The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 401

Mia's POV

My hands came up.

Automatic. Like my body knew what to do before my brain caught up.

My palms hit his chest. Flat. Hard. Pushing.

But Kyle didn't stop.

His mouth moved against mine.

Insistent.

My fingers curled into fists against his sweater. The fabric was soft. Cashmere maybe.

Push him away.

Push him away and leave and never come back to this house. Its empty rooms now were full of ghosts.

But his hands were in my hair now. Tilting my head back. Deepening the kiss.

And I felt my body do something I didn't tell it to do.

My hands unclenched as they eeling the sharp edges of his bones under the sweater.

He's so thin.

The thought came from nowhere. Unwanted.

His mouth tasted like salt. From my tears. Or his. I couldn't tell anymore.

The kiss was wrong.

Not technically wrong. His lips knew mine. Remembered the shape of them. The pressure. The angle.

We'd done this a thousand times before.

But this kiss was so bitter.

His tongue touched my bottom lip. Asking.

I didn't open my mouth.

Just stood there with my hands on his shoulders and let him kiss me like I was something he was trying to memorize. Like he was trying to press me into his skin so he could carry me with him wherever he was going.

More tears came.

They mixed between our mouths. Salty. Warm.

He made a sound.

Small.

Like something hurting.

His hands moved from my hair to my face. Cupping my cheeks. His thumbs brushed under my eyes. Wiping away tears that kept coming anyway.

I just stood there.

Let him take what he needed.

His forehead pressed against mine. His breath came fast. Uneven.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry," he said again. Louder this time. His voice rough. "I'm so sorry, Mia."

I opened my eyes.

His face was right there. So close I could see every detail. The hollow under his cheekbones. The lines around his eyes that hadn't been there four years ago. The way his skin looked almost translucent in the morning light.

We stood there. His hands on my face. Mine on his shoulders. Both of us crying in a hallway that smelled like dust and old paint.

"This is our fate," he said finally.

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