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.

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

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

return my eyes to her face again, her hair tightly pulled back so as not to distract

find myself quite moved by her, curious about this noble-and am I imagining

single word that makes me

"Brooklyn."

feet set wide apart, hands in his pockets as he frowns at me. "I told you not to come

close the photo album

I shrug. "You can't expect a girl to

glares at me, and a little smile tugs at my lips as I

do love to

again, clenching his mouth closed after he utters my name, apparently needing a minute to rein in

smile grow. "You're not to come down to the basement. I

pout, seeing how far I

down here," I say, turning my attention back to the wedding album. "For instance," I say, my voice light, "I had no idea you'd consent to get married

QUMS

takes two steps forward and snatches the photo album out of my hand, glaring at me. Then, he glances

for a moment while he stares at the album. "I haven't

reverence.

have a moment to study his tall, muscular form

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

instance, did he need to come down here to yell at me for looking

have to balance out all of the worry, the constant need for control, that

and need for control that,

the photo album, wondering if there is perhaps

"Did you love her?"

my mouth has run away with me-speaking my thoughts

that glare focused on me

back onto the shelf as