The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 127

Chapter 127 Jealousy

Mia’s POV

+25 BONUS

With a sigh, I closed the box and slid it into my bedside drawer, beneath my journal and the Paris guidebook I’d barely opened. I’d deal with my complicated feelings about the gift–and its giver later.

“Mia?” Scarlett called again, her voice closer now. “Are you decen I’m coming in!”

I quickly shut the drawer just as she breezed into the room, a whirlwind of energy and expensive perfume. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, eyes bright.

“You will not believe what Baptiste arranged for tomorrow,” she announced, flopping onto my bed with the casual confidence of someone who’s been doing it since childhood sleepovers. “We’re getting a private viewing of the Musée d’Orsay before it opens to the public. Just us! Can you imagine? All those Monets and Van Goghs without tourists blocking the view.”

“How did he manage that?” I asked.

“Magic? Bribery? Who cares!” She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand to study me. “How was your afternoon? You look… contemplative.”

I shrugged, aiming for casual. “Just taking it all in. Everything.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed slightly. She’d always been unnervingly perceptive when it came to my emotional state. “Mmm–hmm. And this sudden philosophical mood has nothing to do with Kyle showing up out of nowhere yesterday?”

“It might,” I admitted, knowing there was no point in lying to her.

“That’s what Paris does,” she nodded sagely. “Existential crises are the city’s specialty, right after croissants and condescension.”

I laughed, grateful for her ability to lighten any mood. “Speaking of croissants, I’m starving.”

“Room service?” she suggested, already reaching for the tablet on my nightstand. “I’m feeling like… everything on the menu.” “You read my mind.”

As Scarlett ordered enough food for a small army, I changed into more comfortable clothes, trading my day dress for loose pajama pants and an oversized sweater. The twins were particularly active tonight, performing what felt like synchronized swimming routines just beneath my ribs.

We spent the evening in comfortable domesticity, sprawled across the suite’s living area with our feast of French cuisine, watching a terrible romantic comedy dubbed in French on the enormous television. The familiar comfort of Scarlett’s presence, the mindless entertainment, and the excellent food combined to create a much–needed buffer against the emotional intensity of the past two days.

By the time I fell into bed that night, I was too exhausted to think about Kyle, the pendant, or any of the complicated feelings they evoked. Sleep came quickly, dreamless and deep.

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, sunlight streaming through the gap in my curtains. I woke feeling rested for the first time in days. The twins were quiet, perhaps still sleeping themselves, giving me a rare moment of physical peace.

Scarlett had already arranged breakfast on the terrace, the table laden with flaky pastries, fresh fruit, and a pot of defeinated coffee that smelled almost as good as the real thing.

“Perfect timing,” she said as I joined her, already dressed for the day in slim black pants and an emerald green blouse that made her red hair look like fire in the morning light. “The Musée d’Orsay viewing is at nine, and we need to leave by eight–thirty.”

“How are you so organized?” I asked, helping myself to a pain au chocolat that practically melted in my mouth. “I’ve never seen you this efficient at home.‘

“Paris brings out my hidden talents,” she quipped.

1/3

Chapter 127 Jealousy

I bet the Morton’s obsessive scheduling habits are contagious.

+25 BONUS

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the view of Parisian rooftops stretching out before us, the morning light turning the limestone buildings to gold.

“Tomorrow’s the big meeting with Leblanc & Associates, right? Are you nervous?”

“A little,” I admitted. “It’s such an incredible opportunity. Their work is revolutionary, especially in therapeutic environments. Getting a chance to even tour their offices feels like winning the lottery.”

“They’ll love you,” she said with absolute certainty. “How could they not? You’re brilliant.”

Her unwavering faith in me was one of the many reasons I loved her. “Thanks, Sca”

“Just stating facts.” She checked her watch. “Twenty minutes until we need to leave. Do you want the shower first?”

The private viewing of the Musée d’Orsay was everything and more. Walking through the converted railway station without the usual crowds was a surreal experience, like being granted access to a parallel universe where the world’s greatest art was displayed just for us.

I was particularly drawn to the Impressionists, spending long minutes in front of Monet’s water lilies and Van Gogh’s self- portrait. There was something about the way they captured light and emotion that resonated with me on a fundamental level.

“These colors,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else as I stood before a Renoir. “They way they blend together but remain distinct…”

“Like you’re seeing it through a prism,” Scarlett agreed, surprising me with her insight. At my raised eyebrow, she shrugged. ” What? I took Art History.”

“I never said you were,” I laughed. “You just usually prefer your art on Hermes scarves.”

“Fashion is art,” she sniffed, but her eyes were twinkling. “And significantly more practical. You can’t wear a Monet.”

“Not with that attitude.”

After the museum, Scarlett went off for what she termed a “crucial shopping reconnaissance mission,” I opened my laptop and began researching Leblanc & Associates more thoroughly. Their website was a masterpiece of clean, elegant design–exactly what you’d expect from a world–class architecture firm.

I navigated to their portfolio section, amazed at the breadth and innovation of their work. From sleek corporate headquarters to community centers in developing nations, each project showcased their distinctive blend of functionality and beauty.

“Incredible,” I murmured, clicking through to examine the floor plans and specifications.

As I continued exploring their portfolio, a residential project caught my eye. It was a private home in the 16th arrondissement, designed about five years ago according to the date stamp. Something about it resonated with me immediately. The design philosophy statement captured it perfectly: “A home should be both a sanctuary and a canvas–protecting while inspiring, grounding while elevating.”

That was exactly what I had always tried to achieve in my own designs, even in the smallest projects. A space that served both practical and emotional needs, that somehow made you feel both safe and free.

I bookmarked the page, making a mental note to ask Bernard Leblanc about this particular project during our meeting tomorrow. If this was representative of their residential work, I was even more excited about the possibility of collaborating

with them.

My phone buzzed with a text from Scarlett:

Dinner reservation at 7. Wearing the navy dress we bought last week. Morton joining. Thomas unavoidably detained with

business.

I texted back:

Chapter 127 Jealousy

+25 BONUS

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify