Page 72 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
A part of me—the part that’s been screaming inside my head since I was a kid—is warning me to shut this down. Telling me that she’ll see me as weak or stupid like so many others did. Or worse, she’ll pity me.
I don’t know which one would be worse.
But I love this woman, even if I haven’t told her yet. With that needs to come trust. I can’t keep my past hidden forever. Not from her.
“My mom died when I was young,” I start, the words feeling strange in my mouth. “So I was raised by my dad and a series of nannies. It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes I wished I had a better relationship with him, but strangely, we seem to be getting along better now that we’re both adults. I guess it’s easier to relate to a grown-up version of me.”
I’ve finished washing her back, and now I’m working shampoo into her hair. Paige is limp against me, so relaxed she can barely keep her eyes open. But I know she’s not asleep. She’s listening.
“I had plenty of extended family around anyway. And Luca. We’re close in age, so we’ve always been like brothers and friends. He’s one of the few people that never...” I trail off, my throat closing up around the words. Paige doesn’t say anything, just waits. Giving me time. “I was picked on as a kid. Mercilessly teased, really. By pretty much all my classmates. Some family too, though that was kept more on the down-low.”
I draw in a breath.
“I had a stutter back then. Bad one.”
Paige’s eyes stay closed, and I wonder if she somehow knows that if she looks directly at me, I won’t be able to continue. It’s hard enough opening up like this. Having her eyes on me would make it impossible.
“I had it from the time I was a little kid, so young that I don’t remember ever not having it. I hated it, Paige. I couldn’t controlit. The other kids would mimic me and laugh. Even teachers would lose patience when I kept tripping over my words.”
At that, Paige’s eyes snap open, and I see the fiery anger that I love there.
“Teachers? Are you fucking kidding?”
I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. Just a breath to push the weight off my chest.
“No. Not at all. It was rough.” I shake my head, eyes dropping for a second. “I eventually got rid of the stutter—took years of speech therapy. But by then I was fourteen. Freshman year.”
I let out a slow breath. “So yeah, I dealt with that shit for a long time.”
There’s a pause. Not awkward—heavy.
“It got in my head,” I admit, voice lower now. “Even after the stutter was gone...I still felt like I wasn’t enough.”
The words feel too big in my mouth. Like I’m confessing something I’ve never dared say out loud.
“I don’t think I ever really looked at it too closely before, but...I remember how often I got called dumb. Slow. A joke. Even the few friends I had? Most of them ended up embarrassed to be around me.”
I glance up, meet her eyes.
“I think that shit stayed with me. Messed with how I see myself. Even now.”
“I hate that you went through that,” she says, her voice fierce with a protectiveness that takes me by surprise. “But let me tellyou, I’m impressed with how you got rid of your stutter. That must have been hard.”
“It was.” Two simple words that don’t begin to capture the hell I went through, the hours of practice, the frustrated tears, the rage that built inside me like a pressure cooker about to explode.
By now, I’ve rinsed the shampoo from her hair. She turns around to face me, putting her arms around my neck. “I’m proud of you.”
She gives me a chaste kiss, but her words fill my heart with a tenderness I’ve never known. No one’s ever been proud of me before. Not for anything that didn’t involve violence or intimidation or bringing in money. I’ve never been worthy of pride just for existing, for surviving. Until now.
We get out of the bathtub, and I realize that I feel lighter after telling Paige all that. Like I’ve set down a weight I’ve been carrying for so long that I forgot it wasn’t a natural part of me. Her response helps, too. She didn’t give me pity or judgment. Just understanding. Acceptance.
We go into the bedroom together, pulling on pajamas, which in my case consists of a pair of boxers, and get into bed. We’ve been sleeping together for a while now, so we automatically settle into a spooning position. Her ass is pressed against my crotch, her back against my chest. I loop an arm around her waist, settling my palm flat against her belly. One of the babies pushes against me for a moment, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. My children. Mine.
“Thanks for opening up to me,” Paige says quietly. I kiss her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed skin.
“Thanks for listening. Our kids are going to be just fine with a mother like you.”
“Are they?” she asks, her voice suddenly timid. “Are they going to be okay?”
