Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 254

The morning sun shines through the large windows of the dining room as we all gather for breakfast. Miles is feeling much

better, and thankfully, his fever was completely gone when I checked on him this morning. He’s currently perched on my mother’s lap, happily devouring a stack of chocolate chip pancakes that the cook made especially for him.

It seems as though Miles‘ brief bout of food poisoning last night–likely from the sandwich Arthur and I picked up for him on the

way to the airport–has left him ravenous.

“Slow down, sweetie,” I laugh from across the table. “The pancakes aren’t going anywhere.”

Miles ignores me completely, too busy stuffing his face and basking in the attention my mother is lavishing on him. She seems

completely enchanted by him, helping him cut his pancakes into bite–sized pieces and wiping chocolate from the corners of his

mouth.

The sight nearly makes me burst into tears.

Is this what I missed growing up? A mother who would cut my food and clean my face? Who would look at me with such

adoration?

It’s not just about me, though. I don’t even care at this point that I didn’t get to have this as a child. I’m just glad to see Miles

being doted on by grandparents who love him -a dream that I’ve had for him since the moment I held him in my arms for the

first time.

–

“He’s got quite the appetite,” my father comments with a chuckle. “Just like someone else I know.” He glances at Arthur, who is

currently on his third helping of eggs and bacon.

Arthur smiles around a mouthful of bacon. “What can I say? Goes right to the muscles.”

“True enough,” my father agrees, pouring himself more coffee. “I remember when I was your age, I could eat an entire roast by

“You still can,” my mother quips without looking up from helping Miles with his juice. “I’ve seen you do it.”

We all laugh, and I find myself marveling at how… normal this all feels. Sitting around a table with my family–my real, biological family–sharing breakfast and jokes. It’s something I never thought I’d experience, something I’d long ago given up dreaming

I want to savor it until the end of my days.

Suddenly, the dining room door opens, and an elderly woman enters. I do a double take when I see her; it’s the same woman from last night, the one who stared at me so strangely in the courtyard before hurrying away.

She’s dressed more formally now, in a neat gray dress with a white collar, her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of

“Ah, Nora,” my mother says warmly. “Come join us.”