Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 88 – Meeting the Family

When we arrive over an hour later, the boys are thrilled, but everyone else is, I think, feeling the strain. The boys spent the rest of the ride continuing to needle Amelia about little things, despite Victor and my equal attempts at intervention.

I may not like the girl, but it’s her wedding – she doesn’t deserve to be tortured just because the boys are bitter that their father has chosen her over me.

I bite my tongue at this thought, unwilling to admit…well. That’s all beside the point.

As I climb out of the van I can feel a little mist in the air. Curious, I walk a few steps around the van towards a great rushing sound and gasp, taking in the sight of the gigantic waterfall that plunges from a cliff face several stories above us. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

“Whoaaa!” Ian shouts, running over towards the rail that separates the wedding facility from the plunging cataract. “That’s incredible!”

“It’s so cool!” Alvin shouts, following him. “Mom! Can I go over it in a barrel!?”

“What!?” I shout, horrified at the idea. I stride over to them, grabbing both their hands.

“It’s safe!” Alvin whines.

“We watched a documentary about Niagara Falls!” Ian continues the protest.

“None of that,” I say, stern, eager to knock this idea out of their heads. “Absolutely no more conversation on that point. Waterfalls are for looking, not for touching.”

I haul them back to a smirking Victor, who stands by the van. “To be fair,” he says, “at their age I would have had the same impulse.”

“Encourage them any more,” I mutter, “and I’ll shove you into the barrel myself.”

He laughs and then turns away to help Amelia begin to unload the bags. Spotting our own luggage by the side of the van, I bring the boys over to grab it. As we turn back towards the venue, we see a man dressed in black tails walking over to us.

“Madame Ortega, I presume?” He asks.

head,

says, bowing again and gesturing towards the face of the venue. “We have a suite prepared for you and your sons.” I pop up the handle of my suitcase and nod to him again, starting to follow him in to the splendid manor

beautiful hodgepodge of terraces and balconies from individual rooms and suites. The ballroom, I know, from Amelia telling us perhaps a hundred times, is on the roof of the building, a gorgeous space with

it. Amelia’s excellent taste has again won out.

Ian calls behind him,

with this guy!” Alvin shouts as well, pointing to the butler. I peek over my shoulder and see that Victor is laughing again, clearly happy. I smile as well, unable to help

stand of elevators which stretch to the left and the right of the front desk. We take the leftmost elevator, all shiny

before him. “Mademoiselle Jones had you listed for a more junior suite, in the floors below, but when

room I meet the butler’s eye and he gives me a small smirk. I laugh a

the top of the couch, his hands and face pressed against the windows behind it which – oh, wow – look directly into the cascading water. Alvin eagerly follows

to him. “Don’t touch the windows – you’re going

be admired, and we have staff who are used to cleaning much worse than a few smudges from

pull the boys

else, madame?…” the butler asks,

starts for the door, but I stop him with a hand on his arm. “Really,” I say, holding his eyes. “Thank

and nods. “Of course. Anything for a

steeling myself for what is surely going to

woman standing in my doorway – she must have caught it when the butler left, before it closed. She’s a tall woman, about twenty years older than me, with light brown hair coiled into a neat chignon at the back of her neck. She wears a

says, the corner of her mouth lifting into a

“I’m sorry, I don’t know

these,” she says, breezing past me and into my suite. “Must be my grandchildren.” She kneels on the ground and opens her arms to my two

Victor’s family, though I knew it would be inevitable. I

over to her. “Are you our other grandmama?”

in, following close on his brother’s heels. “She’s

laughs, a low and throaty sound. “Well, I am pleased to hear that I am better. But you must call me Mimmi, not Grandmama. That is