Small Hands Novel Chapter 13

Small Hands Novel Chapter 13

The wedding was small.

We could have rented a continent. Instead, we chose the Scottish coast-Rhys’s family estate on the Isle of Skye. Grey stone, wild heather, the

North Atlantic crashing against ancient cliffs.

Fifteen guests. Frank, gruff in a kilt he’d never admit suited him. Diana Reeves, two whiskies deep. A handful of people who’d earned our trust

through fire.

And Isla. Flower girl, scattering petals with the fierce concentration of a child who understood this mattered.

I wore a simple silk dress that moved with the wind. No veil. No pretense. Just me.

Rhys waited at the altar-a stone archway wrapped in wild roses, the sea roaring behind him.

He took my hands. They were shaking.

“Nervous?” I whispered.

“Petrified.” He smiled. “You could still run.”

“I don’t run.”

“No. You walk toward. Always toward the fire.”

We exchanged vows.

His: precise, devastating-about finding home in a voice before a face, about being rebuilt by someone who didn’t know she was doing it

Mine were simple.

“I spent eight years being invisible. A ghost behind someone else’s name. You’re the first person who made me want to be loud.” I looked at Isla

“Both of you. You made me want to take up space.”

“You were never invisible,” Rhys said. “The world just wasn’t listening.”

“And now?”

“Now they don’t have a choice.”

We kissed. Isla cheered. Frank blamed the sea wind for his tears.

Late that night, after the guests had gone and Isla was asleep clutching her rabbit, Rhys and I stood at the cliff’s edge. The sea was black and

silver below.

“I need to tell you something,” I said.

Those words never precede good news.”

“These do.” I took his hand. Pressed it against my stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

Stillness

Then he lifted me off my feet, face buried in my neck, shaking.

“A baby. Ours.

‘Ours. By blood. By choice. By everything.

“Isla is going to be impossible.”

“Isla is going to demand a sister.”

“She’ll get what she gets. But he was grinning-wider than I’d ever seen him. “Wren Calder. Wife. Mother. Billionaire. V.”

“Not bad for a ghost.”

His expression shifted-fierce, protective.

“You were never a ghost. You were the voice behind everything beautiful.” He kissed my forehead. “The world was just too deaf to hear.”

“Their loss.”

“My gain.” He led me inside. “Come to bed, Mrs. Calder.”

“Is that an order?”

“A request. From your husband. Who worships you.”

I followed him in, the Scottish wind clean on my skin, the future vast and bright and completely mine.

Behind me, my phone buzzed one last time.

Unknown number.

You think this is over. It isn’t. The overseas buyers-Kyros Entertainment-they’re backed by people who don’t lose gracefully. They’re coming for Vesper. For you. For your family. Watch your back, V. -A friend

I stared at the screen.

Then deleted the message, turned off the phone, and walked into my husband’s arms.

Whatever was coming, I’d face it.

The way I faced everything.

Eyes open. Voice raised. Afraid of nothing.