The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 428

Kyle's POV

"You look beautiful."

The words slip past my lips before I can stop them.

Because she does look beautiful—standing here in this particular quality of light that streams through the living room windows, wearing that simple blue dress that somehow makes her seem more radiant than any designer gown ever could. Her hair is pulled back loosely, wisps escaping to frame her face in that careless way that looks deliberate but isn't. Her skin is bare of makeup except for a thin sheen of perspiration from the dancing, and it makes her literally glow, catching the afternoon sun like she's made of something more precious than flesh and bone.

Color floods her cheeks immediately. I watch, fascinated, as the blush spreads from the apples of her cheeks upward across her cheekbones, even reaching the delicate tips of her ears which turn a charming shade of pink that reminds me of roses just beginning to open.

"Don't," she says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't talk like that." Her eyes threaten to slide away from mine, but I hold her gaze with the intensity of my own, refusing to let her retreat.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"I'm only speaking the truth,"

"The truth, huh?"

"Yes."

We keep dancing. The music flows around us, through us, creating a bubble that feels separate from the rest of the world. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alexander start dancing by himself nearby. Small movements. Copying us with that endearing lack of coordination that only small children have.

I can feel Mia gradually becoming less rigid in my arms. My hand on her waist moves with increasing confidence, no longer quite so tentative. I draw her incrementally closer, eliminating a few centimeters of space between our bodies. She doesn't resist. Doesn't pull back.

And I can smell her.

That warm, slightly sweet smell of her skin that I've never been able to forget no matter how hard I tried. It's not perfume. It's just her.

"Have you been sleeping well?" I ask, because I can see the shadows under her eyes even through the glow of exertion.

"I sleep fine."

"Mia—"

"I said I'm fine, Kyle." A warning.

"Okay," I concede. "Okay."

The music shifts into a different song. Still salsa but slower. More intimate. The kind of song meant for lovers, not ex-spouses .

"Do you remember the first time we danced?"

Her eyes lift to meet mine. "The company Christmas party," she says.

"Yes."

"You stepped on my foot three times."

"Four times, actually,"

"What?"

"Four times. I stepped on your foot four times that night."

She pauses mid-step, throwing off our rhythm for a moment. "You were counting?"

"I wasn't counting on purpose. I just remember that night."

"Why?"

"Because every time I stepped on your foot, you made this particular little expression." I demonstrate for her, slightly furrowing my eyebrows and pressing my lips together tightly.

"I did not make that face."

"You absolutely did."

"I did not."

Alexander falls asleep almost instantly, his mouth slightly open, one arm flung over his head. Ethan curls up next to his brother, and Madison settles on the other side, her hand finding Ethan's.

I stand there for a long moment, just watching them sleep.

Then I head toward the kitchen, planning to offer my help with lunch, when I hear it.

A sound that stops me in the doorway.

A sob.

Mia's back is to me, her shoulders trembling. She's standing at the counter, one hand braced against the granite as if it's the only thing holding her up. An onion sits on the cutting board in front of her, barely touched, the knife lying beside it.

She's sobbing. Actually sobbing. Her whole body shaking with the force of it.

My heart clenches. "Mia?"

She spins around, one hand flying up to wipe at her face. Her eyes are red, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's nothing," she says quickly, too quickly. "Just the onions."

But I can see her face clearly now.

"Mia." I cross to her in three long strides, gently taking the knife from her hand and setting it down.

She moves away from me, putting the kitchen island between us like a barricade. Her hands grip the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles turn white.

"No." She holds up a hand, stopping me.

"Mia—"

"I can't do this," she says. "You don't know what it feels like to wake up in the hospital. To ask where you are. Over and over. Why you're not here. Why you left. And to be told that you just… disappeared. That no one knows where you went. That maybe you're dead or maybe you just didn't care enough to stay."

"You don't know what it feels like," she whispers now, "to bring them home. All alone. To realize that you're the only person responsible for two tiny humans who can't even hold their own heads up yet. Learning how to do everything by yourself. Feeding. Changing diapers. Comforting them when they cry. Everything. Without you."

She's openly weeping now.

I want to cross to her. I want to pull her into my arms and hold her while she cries. I want to smooth back her hair and kiss her forehead and tell her I wish so much I were there.