The room seemed to shift.
Julian stared at him. “I don’t have a brother.”
“You have a half brother.”
“Half brother?”
“Daniel was born before I met your mother.”
Margaret’s expression had become pale and sorrowful. “Charles’s first marriage ended before we met. Daniel was already a teenager by then.”
“And none of you thought I should know?” Julian asked.
“It wasn’t a simple situation,” Charles said.
Julian gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Apparently nothing in this family is.”
The staff member who had brought the letter remained by the doorway, visibly uncomfortable. Outside, Vanessa’s voice had faded into silence. The absence of it was somehow worse.
I looked at the attorney.
“What does the clinic’s report actually prove?”
“Only that the sperm used to create the embryos is genetically linked to Daniel Whitmore,” he replied. “It does not yet establish how the sample entered Vanessa’s treatment cycle, whether the embryos were intended for her, or whether the clinic’s records are complete.”
“Then the boys may be Daniel’s children,” Julian said.
“Yes.”
“But not mine.”
The attorney hesitated.
“Not according to the preliminary genetic comparison.”
Julian absorbed that without speaking.
He looked toward the sitting room, where Noah, Ethan, Grace, and Lily were still playing with the blocks. His gaze rested on them for a long moment, and I watched the knowledge settle over him.
He had arrived at the guesthouse believing he might have three sons waiting somewhere beyond his reach.
Now he had four children who were biologically his—and three boys who might belong to a brother he had never known.
The room held too many truths for one evening.
Charles turned toward the door.
“I need to speak with Vanessa.”
“I’ll come with you,” Julian said.
“No.”
His father’s answer was immediate.
Julian’s expression hardened. “Why not?”
“Because she is distressed.”
“She is my wife.”
The word sounded strange coming from him. Vanessa was still wearing the dress chosen for their wedding, though the veil had been removed. The ceremony had never taken place, but the legal documents had been prepared, the guests invited, and the vows rehearsed.
“She may not be your wife,” I said quietly.
Julian looked at me.
“Not unless you completed the ceremony.”
His face changed.
“We didn’t.”
The attorney shook his head. “The marriage license was signed earlier today, but the officiant did not pronounce you married. Without the ceremony, the license cannot be filed as a valid marriage record.”
