The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 490

Mia's POV

What kind of person kisses someone's ear?

Seriously. What kind of person does that?

A normal person would kiss your cheek. Or your forehead. Or—if they're feeling bold—your mouth. Those are the options.

Who does that?

I touch my ear again.

Damn him.

The water starts to run cold. I turn it off. Step out. Wrap myself in a towel.

The mirror is fogged now. I wipe a circle clear with my palm and look at my face again. Better. Cleaner. Still tired, but at least I look like a person now instead of a cautionary tale about mixing champagne and tequila.

I should just get dressed. Something simple. Jeans and a sweater. Mom clothes. Amusement park clothes.

But my hand is reaching for the makeup bag.

Just a little, I tell myself. Just enough to look awake. Just mascara. Just concealer for the dark circles. Just—

I'm doing a full face.

The realization hits me halfway through blending foundation. I've got primer on. Primer. For an amusement park. Like I'm going to a photoshoot instead of standing in line for the teacups with three small children.

What am I doing?

But I don't stop. My hands keep moving—automatic, practiced, doing things they haven't done in months. Bronzer. Highlighter. That lipstick I bought on a whim and never wore because it seemed too bold for everyday life.

The woman in the mirror is someone I barely recognize. Not the tired mother who usually looks back at me. Someone else. Someone who looks like she slept eight hours and drank green smoothies and never cried on anyone's shoulder at 2 AM.

"Mama?"

I spin.

Alexander is standing in the bathroom doorway. Pajamas with dinosaurs on them. Hair sticking up in seventeen different directions. That expression of profound confusion that five-year-olds get when they discover adults doing something unexpected.

"Baby." I press a hand to my chest. My heart is racing. "You scared me."

"Why are you putting on your face?"

"My—what?"

"Your face." He points at my face. At the makeup. "You're putting on your face. You only do that for fancy things. Are we doing a fancy thing?"

"No, I just—" I look at myself in the mirror. At the bronzer and the highlighter and the lipstick that's definitely too much for a Saturday at an amusement park. "—I just felt like it."

Alexander considers this. His head tilts. That gesture he has—the one he got from Ethan, the one that makes him look like a small professor examining a specimen.

"Is it because Daddy's coming?"

The question lands somewhere in my chest. Sharp. Direct. The way children's questions always are.

"No."

"You look different." He takes a step into the bathroom. Then another. His bare feet padding against the tile. "You look like—like when you used to get ready for something."

He shrugs. A small movement. "And you smell different. And your face was shiny. And you always wore the sparkly things in your ears." His eyes move to my ears now. Currently bare. No sparkly things. "Where are the sparkly things?"

"I don't—I don't wear those anymore."

"Why?"

"Because—" I stop. Take a breath. "—because I don't go to parties anymore."

"But you went to a party last night."

"That was different."

"How?"

"It just was."

Alexander is quiet for a moment. That unusual stillness he gets sometimes—so unlike his normal energy, so focused and intent.

"Mama," he says finally. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, baby."

"I think you look pretty." He says it simply. Matter-of-factly. Like he's stating a law of physics rather than paying a compliment. "Really pretty. Like a princess. Like the princesses in Madison's books."

My eyes are stinging.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome." He nods. Satisfied. Then his face changes—that lightning-fast shift from serious to excited that only children can do. "Also I'm HUNGRY! Can we get donuts? The ones with sprinkles? Donuts have HOLES which makes them basically ZERO calories—"

"Alexander."

"—Ethan told me that's not how calories work but Ethan is WRONG because the hole part has NO calories, that's just MATH—"

"Alexander."

"—WHAT?"

Her belly is round and tight, the skin stretched so thin I can see the faint movement underneath sometimes—small kicks and shifts that make her twitch in her sleep. The vet said any day now. Maybe a week.

I took her out earlier this morning—if you can call it that. We made it to the end of the block before she sat down on the sidewalk and gave me a look that clearly communicated this is far enough, we're done here. So we turned around. Came home. She immediately went back to her bed and hasn't moved since.

"You're supposed to be nesting," I tell her. Scratching behind her ear. "That's what the internet says. Nesting behavior. Looking for a safe place to have your babies."

Gas yawns. Shows me all her teeth. Puts her head back down.

"This bed isn't safe. The kids run through here. Alexander almost stepped on you yesterday."

She closes her eyes.

"You're impossible."

One ear flicks. Acknowledging my words. Dismissing them entirely.

I've set up a proper whelping box in the corner of my bedroom. Lined it with old towels and blankets. Put a heating pad underneath, set to low, the way the vet showed me.

Gas has shown zero interest in any of it.

She prefers her bed. Her spot by the window. T

"You're going to have those puppies right here, aren't you?" I rub her belly gently. Feel something move under my palm. "Right in the middle of everything."

Her tail wags. Once. Twice.

I kiss the top of her head. That particular dog smell that you either love or hate, and I love it, have always loved it, even when she's being ridiculous.

"Okay." I stand up. My knees protest slightly. "Stay there. Rest. Grow your babies. I'll check on you after coffee."

She's already asleep again before I finish the sentence.

I head to the kitchen. The coffee maker gurgles. That familiar sound. That morning sound.

I lean against the counter. Close my eyes. Try not to think about the fact that in but I check the clock.

The coffee finishes. I pour a cup. Take a sip too fast and burn my tongue.

From down the hallway, I can hear them. Alexander's voice, still going: "—and THEN we can ride the roller coaster and THEN the spinning cups and THEN—" Ethan's quieter response, something about height requirements. Madison's laugh—soft, surprised, like she's still learning that laughing is allowed.

The doorbell rings.

My heart does something stupid in my chest.

I set down my coffee cup. Smooth my dress. Touch my earrings—the sparkly things—and then the pendant at my throat. Two stars. Soon to be three.

From the hallway, Alexander's voice explodes: "DADDY'S HERE!"