Page 72 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

I’m still not looking at him when I ask, just in case I’m overstepping some line that upsets him, “How did you do it?” Myvoice cracks a little, and I swallow to steady it. “How did you stay away from her for ten years?”

Paul sighs, and I chance a look at his face. He’s not angry, but my question did hurt him, and that sends a pang through my own chest. The lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth are deeper than they were a moment ago.

The story of Iris and Paul’s secret marriage is legend on the Warwick estate, and even without asking either of them about it, I know the outline of it. After Thomas Sr. and his friend Morgan Speare suffered their schism, Morgan took a large chunk of Thomas Sr.’s men with him. One of those men was Paul. And one of the people that chose to stay behind was Iris.

Despite the civil war sitting between them, they managed to bridge that gap and hold onto their love for each other. And without either of their differing sides knowing, they even married. With hardly any contact, they kept their love strong for ten years before Morgan was brought down and Paul was able to return to the Warwick family. They’re inseparable now, a power couple unlike any other.

Their situation isn’t exactly the same as mine of course. Achilles and I weren’t forced apart. He turned his back on me, and for good reason. There isn’t anything to keep alive until we meet again.

But that doesn’t stop me from needing to know…how.

“Part of it was stupidity,” he says frankly. “I was in an accident, and Morgan saved my life. I felt like I owed him my service, and to back out on that would mean I had no loyalty as a man.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Stupidity,” he repeats. “The other part of it was more important, and luckily for all of us, that part won out in the end.”

I find myself leaning forward a little, desperate for the answer. Desperate for some clarity. “What was it?”

He cocks his head at me, one corner of his mouth smiling crookedly. “It was Clara.”

Of course. She’s a Warwick now, but back then, Thomas’s wife was Clara Speare, Morgan Speare’s niece and favorite punching bag.

I didn’t live in Morgan’s house, so I never got the chance to meet her before moving in with the Warwicks, but I heard of her through my dad’s drunken ramblings. He’d talk about how stupid and weak she was, how she probably wouldn’t even last until Morgan could sell her into marriage. He mentioned once how Morgan took one of the pictures she’d painted and burned it with a lighter in front of her. My dad thought it was funny. I thought it was disgusting and cruel.

“She lost her mother a few years after Morgan parted ways with Thomas Sr.,” Paul explains. “I couldn’t let her go through that alone. I had to protect her, not just physically but emotionally too. She’s stronger than anyone’s ever given her credit for, but she didn’t know it back then.”

He pulls himself out of his memories and looks me over. “There’s no one here like that for you,” he says abruptly. It almost sounds like a rebuke, but I know he doesn’t mean it that way. “Raleigh’s happy and healthy, and Derrick’s the kind of guy who’ll do all he can to keep her that way.”

My throat feels tight. “What about you?”

Paul laughs at that. “If you want to compete with Iris for who gets to look after me, you can be my guest,” he jokes. When I don’t laugh, though, his smile fades. “Listen, kid, you’ve got enough to handle on your own. Don’t add me to your list.”

Again, that hurts even though I know he doesn’t mean it to. If my dad were halfway decent and hadn’t gotten himself killed being a deadbeat, would I be taking care of him right now? Would that give my life some feeling of purpose?

Or am I just looking for purpose in all the wrong places?

“The thing is,” Paul says gently, “I knew where I stood with Iris. I knew she loved me, and I loved her, and that our mutual goal was to get back together someday. You don’t have that sure knowledge, and that’s what’s going to eat you up inside no matter how much time passes. Thatwhat ifwill ruin your life if you don’t leave it behind now.Oryou can commit to finding the answer, no matter how much it might hurt.”

My eyes well with tears. I know he’s right. Even if I hate the answer, I have to at least ask the question if I want to move on with my life. And if I think of it another way, Achilles deserves to know that I’m carrying his baby- histwinbabies. Then he can decide whether he wants me or not with all the facts in tow.

“You’re so determined to find someone to take care of,” Paul goes on, “but just this once, can you let one of us take care of you? Just tell me you want an answer, and I’ll help you get it, no matter what.”

“What if I don’t deserve it?” I blurt out.

For some reason, this makes Paul look sadder than ever. He chucks me under the chin, making sure I’m looking him in the eye when he says, “Impossible. You deserve the world.”

Chapter 39

Emma

When I tell Thomas I have to take off halfway around the world to see if the potential love of my life will take me back, tell him I’m having twins and see if he wants to be a part of their lives, he surprises me by offering the use of his own private jet. Paul and I eventually decide against it, though. We might be flying into Edinburgh instead of London, but it would be wise to maintain as low a profile as possible. I’m half afraid that if Achilles knows I’m coming, he’ll disappear.

After studying maps of Edinburgh until my eyes cross, I’ve retraced my best memory of the path I took with Achilles through the city that night. I’m as sure as I can be that I know where his safe house is. Paul and I pack light, and just before we leave the estate, I slip my wedding ring back onto my finger. Now, I feel like I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

My third transatlantic flight is probably the least stressful yet, but unfortunately that’s a pretty low bar. I’m a bundle of nerves, and the slightest smell of the cabin seems to churn my stomach. Paul admits he’s not fond of flying either, so he indulges in some sleeping pills while I cling to ginger lozenges and nilla wafers, praying they’re enough to keep everything down. I have to close my eyes whenever the planehits turbulence, taking deep breaths to steady myself. We start to drift off while watching a ridiculous buddy cop comedy on Paul’s tablet. I dream that Achilles and I are chasing each other on scooters around and around a light pole in the streets of Edinburgh. When I wake up, the plane is touching down.

As our cab takes us through more and more familiar roads bathed in the golden glow of sunrise, Paul strikes up a boisterous conversation with the driver about the best tourist spots in the city. I watch every street sign that passes, my heart racing so erratically I think I’ll die before we make it. Is this really the right way? Did I remember every turn, or are we going to be stuck driving in circles through Edinburgh forever, just like in my dream?

Too soon, I realize we’re turning down the residential road that leads to the safe house. I almost shout when I see the place, but manage to hold my breath and stay in my seat until the car comes to a full stop. Paul thanks and pays the cabbie generously while I stumble out onto the sidewalk, my eyes glued to the house.

It’s so much smaller and… darker than I remember.

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