Page 46 of His Secret Merger

I pushed off the door, squared my shoulders, and waited for my sister. The hardest parts were still ahead, but so were the best ones.

The upscale furniture emporium smelled like sandalwood candles and optimism. Gabrielle and I wandered through rows of glossy desks and cushioned armchairs, arguing about practicality versus style in low, half-laughing voices. She kept steering me toward heavy, serious pieces—the kind of furniture that screamedI have an assistant who screens my calls.

I, naturally, kept drifting toward things that didn’t match at all: velvet chairs, a gold-trimmed glass desk, a ridiculous art deco lamp shaped like a flamingo.

“You’re going to blind your clients with that thing,” Gabrielle muttered as I admired the flamingo lamp.

“They’ll be so dazzled by my taste, they won’t even care about their appraisal fees,” I quipped, twirling the lamp’s shade like a prize wheel.

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the flicker of real affection behind them. It felt good. Normal. Like the world hadn’t tilted sideways somewhere between Baden-Baden and Miami.

We paused in front of a sleek walnut desk with clean lines, just enough presence without being intimidating. I ran my fingers along the edge, feeling the weight of the decision settle in my chest.

Gabrielle leaned a hip against the nearest chair, arms crossed loosely.

“So…” she said, voice casual but a little too light. “Are we going to talk about it?”

I didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. Instead, I sighed and let my forehead fall briefly onto the cool surface of the desk. “You mean the part where I basically asked Damian to help me start a family and he treated it like I’d offered him a timeshare in hell?”

Gabrielle snorted softly. “Maybe not in those exact words.”

I straightened, brushing imaginary dust from my blouse. “It’s not just that,” I muttered. “It’s everything. He couldn’t even admit it when I practically handed him the chance to be honest.”

“About being a sperm donor?” she asked gently.

I nodded, throat tightening.

“I get it,” Gabrielle said after a beat. “You wanted him to meet you halfway. To trust you enough to tell you the truth.”

I picked at a loose thread on my cuff. “He wouldn’t evenconsiderit. Helping me. No strings attached.”

Gabrielle’s gaze softened in that twin-sister way that always made me feel simultaneously understood and called out.

“Maybe it’s not that simple, Jules,” she said, her voice softer now. “Friends-with-benefits sounds easy until real life shows up. One side always outweighs the other—either the friendship or the fun. And once you add a kid into the mix... It’s not just complicated. It’s chaos. For everyone.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it just as fast. Because she was right, a child would change everything. Those lines blurred even if things started with good intentions and clear boundaries. Kids asked questions. Kidsdeservedanswers.

“You’re asking for permanent ties,” Gabrielle added quietly. “Even if you don’t call it that.”

The lump in my throat grew heavier. Gabrielle nudged me gently with her shoulder. “And besides… maybe you’re wrong about him. Maybe it’s not even him in the donor catalogue.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. Gabrielle didn’t push. She just smiled and picked up a swatch book, flipping it open.

“Come on,” she said, tossing it at me. “Pick a chair before you drive me crazy. Something that saysserious art professional,notreformed flamingo enthusiast.”

I caught the swatch book against my chest and smiled—this time for real.

Maybe life didn’t come in perfect packages. Maybe family didn’t either. But sisters? Sisters stayed. And right now, that was enough.

We left the furniture store lighter in the wallet and heavier in the arms—two rolling carts stacked with catalogs, sample books, and a pair of ridiculous coffee mugs Gabrielle insisted we needed for the office. One said 'CEO' and one said ‘Caffeinated and Dangerous.’ My sister thought I needed both, and I didn’t argue.

After we loaded everything into Gabrielle’s SUV, we stopped at a little Cuban café tucked into the edge of Coconut Grove. The place smelled like burnt sugar and cinnamon and had mismatched chairs that scraped too loudly against the tile. It wasn’t fancy. It was perfect.

I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic of my cappuccino, the heat grounding me as the fatigue finally startedto creep in—the slow crash after weeks of pushing forward, pushing past.

Across the table, Gabrielle studied me over the rim of her cold brew, swirling her spoon through the melting ice like she was trying to stir up a distraction.

“There’s more,” I said, licking the foam off my upper lip. “You know what really pissed me off?” I leaned in slightly. “I’d heard whispers about Damian’s financial mess, but he tried to hide the truth from me.” I took another sip. “Vérité is bleeding donors, and he didn’t even give me a chance to stand by him.”

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