Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 98

**Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren**
**Chapter 98**

**VALENTINA**

**FIVE YEARS SINCE ADRIAN & VALENTINA’S WEDDING**

On that sun-drenched afternoon, I found myself caught off guard as Adrian walked through the door much earlier than his usual hour. The sight of him, unexpectedly home, sent a delightful flutter racing through my heart. He had orchestrated a surprise for our fifth wedding anniversary, booking a table at our beloved little French bistro. It was a hidden gem nestled on a serene cobblestone street, adorned with charming red-and-white checkered tablecloths. I could practically hear the owner’s familiar voice in my head, recalling how much I adored my escargots swimming in a pool of garlic butter.

Gemma, my ever-reliable sister, had cheerfully agreed to take care of Sofia and Stefan for the evening. At six and nearly twelve, they protested, insisting they were far too mature for a “babysitter.” Yet, deep down, we all knew that a sleepover at Aunt Gemma’s meant endless ice cream and movie marathons that would stretch into the early hours. They would create their own delightful chaos without us, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

As we settled into our cozy corner of the restaurant, we savored the smoothest chicken-liver pâté known to mankind, paired with two generously poured glasses of our favorite wine. The ambiance enveloped us, transforming the restaurant into our own intimate world. The flickering candlelight danced across Adrian’s chiseled jawline, and with every smile he directed my way, I felt the familiar warmth of love swell within me. Five years had passed, two children (or four if you counted the dogs), and yet he continued to look at me as if I were the sole woman in existence.

I swirled the last sip of wine in my glass, gathering every ounce of courage I could muster. The question that had lingered on the tip of my tongue for weeks—perhaps months—was finally ready to escape.

“Adrian,” I began, attempting to sound casual but failing miserably, “do you… still feel like we don’t need to have a baby?”

He froze, his glass suspended halfway to his lips, those deep blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that momentarily stole my breath. For a heartbeat, I feared he might choke on air. “Are you—?” He glanced pointedly at my wine glass, then at the empty bottle on the table, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

I rolled my eyes dramatically, nearly feeling the need to check my own sanity. “Seriously? You think I’d be downing wine like it’s water if there was a tiny human camping out in here?” I gestured toward my stomach, a playful smirk on my lips.

A low laugh rumbled from him, and I could see the tension in his shoulders dissipate. “Fair point. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Men,” I sighed, though a grin crept onto my face. My nerves were still buzzing like a swarm of bees, though. We could chat about anything—his work, well, the parts he chose to share, my unending obsession with interior design, the latest school dramas involving our kids—but this topic felt like navigating a field of landmines.

He set his glass down and reached across the table, his warm hand covering mine. His palm was calloused in all the right places, and that simple touch anchored me, grounding my swirling thoughts.

“Is this something you want, Valentina?” he asked softly, his voice low and serious. “Another baby?”

Another baby. Not “a” baby. Not “your” baby. Just ours. The way he framed it made my chest ache in the most beautiful way. Somewhere along the journey through sleepless nights, fevers, and countless bedtime stories, Sofia and Stefan had transformed from being “his” into being irrevocably mine as well. And now, here he was, asking if I wanted to welcome one more chaotic, perfect soul into our lives.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of my own desires. “I do,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I miss it sometimes. The newborn smell. The tiny socks. The way they fit right here.” I pressed my hand over my heart, feeling the warmth radiate from within. “I know it’s crazy. Stefan’s already taller than me on his tiptoes, and Sofia thinks she’s practically seventeen, but I just… I don’t feel finished. Our family still has room for one more.”

He raised an eyebrow, that teasing glint I adored igniting in his eyes. “You’re aware babies don’t stay tiny and sweet, right? They scream at 3 a.m., projectile vomit on your favorite clothes, and when they finally sleep through the night, they morph into teenagers who slam doors and swipe your car keys.”

At that precise moment, the waiter appeared, carrying two steaming plates of duck in a glossy orange sauce. Adrian released my foot, leaning back with the poise of a perfect gentleman, smiling politely at the poor man who had unknowingly interrupted our moment.

I picked up my fork, a grin stretching across my face so wide it hurt my cheeks.

Five years in, and we were still crafting new chapters together—one tiny, crying, pooping, perfect chapter at a time.

We spent Christmas at our beach house, just as we had the year before. Despite the winter chill, we cherished our walks along the beach. For Adrian, it was a brief escape from the weight of his responsibilities. Whenever he was home, it seemed like someone always had a demand. Such was the burden of being Underboss.

My father had always delegated most of the work, but Adrian preferred to maintain control.

Sofia and Stefan busied themselves decorating the Christmas tree while I prepared a festive dinner for the family. Milo, our loyal pup, hovered beside me, his hopeful eyes fixed on the kitchen, waiting for a stray slice of bacon to fall. It had become a cherished tradition for Adrian’s sisters and their families, along with his parents, to gather at our home to celebrate. My parents, on the other hand, preferred not to drive long distances in winter, so we always made the trek to their place after Christmas.

I had a special Christmas gift for Adrian that I planned to unveil once we were alone. A whimsical gift box filled with a cute onesie emblazoned with the words “Hello, Dad,” earplugs, Advil, and rug cleaner—a playful nod to that unforgettable moment when Sofia had ripped off her diaper and left a mess on our living room rug after devouring red beet. It was a memory etched in my mind, one that the rug had not survived. Apparently, beet stains were far more stubborn than blood.

I could hardly contain my excitement at the thought of his reaction. As I abstained from wine during dinner, Gemma shot me a knowing look, and I noticed Adrian catching on quickly. But what concerned me more was the eager expression on Ernesto’s face. He had kept his promise to refrain from mentioning the paternity test again, but his silence didn’t mean it wasn’t still on his mind. His health had deteriorated rapidly in the past months, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the weight of that unspoken tension loomed heavily over us.