Page 44 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

“Well, whatever’s brought you home, we’re grateful,” one of the older women says.

Several pairs of eyes go to me. There’s an awkward pause, and I wonder if any of these people know that I’m Achilles’s new bride, or if they think I’m a nanny for Sidony.

Achilles seems to consider how to explain- and apparently decides not to at all. “As am I,” he says, then turns to Sidony. “On with the tour?”

Leaving a kitchen full of desperately curious staff behind us, we move on to the back of the house.

“If you have your own house, why the hell were we in Wesley Hall?” I murmur, looking up at Achilles with raised brows.

Achilles gives me a look, but where I expect a warning to stay silent, I see… a plea to wait. A promise of answers, but not here and not now.

The back door of the house opens on a gorgeous overgrown garden woven through with stone paths and enclosed by high hedges. At the back of the garden sits a beautiful iron gate, and beyond that, rolling grassy hills and trees. How big is the plot of land this house sits on? I imagine running over that sweeping lawn and through the trees, not having to worry about staying on a strict path like at Wesley Hall.

Sidony claps gleefully and rushes off the back porch into the garden. I step forward to follow her, but Achilles puts a hand on my arm.

“She’ll be all right alone. The garden isn’t big enough to get lost in, and that gate is locked.”

What a relief, to not have to be afraid to let a small child run around outside. I look at Achilles’s hand, still set lightly on my upper arm, then at him. “So… Ashwood House,” I prompt.

Achilles’s jaw works a little. He’s debating what to say, but he can’t deny the name he’s been called half a dozen times since we walked into the house. I wait for him to do it anyway, to either lie or refuse to answer the question like he has the last few weeks. To my surprise, he doesn’t.

“My mother, who married Marcus after my father died, liked to tell people that she merged the Warwick and Ashwood families herself,” he admits. “Well, my grandfather didn’t approve or agree. He wrote his will actively shutting Fantasia out of every pound of Ashwood money, this house, and ownership of the Ashwood businesses. But after my- after Sidony’s mum died, I had no interest in running any businesses. I didn’t care about patrolling the casinos in Whitechapel, or overseeing the auction of priceless artifacts in the backrooms of the British Museum, or making sure our shipping routes were staying updated. Those things are Fantasia’s problem now. But this estate and the bulk of my grandfather’s money still belongs to me.

“That’s why-” I have to clamp my mouth shut, because I don’t want to start a fight within Sidony’s hearing. But suddenly, so much makes sense to me- the tension between Fantasia and Achilles, the reason Fantasia is strapped for cash while Achilles is loaded. There’s no way his grandfather, who built this gorgeous house for his wife, would let a drop of his money leave the family.In theory, Achilles said, which says so much while admitting nothing at all.

How angry was Fantasia when she realized she wouldn’t get a drop of money from one side of her family? Has she been punishing Achilles for that ever since?

“Why leave Ashwood House, then?” I ask instead.

“Fantasia wanted to keep me close,” Achilles says. “She… trusts me more than anyone else.”

That didn’t answer my first question, but the sorrow in his eyes holds my tongue. I can’t forget that we’re here because we’re fleeing Wesley Hall, fleeing Fantasia. The rift that has been growing between these siblings has finally become a gaping wound. Achilles has given me this handful of truths because he’s lost part of the reason to keep them from me, his loyalty to his half-sister.

I could make use of that loosening of his ideals. I wouldn’t feel good about it, though. More than anything, I just want to comfort Achilles in this moment. But how can I, when Achilles isn’t the only one telling lies right now?

Chapter 23

Achilles

It’s been almost a year and a half since I left Ashwood House at Fantasia’s demand, but it feels like a decade has passed. The last time I called this place my home, my grandfather was still hanging on to the last of his strength, and my bedroom felt so haunted by Madeleine’s ghost that I couldn’t use it. Some things have changed since then, but some are still the same.

My grandfather is dead and gone, his suite inherited by me, but Madeleine’s spirit still lingers. I’ll let it rest in our old space, the furniture covered with sheets or otherwise moved to storage.

We eat a simple lunch of sandwiches and fruit in Sidony’s room, then spend an hour getting her clothes hung up in the wardrobe, her bed made with fresh linens, and her stuffed animals arranged how she dictates. I despair of her afternoon nap being a possibility- she’s still far too wired from the events of the morning and the return to Ashwood House. But then Raleigh brilliantly declares that weallneed naps after this morning, and she won’t be able to relax if she knows Sidony isn’t resting too. Sidony is far too generous to deny her new favorite person this downtime, so she immediately climbs into bed. Raleigh tucks her in as I sing her to sleep, and as she’s being carried off to dreamland, Sidony wishes us both a good night.

Raleigh meets my gaze over my sleeping daughter. The tentative smile that curls the very edge of her lips invites me to smile back, but I can’t. Not when I can also clearly see the bruise that’s bloomed over her cheekbone.

“Come,” I whisper, and lead her out of the room.

Two doors down from Sidony we find the stairs leading up to the third floor, which belongs almost entirely to the master suite. My bag sits by the door, but I’m not ready to unpack it yet. It’s still a little strange walking in here and no longer smelling my grandmother’s light perfume, or seeing my grandfather’s decorative swords missing from the wall. The bed in the middle of the room is made with an inoffensive blue coverlet and pillows instead of my grandmother’s quilts. The room has been stripped of their presence and left for the new man of the house to mold in his image.

My image.

I might have given up my control of the Ashwood businesses to Fantasia, but Ashwood House has, and will always be, in my name. This house and everything in it is mine, and has been for several years since my grandfather’s death. How long have I been ignoring it for the sake of chasing down Fantasia’s ghosts?

Raleigh closes the door behind us when we enter, and the soft click of it brings me back to the present. I turn to find her still standing tentatively beside my bag, as if unsure if she’s allowed in here, and for the first time I realize…

This room is hers now too.

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