Page 58 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

Achilles gazes at me thoughtfully. “What a practical thing to buy a child for Christmas,” he says, reminding me of our trip to Covent Garden. I’d tried to be practical then too, and he’d flatly refused me. But when he sayspracticalnow, it sounds like gentle teasing.

I smile, blushing. “Well, I’m sure you got her tons of fun presents. She should have at least one useful thing,” I tease back.

“I’ll have you know I bought her plenty ofusefulthings,” he shoots back, though there’s no real heat in it.

“Plenty of new plushies, maybe,” I grin, glancing toward a shelf where an array of soft, colorful stuffed animals sits. One catches my eye- a small white bunny with oversized ears and a pink bow. I reach out, brushing my fingers over its soft fur, already picturing Sidony’s delighted face.

Achilles’s stubbled jaw works- he can’t even deny it.

“We could get her matching rain boots,” I continue, turning from the plushies and scanning the racks for kids’ shoes. “Then she can have a rainy day set.” Against the far wall, I spot a shelf with tiny boots, including a pair in bright blue.

Frankly, I need a mission to stay focused in this store. Otherwise, I’d ooh and aah over every piece of adorable clothing. Achilles follows close behind, apparently content to let me take the lead for once. I don’t even realize he’s watching me rather than browsing until he speaks up again.

“You took to Sidony almost immediately,” he says, his words coming carefully. “Have you… wanted children before?”

I pause while passing a hand over a tiny pair of rainboots. Too small for Sidony at her age, but perfect for a baby just learning to walk. I imagine holding chubby little fingers with care, guiding every wobbly step of a child who doesn’t exist outside my head. Achilles’s question catches me off guard, interrupting the fantasy.

“Yes, but… not in the way you’re thinking,” I admit. “I guess I always daydreamed that if I brought a kid into this world, I’d do everything in my power to make their life better than mine was.”

Achilles’s brow furrows, his eyes darkening. “Did your father hurt you?” he asks plainly.

I flinch, suddenly realizing how openly I’ve been speaking. “No-” I say, too fast, turning so my gaze is focused on the little shoes in front of me. “Well, emotionally maybe, but he neverhitme.” The lie tastes like bile on my tongue. “I just mean that I was… lonely. And he didn’t care.”

The silence behind me stretches out. I can hear my own breath, my own heartbeat, too loud in the near-empty shop. I gave too much away, I’m sure of it. At the same time, I hate that I pivoted and lied. I don’t want to lie to Achilles anymore.

“I’m sorry, Raleigh,” he says at last. “I’ve really trapped you in the most impossible position, haven’t I?”

I understand that he’s referring to my captivity, and the marriage I had no choice but to participate in, but it hurts to hear him say that. I don’tfeeltrapped. Not anymore. To be honest, I haven’t for a while, and I can’t bear to think that he’slikening the abuse my father put me through to what’s happened between us.

I turn back toward him, meeting his eyes without hesitation or fear. “If Sidony wanted me to be her mother, that would make me very happy.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” I say firmly.

Achilles searches my face. His dark eyes hold bottomless amounts of sorrow, and, I realize, loneliness. He wants to believe me, but I also think he’s afraid of taking advantage of me. I get it, but I need him to understand that I’m not here entirely against my will.

“When you called me your wife,” I say, “that made me happy too.”

His chest moves as he sucks in a hard breath. “It did,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Yes.” I feel like I can’t breathe anymore, but that I don’t need to either. Looking into his eyes is enough.

Achilles steps closer, the step of his glossy shoes silent on the hardwood floor. He reaches into his jacket and suit, and pulls out a small brown package. I watch, fascinated, as he tears the paper off to reveal a black jewelry box. Inside, two white gold rings studded with hexagonal milky moss agates are nestled into black velvet. I’d been captivated by the green leafy veins in the stone the moment I saw it, and despite how nontraditional it was, Achilles didn’t hesitate to buy it for us both.

Achilles holds out his hand for mine. Trembling, I lay my gloved left palm in his. He pulls the glove free, one finger at a time, then slips the woman’s ring onto my finger. Absurdly, he tries to put his own ring on himself, but I hold out my hand for it with a huff. His lips crook in a half smile, and he puts his ring into my palm.

Taking his left hand in mine feels like a lightning strike. I feel like my palms are too sweaty. I’m terrified I’ll drop the ring and lose it forever. I haven’t properly breathed since Achilles first showed me the rings, and I still can’t properly inhale once I’ve slipped the wedding band onto Achilles’s ring finger.

For a moment, we just stare down in silence at the new adornments on our hands. This feels more real than any marriage license we signed. It feels like a new beginning.

I don’t know which of us reaches for the other first, but Achilles’s mouth is suddenly on mine, and my tongue is sweeping over his, and his hot breath is stinging my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me, while he gets his hands under my ass, about to pull me up-

“Och, guid heavens!” We jerk apart at the startled yelp of Mrs. Turner, who was clearly trying to slip behind the checkout counter for something and spotted us cavorting among the racks. “Ach, I’m that sorry, didn’t mean tae interrupt- ”

“No, all on us, Mrs. Turner,” Achilles says, a bit breathless, straightening his shirt. “We’re, ah, nearly done.”

With our cheeks flushed, we pick up a very cute blue umbrella, a pair of rain boots, and, in our haste, add the bunny plushie and a few other little girl toys. Mrs. Turner rings up our purchases with a knowing look, but says nothing. Finally, we step into the cold outside air, which feels like a relief against our heated faces.

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