The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Chapter 297

Chapter 297: Ghosts of Christmas Past

Christopher POV

The Italian villa was exactly as she'd left it. I insisted on that. The cleaning staff came twice a week, dusting and vacuuming, keeping mold from the bathrooms and insects from the kitchen. But they had strict instructions: nothing was to be moved. Nothing was to be thrown away. Not even things that seemed like garbage.

"Sir, the children's old drawings are fading in the sunlight, Maria, the head housekeeper, once pointed out. Perhaps we could move them to-

"Leave them, I'd interrupted. "They stay exactly where they are."

She'd nodded, lips pressed together in that way people do when they think you've lost your mind but are paid too well to say so.

Maybe I had. Lost my mind. It would explain why I found myself here again, alone on Christmas Eve, in a house full of ghosts.

I walked the familiar path from the front door to the living room, my fingers trailing along the wall where pencil marks stili recorded the twins' growth. Each line had a date beside it, some in my handwriting, some in Angela's.

Ethan, age 3. Aria, age 4 and two months. Both, age 5.

The living room was still arranged the way Angela had set it up years ago. The oversized sectional where we'd spent countless nights watching movies, the twins squeezed between us. The coffee table with a faint ring where I'd once set down a hot mug without a coaster, earning Angela's exasperated sigh.

the one who insisted on real wood," I'd

insisted on ignoring basic furniture care, she'd shot

wooden puzzles were

any trace of that baby scent was long gone, replaced by dust and time. Still, I folded

Seuss books stood alongside Italian fairy tales. I remembered reading to

why is his heart too small?" she'd demanded when we read about

don't know how to love properly," I'd explained, catching

sad," Ethan

the counter. It was Ethan's favorite-blue with dinosaurs that changed color when filled with cold liquid. He'd refused to drink from anything else for months. Angela had finally bought three identical cups to rotate when one

a small rubber pacifier. Aria had

up, and only after

convinced her that big girls didn't need pacifiers. She'd handed it over with great ceremony,

never broke

1/2

Ghosts of

the ceiling, I'd helped them place those stars, lifting each child in turn so they could reach, Aria had insisted on making the Little

lightly around the room once a month.

hairbrush still held strands of her dark hair. I found myself hefe more than once, gently removing a single strand, wrapping it around my finger like a promise, before forcing myself to place it back. Beside the brush stood a half-empty bottle of the lotion

sundress she'd worn on Aria's fourth birthday, when we'd had a picnic by the lake. The faded jeans with a small paint stain