Page 101 of Twins for the Off-Limits Lawyer

The evening had transformed us all in ways I couldn't have predicted. The formal drawing room that had hosted centuries of equally formal conversations now looked like the aftermath of a particularly emotional family gathering—tissues scattered about, wine glasses abandoned, and somehow we'd all ended up on the Persian carpet like children at story time. Mother was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table, studying the ultrasound photograph with the intensity of a scholar examining ancient texts.

"This shadow here," she said, pointing to a barely discernible smudge, "could that be a hand?"

"The doctor said it is still too early to tell," Lili said, settling onto the floor beside her with the sort of casual grace that would have scandalized Mother six months ago. "Though honestly, it all looks like abstract art to me."

"No, no," Mother insisted, adjusting her reading glasses. "Look here, and here. Those are definitely tiny forms. Oh, they're perfect. Absolutely perfect."

The transformation was so complete it was almost surreal.

This was the woman who had orchestrated corporate espionage to destroy Lili's career, who had wielded social weapons with surgical precision, who had ruled London society with an iron fist wrapped in silk gloves. Now she was cooing over ultrasound photographs like any ordinary grandMother-to-be.

"Have you thought about names?" she asked, her voice bright with genuine interest.

"We've discussed it," I said, settling onto the floor myself—something that would have been unthinkable in this house six months ago. "Though nothing's been decided."

"Well, there's time," Mother said. "Plenty of time to consider all the options. Family names, of course, are traditional, but there's something to be said for starting fresh..."

She trailed off, perhaps realizing the implications of her own words. Starting fresh. Beginning again. Choosing love over legacy.

"Actually," Lili said, glancing at me with mischief in her eyes, "we were hoping you might help with that. All of you."

"Really?" Daphne perked up from her position on James's lap. "Oh, that would be wonderful! We could make lists, research meanings—"

"Within reason," I interrupted, recognizing the gleam in my sister's eyes. "Nothing too creative."

"Edward Grosvenor," Lili said, poking me in the ribs, "are you suggesting my family might have questionable taste in names?"

"I'm suggesting that Daphne once wanted to name her imaginary pony Sir Fluffington McSparkles, and I prefer to exercise caution."

The room erupted in laughter—real, uninhibited laughter that seemed to wash away years of careful formality. Even Mother was giggling, one hand pressed to her mouth in a gesture that belonged to the girl she must have been decades ago.

"Sir Fluffington was a perfectly dignified name for a pony," Daphne protested. "He had breeding and character."

"He was imaginary," James pointed out.

"The best ponies usually are," she replied with dignity.

As the conversation dissolved into cheerful chaos—debates about names, speculation about nursery designs, gentle arguments about whether twins should be dressed identically—I found myself studying each face in turn. Daphne, radiant with happiness and wine. James, relaxed and genuine in a way I rarely saw outside our closest friendships. Mother, transformed from ice queen to doting grandMother in the space of a single evening.

And Lili, glowing with pregnancy and contentment, the woman who had somehow made all of this possible.

"You know," Mother said suddenly, her voice taking on a thoughtful quality, "I've been thinking about the house."

"What about it?" I asked.

"Well, it's rather large for just one person, isn't it? All these rooms, all this space..." She gestured vaguely at the drawing room, with its soaring ceilings and enough seating for a small army. "Perhaps it's time for it to be properly filled again."

The implications hung in the air like possibilities. Lili's hand found mine, her engagement ring warm against my palm.

"Are you suggesting we move in?" I asked carefully.

"I'm suggesting," Mother said, her voice gaining confidence, "that this house has always been meant for family. Real family. Messy, complicated, loving family. And for the first time in decades, we actually have one of those."

She reached across the coffee table and picked up the ultrasound photograph again, holding it up to catch the lamplight.

"My grandchildren," she said softly, and there was wonder in her voice. "However could I have thought this was anything but a miracle?"

Lili and I looked at each other and nodded. In that moment, surrounded by family and possibility, I finally understood what Lili had been trying to tell me all along.

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