The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 413

Mia's POV

"Scarlett," I hissed.

But she was grinning. That wicked grin that meant she was enjoying herself far too much.

The string quartet had shifted into something more structured. Not the ceremony music yet. But getting close. That particular transition from background noise to actual performance.

People were settling into their seats. The murmur of conversation was fading. Being replaced by that expectant hush.

Sophie was still standing. Her red dress catching every possible ray of afternoon light. She turned in a slow circle. Taking in the venue. The roses. The silk. The chandeliers hanging from trees like someone had decided gravity was optional.

"This is magnificent," she announced to no one in particular. "Absolutely magnificent. Though I would have used more peonies. Roses are beautiful but predictable."

"Nobody asked for your opinion on the florals," Thomas said.

"That's what makes it so valuable."

Thomas opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Kyle's hand came up. Touched Thomas's shoulder. Just once. Brief.

"Don't," Kyle said quietly. "She'll win."

"I always win," Sophie confirmed cheerfully.

Alexander had twisted around in his seat again. His eyes were enormous. Fixed on Sophie like she was some kind of exotic bird that had just landed in his vicinity.

"Auntie Sophie is a princess." he asked.

Sophie's entire face transformed. " Yes I am! My sweetheart. "

Kyle was still standing beside Thomas. Not moving. His hands were in his pockets. His attention fixed somewhere over my head. On the altar maybe. Or just on nothing.

The suit did make him look better. The fabric was good quality. Dark charcoal. The kind of gray that looked black in certain light. His shirt was crisp. White. Perfect.

"Did you put on makeup?" I asked.

Kyle's eyes finally found mine. Just for a second. Then away again.

"Yes," he said.

"You're wearing makeup."

"Stage makeup. Linda applied it this morning."

"Linda did it well"

His mouth did something. Not quite a smile. "Dying men can't wear makeup?"

"Rich dying men can wear whatever they want."

"That's the only benefit."

The words hung between us. Heavy. Nobody moved to pick them up.

Scarlett cleared her throat. Loud. Obvious. "Well. This is getting morbid."

"Death is morbid," Kyle said. "There's no way around it."

"You could at least try to be less depressing at a wedding."

"I'm wearing makeup. That's my contribution to not being depressing."

Sophie clapped her hands together. Once. Sharp. The sound cut through the conversation like a knife.

"Enough!" She pointed at all of us. Her finger moving in an arc. "No more death talk. No more sadness. We are at a wedding. A celebration of love and commitment and overpriced flowers."

"Sophie---" Thomas started.

"No. I'm serious." Her voice had shifted. Gone from playful to something harder. More certain. "Starting today---right now---we're going to celebrate. Every week. All of us together."

"Celebrate what?" Morton asked.

"That Kyle is still alive."

The silence that followed was enormous.

Kyle's face went very still. "Sophie---"

"No arguments. Every Sunday. We meet. We have dinner. We drink wine. We toast to the fact that you survived another week."

"That's---" Kyle stopped. "That's morbid."

"Life is morbid. We're making it fun."

"I don't want---"

"I don't care what you want." Sophie's voice was firm. Final. "You're dying. Fine. We can't stop that. But we can celebrate every day you're not dead yet. Every week you keep breathing. Every moment you're still here with your children."

"That's not how group decisions work." Thomas said.

"It is when I'm making them."

"You're impossible."

"You keep saying that like it's an insult."

"It is an insult."

"Then you're using it wrong."

Kyle's hand came up again. Touched Thomas's arm. "Let it go."

"She's being ridiculous."

"She's being Sophie. It's the same thing."

Sophie beamed. "See? Kyle understands."

The string quartet had stopped. Complete silence now. Everyone was seated. The garden was full. Five hundred people arranged in neat rows. All facing forward.

Waiting.

A man in an expensive suit walked to the center of the altar. The officiant, presumably. He carried a small leather book. His hair was silver. His face kind.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. His voice carried across the garden without microphones. Trained. Professional. "Please rise for the bride."

The rustling was immediate. Five hundred people standing in unison. Fabric rustling. Chairs scraping slightly on grass.

Sophie grabbed my hand. Pulled me up.

I stood. My legs felt wrong. Heavy.

The children stood too. Alexander on his toes. Trying to see.

And Kyle---

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