Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 60 – Pageantry

The Kindergarten classroom is a whirl of activity and, frankly, I welcome it. We’ve all been cooped up in

Victor’s house for a week, keeping the boys home from school, but finally the media outlets have

relented, turning their attention to more interesting subjects. Or, at least subjects who were willing to

leave the house.

Victor wanted us to stay in for another week, but the boys cried and begged to be let back to school for

the Thanksgiving pageant. I was right here with them.

“Are you ready, little turkey?” I ask Ian, pasting the final feathers onto the upside-down paper bag that

is wearing over his shirt, his head and arms sticking out of holes roughly cut in the sides. His face is

painted with a wide yellow beak over his nose. It’s adorable.

“Ready, mama!” he says, putting his hands above his head.

“Do you remember your song?” I ask.

“Nope!” He says he word just as enthusiastically and I laugh. The boys missed the week in which the

rest of the class learned to sing together, but I didn’t care. As long as they have fun.

“Mama, do I look right?” Alvin says, wandering over in a tall black hat made with construction paper,

complete with a yellow square buckle.

“You look perfect, little pilgrim,” I say, laughing and tugging him close.

“Is papa coming today?” Ian asks, looking towards the door in anticipation. The pageant will be held in

the auditorium, where parents are already gathering to watch and listen.

“No, baby,” I say gently. “He couldn’t come – you know daddy is very busy.” The truth is that Victor

didn’t want to bring the media storm that would come with him. I know that he’s heartbroken to miss it –

Victor is mad for all this dad stuff, especially after missing six years of it – but it was the right choice. I

agreed with him – I want today to be all about the boys as well.

“But Edgar is going to be here,” I say, smiling at them over-cheerfully. “And he’s going to tape the whole

thing, so daddy can watch it later on the tv. And you can sing your song for him – whatever part of it

you remember.”

This seems to brighten them up. They really, really liked seeing themselves on the television the other

day. I laugh, thinking perhaps we have two silver-screen actors in the making.

Slowly, Ian’s face changes into a sly expression. He catches Alvin’s eye and they both nod. I can

almost hear the words passing between them in whatever mind-link or silent twin-speak they’ve

developed.

“What.” I say, narrowing my eyes. I snap my fingers between them, bringing their attention back to me.

“What’s going on. What did you do.”

“Nothing,” Alvin says, shrugging innocently. “We were just wondering…if our grandfather was going to

come to the pageant.”

Ian grins at me as my mouth falls open, horror all over my face. “See, Alvin?” he says. “I knew we could

surprise her.”

I grasp both of their hands and pull them quickly to the corner of the room, where I tuck myself into the

corner and gather them close. “Boys, what did you do? Tell me everything, all of it. Quick. Now!”

They’re surprised and a little frightened by my urgency here. “We just –“ Ian says

“We didn’t mean to –“

“We thought you’d like –“

I sigh, exasperated, and put my face in my hands for just a moment to gather myself. I’ve frightened

them now, and I need them coherent. I adjust my face deliberately into a smile. “It’s okay, chickens,” I

say, looking back up at them. “Mommy just wants to be prepared. What happened?”

“I’m a turkey, not a chicken,” Ian says, a little miffed. Luckily, Alvin sticks to the conversation at hand.

“We heard you and daddy talking the other day, when you sent us upstairs –“

“We knew we weren’t supposed to be listening –“

“But we couldn’t help it, mama –“

“It’s fine,” I say, growing even more impatient. “Just tell me about your grandfather.”

“Well we didn’t know we had a grandfather,” Ian says, growing more excited.

“We always wanted one! And now that we have a dad, and it is so great, we thought it would be great

to have a grandfather too!”

“So we looked him up on the internet –“

“How did you –“

“His name is John Walsh,” Ian says assuredly, “we heard Papa say it.”

“He was very easy to find,” Alvin says, rolling his eyes, “it wasn’t even a challenge.”

Of course not, I think, repeating Alvin’s expression. He’s only one of the most powerful Alphas in the

country.

“So, we sent him an email,” Ian says, shrugging. “We invited him to come to the pageant today. We

thought he would like it.”

“Did he…did he reply?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

“No,” Alvin says, shaking his head. “Which was very rude.”

I let out a whoosh of breath. Maybe he didn’t get the email – he must get thousands of emails every

day – maybe it went to his junk mail –

Or maybe he was out there in the audience right now – in which case –

I feel the panic rising in me and work to keep my breath steady. I take one of each of the boys’ hands

and look them both in the eyes. “Listen to me, boys,” I say, making sure they are paying attention. “I

know that you would like to have a grandfather, but John Walsh…he is a bad man. Okay?”

They both frown at this, unable – I think – to put the idea of a grandfather, who is supposed to be

lovely, together with their idea of a bad guy. “We’ll talk more about it later,” I say, rushing, “but I want

you to promise me that you won’t get in touch with him again – no email, no phone calls, no nothing. At

least without talking to me first.”

The boys look at each other, silently seeing if the other agrees. Then, they both turn to me and nod.

“Okay, mama. We’re sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, babies.” I say. “I should have told you about him a long time ago. That’s my fault.”

They both lean in for a hug and, over their shoulders, I can see their classmates beginning to line up by

the door.

“Okay,” I say, nudging them away. “Go get in line, it’s time to get on stage!”

“Okay, mama!” Alvin says, waving as he runs over to the rest of his pilgrim friends.

“Break a leg!” Ian calls out to me.

“Thank you bab – wait, what?” I turn on my way out the door. “Aren’t I supposed to say that to you?”

“Yes,” he says, his hands on his hips, “But you didn’t. So someone had to.”

I laugh at my indignant little turkey and then dart out the door, determined to get a good look at the

audience before the boys go on stage, in case I have to grab them quick.