Four thousand miles away, the sky was a piercing, impossible blue.
The storm that had threatened the chalet the night before had vanished, leaving the Swiss Alps covered in a fresh, glittering coat of powder. It was what the locals called a “Bluebird Day”–perfect visibility, zero wind, absolute silence.
Inside the chalet, the fire cracked. Isabella Rossi was sitting on the rug, stacking wooden blocks for Leo, who promptly knocked them over with a shriek of delight.
“He is strong,” Isabella laughed, looking up as Victoria entered the room in her white ski gear. “Like his father.”
“And stubborn,” Victoria added, leaning down to kiss the baby’s head. “Like his mother.”
William walked in, adjusting his gloves. He looked younger than he had in years. The shadows under his eyes were gone. “The conditions are perfect,” he said. “Isabella, are you sure you’re okay with him?”
Vitoria checked her phone and saw Cynithia’s message. She deleted it and looked up and her husband.
“Go,” Isabella waved them off. “He needs a nap, and I need to practice my strudel recipe. If you stay, you will just eat the dough. Go.”
Victoria grabbed William’s hand. “You heard the woman. Let’s go.”
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