Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

17. Achilles

Chapter 17

Achilles

W e spend three hours putting together a full wardrobe for Raleigh, and while Sidony seems to be having the time of her life, I’m frustrated to find that Raleigh has a very poor idea of what her own personal tastes are. She doesn’t have colors or cuts she prefers to wear. She knows nothing about the coordination of fabrics or what makes shades clash. How does she have such a weak notion of how best to care for her own appearance?

It’s also clear to me that she has no idea how beautiful she is. Every time Sidony cheers for a new outfit or accessory, Raleigh struggles to accept the praise. And whenever I give her a compliment, she outright denies it, or finds some other flaw in herself.

This woman wasn’t raised properly, that much is obvious. Did Thomas and his father just keep her locked in the basement until she was old enough to marry off? How the fuck did they think that would be of service to her?

Well, regardless of the handicaps we were working with, all three of us managed to survive the ordeal, and in good spirits. And after getting her proper measurements at the tailor and dropping off her new wardrobe, we have just one more shop to drop into before we end the day.

A hush goes over Sidony and Raleigh when we walk into the jewelers. Their eyes go wide as saucers as they pass over crystal cases of glittering necklaces, brooches, bracelets, and… rings.

Fantasia told me to buy some rings, and while I’ve been putting it off all day, I can’t for any longer.

Raleigh is beginning to look uncertain as I walk her up to the displays of rings. She had a hard time picking out fine clothes for herself, so I can’t imagine how she’ll handle a wedding band encrusted with gems. Still, I know nothing about her personal tastes. I want her to make this decision, if only to prove that she can.

“Pick one,” I tell her simply. “I’ll get one to match.”

Raleigh’s mouth falls open. “I can’t-”

“Would you prefer I pick something you’ll hate?” Raleigh blinks. She looks… vaguely ill. I stifle my impatience and discomfort. “We’ll be required to wear these rings every day. Choose something that will boost your confidence or that matches your eyes. Don’t think too much about the materials or price.”

Raleigh doesn’t seem convinced, but at least she starts looking at the rings on display. A shopkeeper hurries over to help us, but I wave her away with finality. I’ve noticed over the course of the day that Raleigh gets flustered when shop attendants try to cater to her. I don’t even care if she closes her eyes and points randomly, but I want this decision to be hers since the marriage itself wasn’t.

“I… I think I like…” Raleigh’s fingers hover over the case. I can already tell the ring she wants to point to, but I can also see her hesitate, as if afraid to ask for it.

Without thinking, I take her hand in mine. She flinches, but doesn’t snatch it back. I guide her cool fingers over to the ring she’s been eyeing, and point her at it.

“This one?” I ask.

Raleigh can’t seem to answer with words, but she nods. I wave the attendant over, and she rushes to our side.

“We need this one sized,” I tell her, pointing to Raleigh’s choice. “I also want to see your assortment of men’s wedding bands in a Q and a half.”

I decide it’s time for another meal to round out the day.

This time, we leave Covent Garden for a more casual pizza parlor nearby that I’ve brought Sidony to in the past. Once again, I slip into the back to collect a payment from the chef. I don’t even realize until I’ve reemerged and see Raleigh and Sidony happily discussing pizza toppings in their booth that it didn’t even occur to me Raleigh could take this chance to run.

She didn’t take it in The Cooper’s Arms either. And when I found her sitting at the bar, she was cradling Sidony’s hand in hers like it was the most precious treasure in the world.

I try again to determine why the two of them have bonded so immediately. Is it because Raleigh is shorter than most of the people Sidony’s met in the past, and according to her child’s mind, less of a threat? Or is it Raleigh’s unusual platinum hair color? That was their first topic of conversation, after all. Or could it simply be a thing that I noticed about Raleigh myself, the first moment she spoke?

That she’s kind, and selfless, and immediately willing to protect the people she cares about?

I slide back into the booth on Sidony’s side. “What’s the decision, ladies?” I ask.

“No mushrooms!” Sidony declares, and Raleigh nods in firm agreement.

I wait, expecting more input, but they both fall silent. “Good to know, I suppose. Anything else you two are craving?”

They exchange a glance and shake their heads unhelpfully.

“Well then,” I say, glancing down at the menu in front of me. My eyes find my usual order quickly. “Here—this one has artichokes, spinach, garlic, mozzarella…”

Raleigh’s nose wrinkles. “Artichokes?! On a pizza? That’s… really how you do it here?”

“It’s not strictly British, no.” I say dryly. “Perhaps if you weren’t raised under a rock, you’d have heard of it before today.”

Raleigh’s face drains of what little color it has, her breath visibly catching in her chest.

Oh. I think I’ve gravely insulted her. It isn’t her fault, after all, how the men of her family chose to raise or neglect her. I open my mouth to apologize, but Sidony pipes up,

“Oh, daddy says that’s mum’s favorite flavor! We have that one every year on mum’s birthday. It’s good! Can we get that one, daddy?”

“Of course, dove,” I say, but my voice feels far away.

My mind slips back four years. Across from me, it isn’t Raleigh but Madeleine, her hand resting on her belly, visibly in the third trimester. Pizza was her craving, one I was happy to indulge, and she’d find ways to make each meal memorable. I feel her foot brush against my ankle under the table, her eyes innocently fixed on her slice, hiding her mischief behind a playful smirk.

“You’re so stubborn, Achilles! I’m telling you, Sidony is a beautiful girl’s name. Boy or girl, it works perfectly.”

The memory fades, and I find Raleigh watching me, her grey eyes searching my face with gentle concern. I clear my throat, forcing myself to mask the ache with a neutral expression.

“I… guess I wouldn’t mind experimenting,” she says, to Sidony more than to me. “Let’s order that one.”

I nod and wave the waiter over. But when the pizza arrives, the smell hits me like a punch to the chest. I take a bite, but it tastes like ash, my appetite lost somewhere in the past.

After hours of shopping and a large, filling meal, Sidony is practically walking in her sleep. I carry her to the curb where our limo waits, and buckle my seatbelt over both of us for the ride back to Wesley Hall. Raleigh settles on the seat across from me. She’s trying to meet my eyes, but I don’t entertain her, and we travel the entire way back to the estate in silence.

I take my time putting Sidony to bed, and Raleigh has the intuition not to try and insert herself into this ceremony. I coax my daughter to wakefulness just enough that she can brush her teeth on her own, then have to dress her for bed and lay her in the midst of her blankets. I braid her hair, hum her bedtime song, and kiss her forehead three times. It calms me, but only a little.

It comes back to haunt me, every now and then, that Sidony remembers almost nothing about her mother. We’ve been to that pizza parlor every year for Madeleine’s birthday, but does Sidony actually care about the occasion, or just that the pizza we eat tastes good? I have no right to be upset with her even if that is the case. I’m the one trapped in a grief that’s three years old, and I shouldn’t wish that on my little girl. But does that mean I should be grateful she doesn’t properly remember the woman she wouldn’t exist without?

I tuck Sidony’s elephant plush under her arm… and hesitate.

On bad nights like these, I would probably sleep in here with Sidony, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of her steady breathing against my chest. I can rest if I have solid proof that even though Madeleine is gone, this cherished piece of her still lives.

But I can’t wallow in my private grief when I have a wife waiting in the other room.

I’m not surprised to find Raleigh sitting on the edge of my bed, clearly waiting to say something to me. I ignore her, going to my closet to undress for the night. She doesn’t pay my hint any mind, and follows.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks from behind me, as I unbutton my suit jacket and pull it off. “About… ah, about your-”

“That is none of your business,” I say, and it feels like my throat closes around the words even though I’m loosening my tie.

“Achilles, I-”

I turn on her, raising a finger to signal for her to be quiet. “I have no need or desire to confide in you about anything,” I snap. “I gave you what information you needed about Sidony’s mother so you could better understand her , not me. I’m not searching for companionship in you. I’m not even searching for friendship. I want nothing, nothing at all from you, do you understand?”

Raleigh blinks fast. Holding back tears? No, I won’t let myself feel guilty for that. This is something she needs to hear, and it’s something I was foolish enough to forget for a few brief moments today.

“This marriage exists purely as a legality, Raleigh,” I tell her. “It is not based on love. It never will be. Banish any absurd ideas you have about the two of us bonding through a shared miserable experience. If we’re lucky , we’ll be able to go the rest of our lives tolerating each others’ presence. But if you keep trying to step where I don’t want you to be, that won’t happen. I married you for your fucking money, Raleigh. Never forget that.”

Raleigh’s hands ball into fists. She’s fighting hard against tears now, her grey eyes sparkling. She’s bracing her whole body to hide the way she’s trembling. It doesn’t work… and that makes me want to soften her up like I did last night.

“Why?” she whispers.

I blink, remembering myself. “What?”

Her jaw clenches, and she bites out every word. “Why do you need my money?”

“That’s none of your business,” I growl. But my anger at her is quickly curdling into anger at myself.

“You’re clearly not hurting for cash,” she presses, her voice rising. “I saw the bill for my wardrobe, nevermind the tailor. We drove around in a limo today too, and you go back and forth across the ocean in a private jet! You live in a- a four hundred year old mansion , with gardens and ponds and a fucking tower! Thomas has billions of dollars in resources, sure, but it’s not like you’re lacking them either. You’re part of the Warwicks of London, a mafia family that could be descended from fucking royalty! What the hell could you possibly need that you don’t have already?”

I can’t tell her about all the bribes it took to turn the Warwicks on themselves, or about the price of all the mercenaries hired to make certain the coup didn’t fail, or about the amount Fantasia’s blown just in the last year trying to track down Piers, or about the absolute king’s ransom paid to keep all her secrets a secret forever.

I can’t tell her about all the money my mother siphoned out of the Warwick businesses herself before her own death without explaining why she hated Marcus Warwick- and why she seduced him.

I can’t even explain to her why my money is legally off limits to Fantasia without explaining that there is a distinction between our families that’s been very thoroughly swept under the rug.

And that even if I could, I wouldn’t lend Fantasia a single dime to help her get what she wants.

But more than any of that, I can’t explain why, now that she’s yelling at me- I desperately want to be inside her.

“That’s not for a sweet little mafia princess to know,” I say, hooking my finger through my tie and pulling it completely loose.

Raleigh’s fists are so tight her knuckles are pale. “I’m not a sweet little anything,” she hisses.

“I see what this is really about then.” I step toward Raleigh, and she takes a measured step back.

“What what’s about?” she demands. I step forward, and she steps back again.

“You’re pissed that I won’t even pretend,” I say.

“Pretend t-to what?”

The next time I step forward, her retreat takes her right into the wall. I plant my hand over her head, looming. “To love you.”

Her face flushes hard. “That’s not what I-”

“You want intimacy so bloody badly?” I ask, almost more to myself than to her. “I’ll give it to you.”