Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

13. Achilles

Chapter 13

Achilles

I can’t stay in the armchair.

On the bed, bathed in moonlight, Raleigh has finally fallen asleep. I’ve listened to her breathing for every moment since I pulled away, waiting for it to stop sounding like stifled sobs and to even out.

Now, after hours of staring into the fire, replaying every second of my consummation with Raleigh and being flooded with guilt, self-loathing, and lust in an endless cycle, I give up on sleep as a concept and get to my feet. My watch tells me it’s three a.m., which both feels too late and too early.

How many hours of sleep have I had in the last four days? No, I shouldn’t ask myself that question. I won’t like the answer.

My feet almost take me to the bed automatically, but I train them toward the door. I am not waking Raleigh up for a second round, no matter how ready and willing my own body is. I tell myself it’s the deprivation of three years of sex that makes me crave more, and not anything to do with the woman herself. Not the shape of her body or the sounds she made when she came, or the way it felt to fill her up with my seed.

These are dangerous thoughts, and they need to be forbidden ones. I need to lock them away in the vault of my mind along with my most damning secrets and the bulk of my grief.

And I need to commit to never touching Raleigh again. For both our sakes.

I seek solace where I usually do, in my daughter’s room. She’s fast asleep, drifting tranquilly in a sea of plush animals. I run gentle fingers through her silky hair, kiss her on the forehead, and try to feel the peace that she’s feeling right now. Today was spent with her tutor, and I was so caught up in the turbulence of my own mind that I couldn’t figure out how to pull her aside and explain what just happened to our family.

How the fuck am I supposed to tell her that she has a new mother? She liked Raleigh well enough in the five minutes they were conversing, but will she like her as a constant presence?

And for Raleigh’s part, does she even want a child? One that isn’t of her own body and that suffers from anxieties she can never understand? She was concerned about Sidony’s safety when she first found her, but anyone can be sympathetic toward a child they perceive to be in danger. That says nothing about their desire to be a parent themselves. And even if she would be happy to have Sidony as a charge, is she fit? Will I have to protect my daughter from my own wife?

These are all questions I’ve asked myself already, and ones that will keep me up for nights to come. I only wish Fantasia had paused for a single moment to think of them herself.

Speaking of which…

I place two more tender kisses on Sidony’s forehead, three kisses in total just like she would want, and straighten. I go back through my bedroom, listening for several long seconds to confirm that Raleigh is still asleep. Then I head downstairs.

I’m not surprised to find my sister awake in the drawing room, but it doesn’t improve my mood at all. A half-empty bottle of sherry balances dangerously on the cushion of the footrest in front of her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was full when she first started drinking out of it. Fantasia stares into the last sips left in her glass. Her gaze is so empty, except for the reflection of the fire in her eyes, that it sends a chill through me. She doesn’t even notice me until I sit in the chair beside hers.

Then she blinks. Suddenly, she’s returned from whatever twisted inner world she’s built for herself. I claim the bottle of sherry, a poor consolation prize. I prefer whiskey, but I’ll take anything at this hour. Whatever I drink is less alcohol for her, too.

Fantasia smiles at me, clinking her glass against my bottle, even though I don’t reach it out to her. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

I clench the bottle so hard I feel like the skin over my knuckles will split. Not only does she assume I’ve just whored myself out for her purposes, but she’s right, and that’s worse. “Do. Not.”

She huffs. “When are you going to stop being sad, Achilles? It’s getting tiresome.”

I grit my teeth. “When are you going to stop being in love with Piers? It’s getting embarrassing.”

Her eyes widen with horrified rage, and I glare flatly in return. I’ve crossed an unspoken but nevertheless absolutely forbidden line. I don’t care. If Fantasia wants to whore me out for the sake of income, then she should be prepared for a less than pleasant response.

“What the fuck Achilles?” Fantasia asks, her voice trembling.

“Did you at least kiss him before you ordered me to kill him? Or have you been such a bitch for the last year because you’ve been left to wonder forever-”

Fantasia lunges to her feet. “ Shut up !” she shrieks. Her entire face is red, and it’s impossible to tell where the rage ends and the humiliation begins.

I spread my hands, unfazed. “Don’t speak to me about my inconvenient feelings and I won’t speak about yours.”

Fantasia downs the rest of her sherry like a shot. “Is this why you let him get away?” she demands. “So you could hold it over me forever?”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve already assumed that’s the case. I learned back when you were five that I can’t stop you once you’ve made up your mind.”

The mention of our youth seems to mollify her somewhat. Every now and then, she needs a reminder that I have, in fact, been on her side since the day she was born. That I held her longer than our mother did when she was a wrinkly, shrieking mess newly wrapped in blankets. That I was her playmate, her protector, her teacher.

And that I will never betray her, not really, because I’ve always cared more about what’s best for her than what’s best for me.

Fantasia’s jaw works as she changes her tone. “How soon can you be ready to return to Thomas’s estate? Tonight?”

I feel like I’ve skipped ahead in the conversation and missed something crucial. “I’m sorry, when did we decide I’d be going back?”

Fantasia huffs impatiently. “How else will he find out we’re now legally entitled to Raleigh’s fortune?”

I take a swig of the sherry bottle to hide the flaring of my anger. “I’ve spent all of twenty minutes with Sidony since I got back, Fantasia. I’m not leaving her again, not anytime soon.”

She opens her mouth to argue with me, but I don’t let her. “ No . No, Fantasia. I can’t be running out on her every ten seconds to do your errands. You need me, but my four-year-old needs me a hell of a lot more. At some point you are going to have to start understanding that.”

Again she looks like she’ll try to fight back, but I shoot to my feet.

“I did what you wanted already, didn’t I?” I rant. “I was never going to remarry. I told you that . But you still demanded that of me, and so I did it. For you . I married a stranger, an enemy, a hostage - for the sake of your schemes. And you still want more from me? No.”

“Achilles-”

“Send him another letter, Fantasia. Wait another six months to see whether or not he’ll even respond to this new threat you’ve cooked up. Or better yet- go threaten him yourself! Take a ten hour flight to his front door and fight your own battle for once.”

Fantasia’s mouth presses into a bloodless line. She’s finally given up trying to protest what I’m saying. Is it guilt or logic that is holding her tongue? I wish I knew.

I never used to yell at her like this, but the past year has changed the dynamic between us so completely that we fight on an almost daily basis. She’s made herself into an obstacle between my family and what happiness we can find- while leaning on me as the solution to all her problems.

She’s even made me regret giving up my birthright for her.

I shake my head, banishing that traitorous thought back into the vault, along with the bulk of my anger. “Go to bed, Fantasia. Maybe you’ll be less unreasonable once you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

Fantasia glares into the fire. “You’re speaking to the pot, Mr. Kettle.”

Heaving a sigh, I take the sherry with me as I trudge out of the room.