The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 446

Mia

Kyle's phone rings again. The third time in ten minutes. He glances at the screen, then silences it without answering, setting it face-down on the coffee table with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet apartment.

I'm loading the dishwasher, fitting plates into their slots with more precision than necessary, the ceramic edges clinking against each other in a rhythm that's almost meditative. The morning light comes through the kitchen window at an angle that turns the soap bubbles iridescent, tiny rainbows that burst and reform as I work.

"You can answer that," I say, not looking at him.

"It's not important."

"Your business is always important."

"You think my business is what matters most to me."

It's a statement, flat and certain, and something about the way he says it makes me turn around.

He's standing now, no longer on the couch but closer to the kitchen, his hands loose at his sides.

"I know your business matters most to you," I correct. "That's fine. That's who you are. That's who you've always been."

"Then why am I here?"

I reach for the dish towel, dry my hands with slow, deliberate movements, buying time I don't have. "Because—" I start, then stop, then force myself to continue. "Because you have a damn perfectionism tendency and you don't want to waste any unplanned costs."

The words are mean. I know they're mean even as they're leaving my mouth.

His jaw tightens. That muscle jumps.

He crosses the space between us in three strides, and suddenly his hand is on my arm.

He leans down slightly, bringing his face level with mine, forcing our eyes to meet, and this close I can see the individual gray threads in his irises, the way they seem to shift and move like smoke, the tiny scar at the corner of his left eye that he got falling off a bike when he was eight and that I only know about because his mother told me once, years ago, when she was trying to help me understand him.

"What plans?"

"I want to show them the house. It's almost finished. The contractor said we could walk through this weekend."

I feel rather than see him go still behind me.

"Can I come?" he asks finally.

"The kids will want you there," I say, and I watch his face carefully as I add, "Just them. Not me."

And I think about how Kyle has missed so much. How he chose to miss it, yes, but how he's here now.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Thank you."