Page 32 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
We’re standing at the entrance of a tent filled with sculptures, and Paige nods toward one nearby. It’s massive, a centaur reared back on its hind legs, its human face twisted in rage as it raises a sword above its head, poised to strike down some unseen enemy.
“How can anyone not like art?” Paige says. “Couldn’t you just stare at that statue all day?”
I grunt in response, but she’s right. It’s captivating. As we make our way around the tent, I find others that catch my eye, but my attention keeps drifting back to the centaur—half man, half beast, caught forever in that moment between thought and action.
“I’ve always loved art,” Paige says as we leave that tent and enter another. This one is lined with framed photographs. “When I was a kid, I was fascinated by the way an artist can create something out of nothing. A blank canvas and some paints can be turned into literally anything. A gorgeous landscape. A self-portrait. A bowl of fruit. Then, as I got older, I grew to appreciate how there’s art in everything. Every advertisement you see, the special effects in movies. Even the logo on your car is a piece ofart. I think that’s so interesting. Humans seek and create beauty in so many ways.”
Her viewpoint is almost poetic.
“Art is a uniquely human experience, and it’s good for the soul,” I respond. I feel vulnerable and exposed for a moment, but Paige’s smile lights up her face, telling me that she likes the admission.
“Do you do anything artistic?” she asks.
My instinct is to shut down, to deflect. No one knows that side of me.
But this woman could be carrying my child. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t think she’s lying. It’s not in my nature to trust someone this quickly, but I can’t see deception in those eyes. I don’t believe she’s a gold digger or even wants me to be the father of her baby.
She might be thawing toward me slightly, and we share a physical attraction that makes my blood run hot when she’s near, but I’m not foolish enough to think that means she’s happy about being tethered to me for the rest of her life.
So, I give her truth, knowing I need to tear down parts of my own walls if I want her to lower hers. I might not be worthy of her or our child, but I’ll be damned if I don’t claim them both.
“I like to draw,” I say. We’re walking around the tent, looking at photographs on display. “Just sketches really. Nothing that would ever make it into an art show. I have a couple of sketchbooks hidden in my closet.”
“Really?” I can tell I’ve caught her off guard, and it makes me smirk.
“I have more layers than you realize. There’s more to me than my line of work.”
“Is there?” Her eyes meet mine, challenging. “I’ve always had the impression that it’s more of a way of life.”
I tilt my head as I look at a macro photography image in front of me, but in my mind, I’m considering her words, turning them over like a blade.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I say finally. “The organization will always be a priority. It’s my family, even the men that aren’t blood.”
“But...doesn’t it bother you?” Her eyes dart around to make sure no one is near enough to overhear our conversation, but she lowers her voice anyway. “The things that your family does?”
“I do those things too,” I say, knowing exactly what she’s asking. “I hurt people when I have to. I’ve killed, Paige. I’ve committed crimes that you can’t even imagine. I’m loyal to the family, and I do what I have to in order to keep the business going.”
This isn’t something that’s discussed outside the family, but Paige already knows who I am. I’m just confirming what she’s suspected all along. It might make her fear me again, but I need honesty between us.
I can feel her eyes burning into the side of my face, and I swallow around a knot in my throat. I’m not ashamed of who I am or the things I’ve done. I’m mafia through and through, blood and bone. But my chest feels hollow when I imagine becoming the object of her disgust after the small progress we’ve made.
But she surprises me.
“Tell me about your sketches,” she says.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I can’t assume this means she accepts my lifestyle, but she’s not shrinking away in fear, which is encouraging.
“I started doing it when I was a teenager. I had to take an elective art class in high school to get my diploma, and I didn’t expect to give a damn about it, but I ended up enjoying it. My art teacher was a good guy that encouraged me to explore the darker themes in my work.”
“Darker themes?”
We’ve just moved into a tent full of paintings, and I point to one nearby of a bloody battlefield, featuring severed limbs and blood-soaked earth.
“This is right up my alley.”
“So, you draw things related to your...profession.”
I nod. The crowd has thinned out, leaving only a few stragglers in this tent, none close enough to hear us. I can speak freely.
