Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

Chapter 39

#Chapter 39 – Family Drama

The next morning, I wake up on Victor’s couch. It was such a disastrous end to a great date, I think, rubbing my head and yawning. Archie jumps up on the couch, giving me enthusiastic morning kisses, and I pet his precious face, cooing goodmorning to him but trying not to let him lick me quite so much.

“I thought it was my dog,” Victor says, and I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe, smirking at me.

“It was supposed to be your dog,” I say, standing and wrapping the throw blanket around myself. “I can’t help it if I’m just more lovable than you. Poor pup couldn’t resist.”

Victor laughs and whistles for the dog, who trots over to say good morning too. Victor gives him some scratches on his bum and Archie prances happily.

“I’ve increased patrols on your house,” Victor says, straightening up as the dog goes to look for the boys. “I apologize, I didn’t think to have a guard set while you were away. It won’t happen again.”

“Victor,” I say, running a hand through my hair, worried. “She knows where I am now…and she’s nuts. And that’s my professional diagnosis, which I don’t hand out easily.”

“It’s nothing my team can’t handle,” Victor says, turning to the kitchen, confident in his control. “She’s just one woman. If I couldn’t keep you safe from that, I don’t deserve my place as Alpha.”

I follow him into the kitchen, nodding and seeking coffee. I decide to trust him and not push any further, but I have to admit – I’m still wary. Emily is crafty and apparently determined.

“I’ll have a glazier come by this morning, to fix the window,” Victor says, handing me a mug and filling it with coffee. I accept and smile at him.

“Thank you for organizing that. Please send me the bill.”

He huffs and nods sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“It’s my house, Victor, these are my problems.”

“And as your landlord,” he says, handing me the pitcher of cream, “it’s my job to cover incidental repairs.” All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“But this wasn’t incidental –“

“Please, Evelyn,” he says, his voice deep and serious. “Don’t fight me on this. I told you I’d keep you safe. This was a breach of that promise. Let me make it right.”

I consider for a moment, and then nod. “At least let me have you and Evelyn over for dinner tonight,” I say, stirring the cream into my coffee with the spoon Victor hands me. “To say thanks.”

“We would love to,” he agrees.

“I don’t want her in my house,” I hear Alvin whisper to Ian as I walk into the kitchen that evening. They’re peeking through the kitchen window at Victor and Amelia coming across the lawn. Of course, being able to look out the back window means they’re both standing in the sink.

“Well it’s my house,” I say, quickly crossing the room and lifting each boy down from the countertop. “How did you get up there anyway.”

“We climbed mom. Duh.” Ian says, rolling his eyes at me and running for the back door. He pulls it open. “Hi Dad,” he says, pointedly.

“Hello boys,” Victor says, coming in and kissing them each on the head. Amelia follows him in, smiling at the boys and clearly waiting for a greeting that they don’t give. She stands awkwardly for a moment,

a small bouquet of flowers in her hands.

“Amelia, welcome,” I say, moving over to her. “These flowers are so pretty, thank you for thinking of us,” I say, giving her a big smile.

“Victor ordered them,” she murmurs, looking around my kitchen. “It’s very…quaint in here. I haven’t seen it in awhile.”

“Thank you,” I say, working to keep my smile on my face. I know what Amelia, who is wearing ten- thousand-dollar diamond earrings for a casual dinner, thinks of things that are quaint. “Are you guys hungry?! We’re almost ready.”

“I am hungry!” Ian says, jumping up and down.

Victor smiles and puts a hand on his head. “I am too. Are we having, by any chance, jumping beans for dinner?!” With this, he scoops the bouncing Ian up into his arms and pretends to take big bites out of his belly and arms. “I love jumping beans for dinner!”

Ian squeals with laugher as his dad carries him into the living room. Alvin chases after, shouting that he, too, is a jumping bean, wanting to be picked up.

I press a glass of wine into Amelia’s hand as her eyes follow the boys, slightly horrified. She jumps a little, surprised, and smiles her thanks. I move to the oven, checking on the casserole, which is browning nicely on the top. Perfect.

“Do you take oil and basalmic on your salad?” I ask her, taking the big bowl of greens out of the fridge. “Or, something else? I think we have some ranch in here…”

“I’ll just take it plain,” she says, eyeing my kitchen table, where the knives and forks are already set out. “I have to be in Bolivia soon, for a shoot. Are we…eating in here? Would the dining room…” she looks

around.

“I don’t have a dining room,” I say, smiling at her. “I converted it into my home office. But it’s nice and cozy in here,” I say, gesturing to the four white chairs around the little white table, a set that I trash picked and painted when the boys were young and getting too big for their high chairs. I’ve added a stool to one side, so that we can seat five.

“Oh,” she says, realizing her mistake. “That’s…great,” she mumbles, “that way you can work from home.”

“I’d rather work from where you work,” I say laughing, setting plates at the table. “Bolivia sounds amazing. What are you doing there?”

As Amelia tells me about her upcoming swimsuit shoot, I take the casserole out of the oven and place it carefully on the table. Smelling it, the boys rush into the kitchen to wash their hands. Victor happily takes his seat at the head of the table, not bothering to consider if he should defer it to me in my own home. I smirk, knowing I was going to offer it to him anyway.

We all settle down, a happy chatter filling the room as Amelia tells me more about her co-models, the photographers, and the boys tell Victor about their day at school. I heap salad on the boys’ plates, insisting on greens before cheese, and pour Victor a glass of wine before settling happily on my stool.

All is going perfectly well until it doesn’t.

“Mamaaa,” Ian whines, picking plaintively at his salad. “Can I have some of the white sauce? This is terrible.”

“He means ranch dressing,” I say, beginning to push back my stool.

“No, I’ll grab it,” Amelia says, shooting me a smile, “I’m closer.” As she stands up, I’m momentarily grateful that we’re getting along – that she seems to be warming to me – when I see Alvin, who is sitting next to her, smirk.

Time seems to move in slow motion as I see him slip a foot out from under the table, catching Amelia at the knee as she passes by.

The result is disastrous. Amelia, in five inch stilettoes, stumbles and trips. She puts out her hands to catch herself but misses, hitting her face on the counter as she goes down. Alvin gasps, horror filling his eyes as he sees what he has done, looking down at Amelia laying on the floor.

I am instantly up. “Alvin,” I hiss. “We’re going to have a talk about this.” I move to help Amelia, who rolls over on the ground and reveals a gash above her eyebrow, seeping blood. “Oh god,” I say, reaching for the paper towels. “Are you all right?”

“I – I – “ Amelia mumbles, reaching up with a shaking hand to touch the warm blood on her face. “Oh my god,”

“Amelia,” Victor is suddenly at her side, taking the paper towels from me and helping her to sit up. I leave them to it, turning to glare at my boys, who are standing side-by-side with wide eyes and silent lips. I shake my head at them, my glare threatening. I know that they did this on purpose.

Unfortunately, Amelia does too. “That one did it,” she says, pointing at Alvin. “He tripped me, he did it on purpose.”

“I did NOT,” Alvin lies, stomping his foot and bursting into tears. “I DIDN’T!” He screams.

“Alvin,” I say, moving towards him, my mom’s urge to comfort overwhelming my desire to punish.

“Alvin,” Victor’s voice booms out behind us. We all turn to see him kneeling next to Amelia, his face stern as she cries softly and holds the paper towel to her head. “You will apologize to Amelia, immediately.”

“NO!” Screams Alvin, clinging to my leg, overwhelmed. I know that he has done wrong, but my heart goes out to him – he’s clearly freaked out.

“Victor,” I say, hesitating.

“No, Evelyn,” he booms. “He has done something wrong. He has to take responsibility.”

“He didn’t do it,” Ian yells, crying in solidarity with his twin. “It was an accident she just tripped.” Both boys are sobbing now.

“Is this how your sons act?” Victor says, glaring at me as he helps Amelia to her feet. “Lying? Refusing their responsibilities?”

“Are you kidding me Victor? It’s been like thirty seconds – they’re six –“

He shakes his head at me, at the boys, as he and Amelia move to the back door. As they leave, the boys have a total meltdown.

“Daddy doesn’t love us anymore,” Victor sobs, his whole body shaking.

“He hates us, because of her,” Alvin adds, his face red and covered in tears and snot.

“Okay, okay,” I say, trying to breathe evenly. God, how can the whole world fall apart in two minutes? “It’s okay, boys, let’s just all calm down…”

But it’s a long time before they’re calm. They put themselves to bed without supper, even refusing the ice cream I try to tempt them with.

When they’re in bed, I grab my phone and text Victor.

Me: Your boys are devastated, Victor.

He returns my text a moment later, making me wonder if he was waiting for it.

Victor: They wouldn’t apologize, Evelyn.

Me: They’re CHILDREN, Victor! You didn’t give them a chance, storming out of here like that. They’re heartbroken. Please come down – they haven’t eaten a thing all night, they’re worried you don’t love them anymore.

There is a long pause before Victor replies.

Victor: I’m sorry, I have to stay with Amelia tonight. She’s very upset and may have to reschedule her photoshoot. I will come down first thing tomorrow.

I shake my head at this, shocked and angry that he would let them suffer. But suddenly, I realize that this is the first time that he’s picked Amelia over the boys, prioritizing her, listening to her needs. Isn’t this exactly what I’ve been telling him to do, in our therapy calls?

I put down the phone, twisting my mouth as I think about it. I don’t think I’d ever quite put it together before that telling him to work on his relationship might be at my boys’ expense. What was next?