Chapter 3 - The Room with Seven Windows
By three o'clock in the morning, the grand mansion was eerily quiet.
The estate security team had swept the premises, escorting Victoria, Julian, and their personal staff past the iron gates.
In the west wing of the second floor, inside a sunroom bedroom that overlooked the dark waters of Lake Michigan, Wren lay fast asleep in the center of a massive king-sized bed topped with soft white silk sheets.
Maren sat on the edge of the mattress, gently smoothing back her daughter's dark hair. The sweet, innocent face of the child was finally peaceful, her soft breathing filling the room.
The bedroom door clicked quietly open.
Luca stepped inside, carrying a wooden tray with two mugs of hot tea and a small plate of warm shortbread cookies. He had changed into a simple grey sweater and dark trousers, looking less like a ruthless billionaire titan and more like the scarred, quiet man Maren had loved on the rocky coast of Maine eight years ago.
He set the tray on the bedside table and pulled an armchair close to the bed, sitting down quietly.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. They just listened to the sound of the rain washing against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
"She looks like you when she sleeps," Luca whispered, his eyes soft as he watched Wren’s small hand clutch the corner of the white duvet.
"She has your temper," Maren said, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "She doesn't back down. When the kids at school told her she didn't have a dad, she didn't cry in front of them. She held it in until she got home."
Luca’s hand tightened into a white-knuckled fist against his knee. "I will spend every second of the rest of my life making sure no one ever makes her feel small again, Maren. I swear it on my life."
Maren turned her head, her clear hazel eyes locking onto his. "It's not that simple, Luca. You can't just fix eight years of absence with money, big speeches, and security guards. She doesn't know who you are. She thinks you're a hero from a storybook because of that medal, but she doesn't know what it means to have a father in her life every single day."
"Then teach me," Luca rasped, leaning forward, his voice filled with an aching vulnerability that broke Maren’s heart. "Show me how to be what she needs, Maren. I don't care about the company. I don't care about the money. I just want my family."
"You have an empire to run, Luca," Maren said quietly. "Your grandmother won't go away quietly. Julian won't either. They will attack you through the courts, through the media, through the press."
"Let them try," Luca said, reaching across the small space between them and gently taking Maren’s hand. His palm was large, warm, and rough—the same hand that had held hers in that tiny seaside chapel eight years ago before he was deployed. "They took eight years from us, Maren. They will not take another second."
Suddenly, a small voice whimpered from the center of the large bed.
"Mommy?"
Maren instantly withdrew her hand and leaned over the bed. "I'm right here, sweetie."
Wren’s eyelids fluttered open. She rubbed her eyes with her small fists, looking around the massive, elegant bedroom in confusion. Then, her eyes settled on the tall man sitting in the armchair beside her bed.
Wren sat up slowly, pulling the white duvet up to her chin. "Are... are you really my dad?" she asked, her voice tiny in the vast room.
Luca felt a lump choke his throat. He slowly slid off the armchair onto his knees beside her bed, placing his hands flat on the mattress so he was at eye level with her.
"Yes, Wren," Luca whispered softly, tears shining in his grey eyes. "I'm your dad. I'm so sorry it took me so long to find you."
Wren stared at him for a long, quiet moment. Then, she reached into the small pocket of her navy dress—which Maren had folded neatly on the nightstand—and pulled out the silver Navy Cross.
She held it out toward him. "You dropped this."
Luca smiled through his tears, taking the silver medal, but instead of putting it away, he gently reached out and pinned it over the lapel of Wren’s cotton pajamas.
"No, sweetheart," Luca whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss onto her forehead. "I gave it to the bravest person I know. It's yours."
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Wren looked down at the shiny silver cross pinned to her pajamas, a small, beautiful smile finally breaking across her face. She reached out her small arms and wrapped them around Luca’s neck, burying her face into his shoulder.
Luca closed his eyes, pulling his daughter tight against his chest, holding her as if he would never let her go again.
