Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

8. Achilles

Chapter 8

Achilles

I don’t remember the last time I slept well, and now it’s looking like I’ll never sleep well again.

With a last weary look at Raleigh, I go into the bathroom for my sleeping pills- which didn’t save me from my nightmares- and return with them to the bedroom with a glass of tap water.

I show Raleigh the label on the bottle so she knows what I’m giving her, then dole out two pills. “Take these. No arguments. We both need rest and I’m not going to get it if I have to worry you’ll run off again.”

I won’t get rest anyway, but that’s neither here nor there.

Naturally, Raleigh hesitates. I take her hand and drop the pills into her palm. “If this was in response to your ill-conceived escape attempt alone, I’d be justified. But you’re going to be jet lagged for days unless you start resetting your sleep cycle now. Take them . And besides,” I add bitterly, “I haven’t actually married you yet, so it would be a waste to kill you before I can demand the dowry.”

Raleigh’s grey eyes narrow, her lower jaw jutting out a little in defiance. “You really think I’m making myself unconscious around you after the day I’ve had?”

I could make her a thousand promises about my virtue, but it would be a waste when there’s no real trust between us yet. Instead, I try a different tactic.

“My four-year-old is awake at this ungodly hour, and if I don’t personally tuck her in she won’t be able to get any more sleep. You’ve proven to me that I can’t leave you unsupervised for any period of time without you wandering off. Thus, your reward.” I gesture to the pills in her hand.

“And should even that fail to persuade you, I am no stranger to force-feeding poison to men three times your size.” Raleigh’s eyes widen with horror, but I hold her gaze without shame. “Take. The. Pills.”

She does, but she swallows both tablets dry and sets the full glass of water on the nightstand with an indignant thud. Unimpressed, I grab her jaw and pull her mouth open before she can resist, checking around her teeth and under her tongue to be sure she really swallowed.

“Very good,” I say as I release her, and Raleigh flushes again. That was hardly praise. Surely she’s not so unused to hearing it?

Putting that aside, I go to my closet for some nightclothes, listening carefully for any sounds of gagging from Raleigh. I’m taking no chances now. But she remains silent, and when I come back into the room she’s sitting dejectedly on the edge of my bed.

I hold out a shirt and pants for her. She looks at them like I’m handing her a toad.

“I’ll sleep in my clothes, thanks,” she says firmly.

She wants to sleep in her jeans ? Absolutely not.

“It’s these or your underwear,” I shoot back, and she snatches the clothes from me. She waits for me to turn around- like I’m giving her the opportunity to strangle me with my own pajamas- but I only twirl my finger above her head. Her, not me.

Her lower jaw is jutting out more by the second, but she does as she’s told, standing and turning her back to me to strip. I watch with clinical attention as she reveals a body that I’ve already seen with my hands, swathed in utilitarian black underthings. She’s elected to keep her bra on, which is too petty to fight her on. I’m exhausted, and I still need to make sure both she and Sidony get to sleep.

Thankfully, by the time Raleigh is finished changing clothes, her eyes are already starting to look a little glassy. She hesitates, then sits on the edge of the bed again, absolutely drowning in my pajamas. I almost feel myself smile at the sight, but I suppress it just in time. Instead, I settle myself in the armchair by the fire to wait for her to properly fall asleep.

Raleigh stays upright as long as possible, watching me stubbornly as I watch the fire. But over the next ten minutes, she slumps further and further, until she finally falls back, sprawled perpendicular across the mattress.

Incredible.

I could fall asleep in this armchair myself, but finally I can get back to Sidony, and I need to stay awake long enough to complete our ritual. I lever myself up and go to Raleigh, bending over her to listen to the pattern of her breathing and measure her heartbeat until I’m satisfied that she’s deeply asleep. Then I go to my daughter.

Sidony is back on the carpet, sitting slumped over a plush whale almost bigger than she is. Her eyes are heavy lidded, but still open. She’s fighting hard to stay awake, to avoid the worst of her nightmares. Every time I see her like this, my heart splinters a little more. I could kill a thousand men to keep her safe, but I can’t save her from the monsters that lurk in her own mind, no matter what I do.

I scoop her carefully into my arms, marveling and mourning for the thousandth time just how big she’s getting.

“Daddy,” she mumbles blearily, “are you back?”

“I’m back, dove,” I tell her. “I’m home.” To prove it, I plant three kisses on her forehead, our sacred tradition.

“Don’t leave again…”

Every day, I try my best not to lie to my daughter. But some truths I have to bend so I don’t break my own heart. “I’ll be here a while yet,” I say, which should be true if I’m to marry a hostage. And speaking of…

“So will Raleigh,” I say as I lay her in her bed facing away from me. “She’s staying with us. I thought you’d like to know.”

How I’m supposed to explain this marriage to her is a problem for tomorrow, when all of us are more awake. Hopefully I’ll have found the right words by then.

“I like her…” Sidony muses.

I comb through her hair with my fingers, then part it into three strands and braid it steadily. “What do you like about her?” I ask as I work.

“She’s… pretty… n’... she listened… n’...”

Whatever else she thinks of Raleigh isn’t being said tonight. I hum her bedtime song as I finish her braid, then tuck one of her plushies- her rabbit tonight, I think- under her arm as a companion. Finally, I pull her quilt up to her chin. With that, the spell is complete.

If only it worked more than half the time.

I linger for a moment over my daughter’s sleeping form, seriously considering sleeping in here instead of my own room. I’d have to fight a dozen plush animals for space, but that would be fine.

For months after Madeleine’s death, Sidony and I couldn’t fall asleep without each other. There are plenty of nights I still struggle without that closeness.

Sidony has stuffed animals to hold now, at least.

In the end, I return to my room. Raleigh is exactly where I left her, laying across the bed with her sock-covered feet dangling off the edge. Hopefully she doesn’t mind sleeping in her socks, because I’m not pulling them off when it’s early December and she’s not used to this cold. I pull the comforter back as far as I can, then scoop her up, carrying her like a bride instead of a preschooler. When I lay her back down lengthwise, I make sure her head is cradled in one of my pillows. Then I pull the comforter back up, all the way to her chin.

My tasks finally complete, and the people I’m responsible for put to bed, I stagger back to my closet for my own pair of pajamas, then collapse once more in the armchair by the fire. It’s three in the morning, and after what feels like days of being wide awake, my eyes are at last closing of their own volition.

Turning my head for one last look at the hostage tucked into my bed, I let them fall.