Page 39 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

No- that’s for the best, really. The less his attention is on me, the better.

Despite my situation as a captive imposter bride, the more days that pass without incident, the more I feel like this spaceis a balm instead of a torment. My thoughts have been getting way too confused. I was panicking over how deeply I’d become entrenched in this house, over Achilles and how far I’ve gone with him. I’d forgotten my true purpose here- to get as much information about these London Warwicks as possible, andthenget out. This is a long game I’m playing, longer than even my stint as Silver, and anything I have to do to keep the peace will be worth it.

My best course of action, now that Achilles isn’t dictating my schedule, would be to start looking around the house for information again. Fantasia’s generals lumber around without discipline or purpose, but they’re easy to avoid if I stay on my toes and I’m alone.

Sidony, to my surprise, has other plans.

After breakfast, the day after my wardrobe comes in, Sidony parks herself beside my chair at the table and looks up at me, her eyes huge with longing.

“Will you play with me today, Raleigh?”

How can I say no?

I expect we’ll play pretend for an hour or so before Sidony gets bored of me, but I should have known better. The day goes by in a flash as I read her the storybooks I find in her room and she introduces me to all her plushies. There’s her rabbit named Misty, who guides her swiftly to sleep. Her elephant, Berry, with a goofy stitched face that always makes her smile. Carmen the whale, a plush almost bigger than her. Sidony tells me with total sincerity that Carmen is her mother reincarnated. And, of course, Lilac the penguin, her last line of defense against the ‘scary men’ that appear too often in her dreams.

I find myself wishing I had such companions as a child. If I had a cute little penguin to hold while dad drunkenly ranted to himself outside my room, would I have felt less afraid? Would Ihave slept better, even though I knew dad might wake me up just to hit me?

On second thought, no. Probably not.

The fact that Sidony, a lonely and terrified child, can still find comfort in her own imagination is a testament to Achilles’s nurturing. She has the unshakable knowledge that even though the things around her are frightening, her father is capable of protecting her.

One day of playing and talking turns into two, then three. Before I know it, Sidony has built a new routine for me around her own, and I find myself helpless to resist her.

Four times a week, Sidony has morning lessons with her tutor, Mrs. Barlow, a matronly old woman I like immediately. She lets me join in with them, and if the weather’s not too rainy, we’ll sit outside by the duck pond while Sidony practices her letters and counts as high as she can.

While I notice that, despite Achilles’s reassurances, Fantasia’s generals don’t seem to be leaving the house like they should, they also don’t bother us again. Eventually, I stop watching them out of the corner of my eye during the few moments I’ve seen them patrolling the grounds at the same time we’re outside. Nevertheless, I don’t forget they’re there.

Now that I’m dressed for it, I can appreciate the cold English air. The way it makes my lungs feel like they can fully expand for the first time in my life. After the lesson is complete, the three of us retreat into the kitchen for some hot tea and scones. By that point it’s time for Sidony’s nap, which Achilles will usually appear to collect her for.

At the sight of him, my buoyant morning mood inevitably takes a turn. If he catches my eye, then all I can see is his face after I kissed him. If he ignores my gaze, I’m left feeling completely unmoored. I need to be grateful for this emotional distance. Embrace it, like Achilles seems to.

Well, it’s a work in progress.

Another week passes. On a morning free of lessons, Sidony begs for us to go outside and wait under the dark grey clouds to see if it’ll snow. She’s exuberant today, but won’t say why until we’re bundled into our coats and sitting on a bench on the back terrace.

“Raleigh, you know what daddy’s gotten me for Christmas, don’t you? Can you tell me a hint? Pleeeeeeease?”

Ah, so that’s what this is about. I’m sorry to disappoint her, but I have no idea what Achilles has bought her. If he’s gone shopping at all, it certainly hasn’t involved me. Otherwise I’d be more than happy to come up with a riddle she can think on, or a tantalizing clue she’ll never guess.

But also,Christmas. Now that I think about it, we’re days away from it. I’ve never had a Christmas to celebrate before, never got to wake up in the morning and run into the living room to see a gorgeous tree with presents nesting beneath it. Growing up, I wondered if that happened for anyone, or if it was just a pretty lie the TV told.

From Sidony’s excitement, I know for sure that Santa very much exists, at least to her. And I can only imagine that Achilles showers her with dozens of presents every year, just because he can.

Once again, the contrast between him and my dad puts a spike in my chest. No matter what my own situation or complex feelings toward him, I can’t despise Achilles. Everything he does, he does for the safety of his daughter, and that can only make me respect and admire him.

It’s the concessions he makes to others that cause me trouble.

Sidony is waiting very patiently for my inside information on her presents, and I don’t want to admit that I have none. Instead, I pinch both of her cheeks until she giggles.

“Socute!” I declare. And luckily, this praise throws her right off the scent.

“Daddy says I look like mum,” she says proudly. “I don’t remember though.”

“You don’t remember her?” I ask. I feel like this is a safe question for her, because Sidony has never shown much sorrow over the loss of her mother. Then again, it sounds like it happened three years ago. If Sidony was only a year old when it happened, and worse things have happened since, I can’t imagine her mother’s memory would stick.

Sidony shakes her head. “I was too little. Daddy wouldn’t let me see her when she was sick. He said mum was fighting hard to protect me.”

My heart aches at that. Being sick to the point of death and not wanting to expose your child, either to the disease or to a version of you that might frighten them, has to be its own form of torture. I admire Sidony’s mother for that resolve.

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