. One stops speaking and another begins, every few minutes punctuated by sweet laughter.

Since our reunion just under a year ago, I’ve seen my wife transform before my eyes. Not only is she now the confident, independent woman she should always have been, but she has people around her she can count on like she always deserved to have. Her fitness-influencer career is booming, at the moment focused on pregnancy health as her body changes. She’s lost the mask and is embracing her talents for what they are bold and beautiful on the world stage. I am so fucking proud of her.

My child sits nestled within her, safe and already loved bone deep. To me, Isabella was always the most stunning woman in the room, but now she glows in a way I can’t take my eyes off of. I’m always watching, even though she doesn’t see it. She is my entire world, she and the children we will create together.

Harrison sits at the poolside, new son Theo in his arms. Violet begins to gather their belongings, packing up, ready to head back to their room to freshen up before dinner. It was him and his undying love for his wife that proved to me love can be all enduring. That fatherhood is something to strive for, not a situation that can just be expected to come when you want it. There is no perfect timing in love. You have to live it as it appears.

My friends all pair off, one couple or throuple at a time, each collecting their respective children and disappearing from the garden. Russell has had one too many and staggers in front of Samantha and Connor as they all head in the same direction. I never thought their relationship would survive, but they proved me wrong. The last addition I ever thought they would have is a child, but once again I’ve been corrected. Madmen settled by finding love—maybe that’s all it takes.

Samantha’s pregnancy couldn’t have come at a better time. At first, I was concerned her news would take the shine away from Bella, but the result has been a much needed friendship created in my wife’s life, one built on trust, love, and understanding. Two women from different backgrounds who have found strength in one another.

Damon throws his daughter up on his shoulders, his arm securely wrapped around Emma’s waist as he guides them away from the poolside. He’s probably the most complex of our bunch, besides myself. So much pain and loss, but proof that a man so cold can be softened by the right family.

We’ve all come so far. From blood-soaked rooms, vengeance taken, and broken vows to this. A villa, a family, a future. We didn’t just survive the war. We built something together out of shards. Many would say we’re not good men—dangerous, at the least. I don’t pretend to be anything else. But we protect our own and keep doing what’s right, whether it’s legal or not.

As my thoughts turn over again and again, all the considerations of what my life looks like now at the forefront of my mine, Isabella opens the balcony doors and comes to join me. The sun is beginning to set over the ocean, peaceful and signaling the end of another beautiful day.

She steps up beside me, and I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her and placing my hands over her bump. Our baby kicks, and she winces a little. We both giggle with the announcement of their presence, as if deliberately reminding us they’re here.

“Boy or girl?” she whispers, like she has a hundred times before.

“Boy.” My answer hasn’t changed—my gut tells me my son lies in her womb. She chuckles softly, and I know she doesn’t agree. She insists a Spanish fire is burning inside her, one she recognizes in herself.

“You owe me a first edition if you’re wrong,” she reminds me. We placed a bet, and if I’m wrong, I have to find her a rare edition of her favorite children’s book, Peter Pan . She tells me I remind her of him, a lost boy who fought for what’s right. What she doesn’t know is there’s a 1911 first edition in our safe for her, waiting patiently to be read to our son or daughter. She will win either way.

“Do you ever think about it?” I ask her, knowing I’m diverting the conversation off course.

“What, the book?”

“No, our arrangement. You gave me one year, then I was to release you into the world. You only have a few more weeks to make your choice.”

She laughs, the sweet sound echoing into the evening sunset. “Are you telling me my time is up, husband?”

“If that’s what you choose.”

“No, it will never be my choice. You are my past, present, and future. You always have been. The time apart in the middle was just that, a passage of time.”

I stand, holding the woman I’ve always loved, and the child she carries. My child. My family, here with me now under the Spanish sun. It’s a life I never imagined I would have, and I know the world I live in will never change. Not in the near future anyway, but somewhere between the control and chaos, we will find a balance.

Let the world spin. Let the lawmakers change and our enemies gather. Everyone I love is here. My blade is sharp. My oath is made.

I will protect what’s mine.

***