Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 172

I feel a flush of pleasure at his praise. “Thank you.”

“And you

have a son together,” Wendy states, leaving behind the subject of my career. “Miles, is it?”

I nod, dragging my lower lip through my teeth. I feel like I’m being grilled, one question after another in quick succession.

“He’s five,” I say, then hesitate, glancing at Arthur. This is still new territory for us–discussing Miles openly as our son. “He’s…

wonderful.”

“Do you have pictures?” Wendy asks. “I’d love to see my grandson.”

Grandson, Another label that catches me off guard. She’s accepting Miles as family, sight unseen. Somewhat touched, I pull out my phone, scrolling through to find a good photo,

“Here he is,” I say, showing her a recent picture of Miles at the park, grinning broadly with his stuffed shark tucked under one

arm.

Wendy takes the phone from me, studying the image. “Hm. He has Arthur’s eyes,” she murmurs, passing the phone to Leonard.

“And his stubborn chin,” Leonard adds, zooming in on the photo. “Definitely an Alpha in the making.

H

I notice Arthur shift uncomfortably beside me. “He’s just a regular kid,” he says, shooting me a meaningful glance. I make a

mental note not to mention Miles‘ disability. Leonard and Wendy don’t seem like the most accepting people. But they’re older, so

I sort of expect that from their generation.

“Here he is as a baby,” I say, showing them a photo of Miles at about six months old, chubby–cheeked and drooling. “And this is

from his first birthday.”

Arthur tenses beside me, and when I glance at him, I see a mixture of pride and something else that I can’t quite read shining in

his eyes. My face heats as I realize that this is the first time he’s seen baby pictures of Miles. But there’s something else in his

gaze, too–a lingering tension, as if he’s hesitant to let his parents see our son

Throughout dinner, Leonard and Wendy continue to ask nonstop questions about Miles–his hobbies, his personality, his

development. I answer each one enthusiastically, surprised and pleased by their interest, even if they never seem very keen on

“He loves dinosaurs,” I say, showing them a picture of Miles at a museum exhibit. “And sharks. Hence the stuffed shark he loves.”

“He has his father’s quick mind,” I agree, smiling at Arthur. But he doesn’t return my smile. Instead, he seems increasingly tense, his fingers tapping restlessly against the tablecloth.