Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

30. Emma

Chapter 30

Emma

I ’ve never had the chance to celebrate Christmas before. I’ve certainly never been shopping for presents on the streets of a city as gorgeous as Edinburgh, with the sun disappearing behind the buildings and a light snow falling around us. Achilles and I are back in the thick coats we took out of the Ashwood bunker, and knit scarves on loan from Piers. But honestly, Achilles’s arm tucked into mine could probably chase every chill away right now.

It feels wrong to be this enchanted by my life while I’m still a hostage bride and now in hiding from an unstable mafia queen, but those problems seem so far away right now.

“So, why Edinburgh?” I ask. My breath puffs out like a cloud, and I pull my scarf a little higher around my jaw.

“My grandfather has Scottish ancestors, and he’s maintained several connections here over the years,” Achilles explains. “He even considered retiring here once I took the mantle. Of course, once his daughter married into the Warwick family, he felt like he had to stay in London to maintain his hold on his legacy.” He shrugs. “And then I threw away all his hard work by giving the Ashwood businesses to Fantasia.”

I put my free hand on Achilles’s arm. “It was your legacy to do that with, and it felt right. You wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

Achilles looks down at me, looking almost confused. “Where is all this praise coming from?”

Despite the chill, my cheeks go hot. “I just…”

Achilles’s arm tightens on mine, just a little. “I did it because I felt too weak to lead the family,” he says, his eyes on his feet. “Madeleine had just died, and I- I couldn’t save her from the cancer. I couldn’t even get off my own floor.”

Madeleine. I realize he’s never actually spoken his wife’s name in my presence before. He’s only ever called her Sidony’s mother, and he’s never named what actually killed her. My heart aches at the raw loss in his voice- and that he’s finally shared this with me.

It feels almost blasphemous to think but… perhaps being betrayed by Fantasia has finally opened the locked boxes inside his heart. Without being tied to his unstable sister, he can focus at last on himself and his family, and reckoning with grief that has been haunting him for years.

“Sidony doesn’t think you’re weak,” I tell him. “She might be afraid of many things, but they’re not silly things like ghosts or dinosaurs or shadows in her closet. They’re real things that she should be cautious of. She also knows that you’re the one who’ll protect her from those things at the end of the day. You… you can’t fight illnesses, but you can fight men.”

Achilles stops, so suddenly I almost trip, but he steadies me just in time. “We’re here,” he says, looking up at a three story brownstone. It looks like three different shops stacked on top of each other- a children’s clothing boutique at the bottom, a salon, and a dessert shop at the top- and they all seem to be closed already, or closing. Achilles doesn’t hesitate to walk in the door, though. A little old shopkeeper is already hurrying forward to evict us, but one look at Achilles’s face stops her in her tracks.

“Oh, Mr. Ashwood!” she cries, in a Scottish accent thick enough to cut with a blade. “Ach, it’s been ages! Whit can I do for ye, sir?”

“You can let me have the shop for an hour, Mrs. Turner,” Achilles says with a smile. “I’m here for a very last minute present for my daughter. The one I already bought for her was, ah, delayed in the mail.”

“Aye, that it would be,” Mrs. Turner huffs. “I swear, I cannae git a single parcel oot the door this close to Christmas. But aye, come in, come in. I’ll lock ye in so ye won’t be bothered.” She does just that, then turns back to us. “An’ who’s this lovely young lass ye’ve brought wi’ ye?”

“My wife, Raleigh,” Achilles says, with only a beat’s hesitation.

“Ah, Sidony’s mam, are ye?” Mrs. Turner asks warmly. “Ach, it’s grand tae finally meet ye.”

“Oh, um…” Should I deny that I’m Sidony’s mother, or deny that I’m Achilles’s first wife? Both? I feel like I haven’t even had the chance to think of Sidony as my daughter because I was so charmed by being her friend. I didn’t give birth to her, no, but the love I feel for her is too bright to contain.

I… I think I’d like to be her mother, if she wanted me to be.

My clear discomfort and awkward silence has stretched on too long. Mrs. Turner covers her mouth, eyes widening. “Och, forgive me. I didnae mean tae pry- ”

“Quite all right, Mrs. Turner,” Achilles swoops in, his voice a little tighter than before. “If you don’t mind, we’ll browse for a bit.”

“O’ course, Mr. Ashwood. I’ll leave ye tae it, then.”

She seems relieved to hurry away, and I feel guilty that I’m relieved to see her go. She was a perfectly nice old woman who put her foot into a far more complex situation than she realized. Hardly her fault.

Achilles is quiet for a long time, so long that I’m afraid the fragile intimacy he showed me the first glimpse of is already gone. But as he starts walking through aisles of handmade children’s clothes, he doesn’t pull his arm out of mine. In fact, he holds me closer than ever.

“What’s Sidony’s favorite color?” I ask, in part to break the silence, in part to help him find what he’s looking for.

“Blue, most of the time,” he answers automatically. “Every now and then I’ll ask and she tells me purple.”

“Blue or purple,” I muse, looking at little dresses and shirts and coats. “She loves going outside- do you think she’d like an umbrella?”

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 says practical now, 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 of useful things,” 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 never hit me.” 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’t feel trapped. Not anymore. To be honest, I haven’t for a while, and I can’t bear to think that he’s likening 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.

When I turn toward the safe house, though, Achilles gives my left hand a gentle tug.

“We’re not heading home just yet.”