Forbidden Temptation My Mafia Fiance's Alpha Father

Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Brooklyn

Instead, I move to the opposite side of the room, to where the photo albums are.

Some of them are very old-a hundred years or more, even.

The academic in me wants to explore those early photographs, but instead I reach for the newer bindings farther down, hoping for some information about Hudson and his upbringing.

I take a few volumes over to the little chair, flipping through.

I smile, recognizing Hudson's face in a few of the first photos, but then frown when I realize that they're too old-grainy old photos, with fashion from the 1980s...

I blink, shocked, realizing that these must be pictures of Aden when he was a child.

Fascinated, I flip through, looking at the people who must have been his mother and father, his family. His original pack.

I quickly flip to the front of the book where I find a picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman, who is happily caressing her pregnant belly.

This, I'm sure, must be Aden's mother. I study her face for a resemblance to her but frown when I can't find it.

Aden's looks, like Hudson's, must likewise come from his father.

Hoping for pictures of Hudson as a child, I put this album down and pick up the next one. I'm shocked, when I flip it open, to see that it's actually Aden's wedding album.

Slowly, I flip through the photos and take in all the details of their beautiful Italian wedding.

It looks terribly romantic, situated at a beautiful vineyard, the couple's private table set up under a wide- branching olive tree.

There is a photograph, right at the beginning, of the beautiful bride, her stunning face quite serious as she looks directly into the camera.

that I had chosen for my own wedding. Well...the one Aden

wonder, passingly, if it was an intentional choice, remembering that none of the dresses

back so as not to distract from her severe expression as she raises her chin and

by her, curious about this noble-and am I imagining it? A bit

word that makes me jump almost

"Brooklyn."

door, his feet set wide apart,

album languidly, holding his

shrug. "You can't expect a girl to stay in her room all day, can

my lips

I do love to

says again, clenching his mouth closed after he utters my

muscle of frustration flickers in his cheek, making my little smile grow. "You're not to come down to the basement. I was clear

little pout, seeing how far I can push

"For instance," I say, my voice light, "I had no idea you'd consent to

QUMS

album out of my hand, glaring at me. Then, he glances down

the album. "I haven't looked at this in years..."

reverence.

glad to have a moment to study his

lined with years of worry-perhaps more worry than most men his age. He carries a lot, I know,

he need to come down here to yell at me for looking through photo albums? What harm, really, was I

all of the worry, the constant need for control,

that, indeed, results in his

back to the photo album,

"Did you love her?"

I hear myself ask it. Again, my mouth has run away with me-speaking my thoughts before I consider whether

eyes suddenly, that

my question, just tosses the album back onto the shelf as if