The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 438

Mia's POV

Sophie appears beside us. The champagne bottle is nearly empty.

"No," she announces. "Absolutely not. We are not ending this celebration in a parking lot like peasants. We are going somewhere fabulous. Somewhere with food and more champagne and possibly dancing."

"It's one in the afternoon," Scarlett points out.

"So? The French eat lunch at one. We are being culturally appropriate."

"You just want an excuse to drink more."

"I don't need an excuse. I'm French. We don't believe in excuses for champagne. We believe in champagne for everything."

Thomas is standing next to Sophie. Close. His shoulder almost touching hers.

"She has a point," he says.

"You're enabling her," Morton observes.

"Someone should."

Sophie spins to face Thomas. Her red dress swirls. "Did you just agree with me?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. It's already there. Swimming in all the champagne."

Scarlett is watching this exchange. Her arms are crossed. Her expression is carefully neutral but her jaw is tight.

"Where would we even go?" my mother asks practically. "Most restaurants don't take parties of ten on short notice. Especially with a dog."

"Eleven," Alexander corrects. "Gas counts."

"Gas is a dog, sweetie."

"She has feelings. She counts."

Sophie pulls out her phone. Starts typing with her thumbs at impossible speed. "I know a place. The owner owes me a favor. Well, several favors. I might have introduced him to his wife. Or prevented his divorce. One of those."

"How do you prevent someone's divorce?" Ethan asks with genuine curiosity.

"By being smarter than everyone else in the room, mon petit."

Three minutes later, Sophie hangs up. "Done. Osteria Carlina. Private room. Two o'clock. They're sending over prosecco as an apology for the short notice."

"We don't need prosecco—" I start.

"We absolutely need prosecco. This is a moment. Moments require bubbles."

Osteria Carlina is the kind of place that doesn't have prices on the menu.

The kind of place where the host remembers your name even if you've only been there once. Where the lighting is perfect. Where every surface gleams.

The private room is upstairs. Exposed brick walls. A long table that could seat twenty but is set for eleven. Candles in the center even though it's daytime. Fresh flowers—white roses and eucalyptus.

Alexander's eyes go wide. "This is SO fancy."

"It's adequate," Ethan says, but he's impressed too. I can tell by the way he's looking at everything. Cataloging. Memorizing.

Madison is still holding her adoption certificate. She set it down once—to get out of the car—then immediately picked it back up.

A server appears. Young. Professional. She doesn't blink at Gas.

"Welcome. Sophie has ordered for the table. If there are any allergies or restrictions—"

"The children," I say quickly. "Nothing too spicy."

"Of course. And for drinks?"

"Water," I say.

"Prosecco," Sophie says at the same time.

"Both," Kyle mediates. "Water and prosecco."

The server nods. Disappears.

We arrange ourselves around the table. Madison insists on sitting between me and Kyle. Alexander takes the seat on Kyle's other side. Ethan next to me.

Sophie and Thomas end up next to each other at the far end. They're still talking. Still close.

Scarlett sits across from them. Morton beside her.

There's maybe three feet of table between Scarlett and Morton. Might as well be three miles.

My mother and Hugo take the remaining seats. They're holding hands under the table. I can see their arms angled toward each other.

The prosecco arrives in ice buckets. Six bottles.

"Sophie," I say. "That's a lot of prosecco."

"It's a lot of celebration."

"There are children."

"The children will have sparkling cider. Obviously. I'm not a monster." She looks at the server. "Do you have sparkling cider?"

"We have San Pellegrino?"

"Perfect. In fancy glasses. They're part of the celebration too."

The server returns with a tray. Champagne flutes filled with sparkling water. She sets them in front of the children with the same ceremony as the prosecco.

Alexander lifts his glass. Studies it. "This looks like grown-up drinks."

"It is a grown-up drink," Sophie informs him. "You're just drinking the sophisticated child version."

"What makes it sophisticated?"

"The glass. And the bubbles. Bubbles are always sophisticated."

He takes a sip. His nose wrinkles. "It's just fizzy water."

"Yes, but you're drinking it from a two-hundred-dollar glass. That makes it better."

"Does it?"

"We will. The night is young."

"It's two-thirty in the afternoon."

"Exactly. Young."

Scarlett reaches for her glass. Drinks. It's her third glass. Or fourth. I've lost count.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are bright.

Thomas is laughing at something Sophie said. His hand gestures as he talks. Almost knocks over his glass. Sophie steadies it.

Their fingers touch.

Scarlett sees it. Her jaw tightens.

Morton sees Scarlett seeing it. His hand moves toward her. Stops. Falls back.

"Scarlett," he says quietly.

"What."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"What do I look like?"

"Upset."

She laughs. It's not a happy sound. "I'm not upset. I'm celebrating. Can't you tell? This is my celebrating face."

She drinks more prosecco. Empties her glass.

Morton refills it. His hand is careful. Steady.

"Maybe you should slow down," he suggests.

"Maybe you should mind your own business."

"You are my business."

"No. I'm not. Not anymore."

"Scarlett—"

"We're divorced, Morton. Remember? You signed papers. I signed papers. We're not each other's business anymore."

Across the table, Sophie and Thomas are debating something about wine regions. Sophie is gesturing dramatically. Her hand nearly hits Thomas in the face. He catches it. Holds it for a second. Then lets go.

They're both laughing.

Scarlett is not laughing. Instead, she stands up and says to Morton, "My sex life is none of your concern."

Well, that’s just great.