Chapter 51
The doorbell rang on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
I was curled up on the couch, still in my pajamas, a book open in my lap that I hadn't read a word of. The week had drained me, and I had promised myself a lazy weekend. No work. No stress. No thinking about Anne or Oliver or any of it.
I smiled as the doorbell rang again.
Caspian had said he had things to do today. Maybe he finished early. Maybe he missed me or maybe he just wanted to see me.
I wasn't happy about it. At all.
I set the book down, checked my reflection in the hallway mirror, and pulled the door open.
It wasn't Caspian.
A woman stood on my doorstep. She had Caspian's eyes, Caspian's sharp cheekbones, Caspian's dark hair. But she was shorter, softer, and very, very pregnant. Her belly was huge, straining against a loose floral dress, and she was holding a half-eaten chocolate bar in one hand.
She didn't smile. She didn't introduce herself. She just looked at me, deadpan, like she was waiting for me to do something.
I stared back. The gears in my head were turning, slow and clumsy. The resemblance was too strong to ignore. The same dark eyes. The same unreadable expression. The way she tilted her head, just slightly, like she was assessing me.
"Caspian...?" I said hesitantly.
Her face twisted into something like disgust. "Do I look like a Caspian to you?"
I blinked. "No, I just thought-"
She sighed heavily, like I had already exhausted her patience.
"Seraphina. I'm his sister. His twin. Older."
She pronounced the word older like it was a title she had earned.
"Oh." I stepped aside. "I'm-"
"I know who you are." She walked past me into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation. She looked around at the tulips, the couch, the book on the coffee table, and nodded slowly. "Not bad."
I closed the door and turned to face her. She was already making herself comfortable, lowering herself onto the couch with the careful deliberation of someone who knew getting back up would be a problem.
"Do you have anything to eat?" she asked over her shoulder. "I've been craving something sweet all morning, and this chocolate bar isn't cutting it."
"Uh... I have some brownies."
Her eyes lit up. "Bring them."
I went to the kitchen, pulled out the box of brownies Caspian had bought at the supermarket, and brought them to the coffee table. Seraphina had already made herself at home, her feet propped up on a pillow, her hand resting on her belly.
She took a brownie, bit into it, and closed her eyes in exaggerated bliss.
"Finally. Some peace. Do you know how hard it is to live with only men?"
She didn't wait for an answer. "My husband is driving me insane. Absolutely insane. He used to be cute, you know? Shy. Blushed when I looked at him. Now he's a mother hen. He follows me around the house asking if I'm okay. He times my bathroom breaks.
He reads pregnancy books out loud to me before bed."
I sat down across from her, not sure what to say. "That sounds... intense."
"Intense?" She snorted. "That's one word for it. I swear, if he tells me one more time to elevate my feet, I'm going to smother him with a pillow." She took another bite of brownie. "I wish this baby is a girl. Everyone does. Another man in that house and I'll lose my mind."
I laughed I couldn't help it. She was chaotic and loud and nothing like her brother, but somehow, exactly like him.
"He's been different lately," she said. "My brother. He's been... softer. It's disturbing."
I didn't know how to respond to that either.
"He's not good with feelings," she continued. "Never has been. Our parents died when we were young, and he decided that caring about people was a weakness. He built walls so high that even I couldn't climb them." She looked at me. "Until you."
I felt my face warm.
"I don't know what you did to him, and frankly, I don't want to know." She set the brownie down and leaned back, her hand resting on her belly. "But I feel sorry for you."
I blinked. "Sorry for me?"
"You have to be with him." She said it like it was a tragic fate. "He's moody. He's stubborn. He doesn't talk about his feelings. He broods. He's a terrible cook."
"He's a good cook." I said.
She raised an eyebrow. "He made you food?"
"He made me breakfast. Almost every day. Still does."
She stared at me for a moment, something flickering across her face. Then she sighed, long and dramatic. "He's never cooked for anyone. Not since Nonna died." She shook her head. "You really are special. Poor thing."
I laughed again at her words. She was so blunt, so unfiltered, so completely unlike anyone I had ever met. She was also terrifyingly familiar, like looking at Caspian through a funhouse mirror.
"He's not the type to give up," she continued. "No matter what. He'll keep coming back. He'll keep trying. He'll drive you insane with his persistence until you either kill him or forgive him."
I looked down at my hands. "He already did that."
"See?" She pointed a brownie at me. "You're already trapped."
I laughed again. It was impossible not to. She was exhausting and overwhelming and somehow exactly what I needed.
She lounged back against the couch, her hand on her belly, and looked at me with those dark eyes that were so much like her brother's. The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside.
"Do you even know who he is?" she asked.
I took a breath. "He told me. He's... he's a mafia boss."
"And?"
"And what?"
"And that doesn't scare you?"
I thought about it. About the way he had looked at me when he confessed everything. About the way he had held me when I cried. About the tulips and the breakfast and the way he walked beside me every night without asking for anything in return.
"He's still the same man to me..." I said.
Seraphina looked at me for a long moment. Her expression was unreadable, the same way her brother's got when he was thinking too hard about something.
"Is he?" she asked.
The question hung in the air between us. I didn't answer. I couldn't.
She looked at her phone then and huffed. "Fifteen missed calls. From my husband. Can you believe it? I've been gone for an hour. He's like a mother hen, clucking and fussing and checking my blood pressure every five minutes."
I smiled. "He sounds like he cares about you."
"He sounds like he's smothering me." But she said it with something soft in her voice, something that betrayed her annoyance. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass."
She pushed herself up from the couch, groaning with the effort. I stood too, walking her to the door.
At the doorstep, she turned to look at me. Her eyes were serious now, the teasing gone.
"Blink if you're being forced," she said.
I laughed again. She's hilarious.
She chuckled too. "I'm serious. If certain someone is bothering you too much, call me instead of 911. I'm much faster." She patted her belly. "Though this little one has made me slower. I'll still send help, eventually."
She sighed, looking down at her phone again. "I'm almost due, you know. Any day now. And he's going to be insufferable when I go into labor. Probably faint."
I smiled. "Thank you for coming. For... this."
She looked at me for a moment, and something in her expression shifted. Warmth, maybe. Or recognition.
"It was fun," she said. "Much better than talking to men all day. Refreshing."
She stepped out into the hallway, then turned back. "I'll come again. If I can sneak away from my husband."
Then she waddled toward the elevator, and I watched her go.
The doors closed. She was gone.
But her question lingered in my mind.
Do you even know who he is?
I didn't know. Not completely. Not yet.
Did I want to?
I wasn't sure.
And that was the scariest part.
? Please vote if you like the story. If you don't, tell me why in the comments, I appreciate it!