NovelEnglishChapter 78 Chapter 78 Brooklyn Instead, I move to the opposite side of the room, to where the photo albums are.
Sof them are very old-a hundred years or more, even.
The academic inwants to explore those early photographs, but instead I reach for the newer bindings farther down, hoping for sinformation 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.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtFascinated, 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 cfrom 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.
Her dress is long, lace, and clinging the opposite of the one that I had chosen for my own wedding. Well...the one Aden had chosen for me.
I wonder, passingly, if it was an intentional choice, remembering that none of the dresses selected forlooked anything like this.
I return my eyes to her face again, her hair tightly pulled back so as not to distract from her severe expression as she raises her chin and looks proudly at the camera.
I find myself quite moved by her, curious about this noble-and am I imagining it? A bit melancholy?— mafia bride.
My thoughts are interrupted by a single word that makesjump almost out of my seat.
"Brooklyn." Aden's tone is serious and disapproving as I raise my eyes to see him standing at the door, his feet set wide apart, hands in his pockets as he frowns at me. "I told you not to cdown here." I close the photo album languidly, holding his gaze.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm"Well, you wouldn't taketo the stable. I got bored." I shrug. "You can't expect a girl to stay in her room all day, can you?" He glares at me, and a little smile tugs at my lips as I hear a rumble growing in his chest. Goddess, but I do love to piss him off.
"Brooklyn," Aden says again, clenching his mouth closed after he utters my name, apparently needing a minute to rein in his temper.
That little muscle of frustration flickers in his cheek, making my little smile grow. "You're not to cdown to the basement. I was clear about this." I give him a fake little pout, seeing how far I can push it.
"But it's so fun 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 in just a linen shirt Very bohemian of you QUMS Aden takes two steps forward and snatches the photo album out of my hand, glaring at me. Then, he glances down at it, as if surprised.
We're both silent for a moment while he stares at the album. "I haven't looked at this in years..." he says quietly, surprised into a moment of reverence.
I consider him, glad to have a moment to study his tall, muscular form while he's not glaring at me.
His face is lined with years of worry-perhaps more worry than most men his age. He carries a lot, I know, but... I wonder if he carries more than he needs to.
For instance, did he need to cdown here to yell atfor looking through photo albums? What harm, really, was I doing? And what joy does Aden really have to balance out all of the worry, the constant need for control, that consumes his time? The worry and need for control that, indeed, results in his panic attacks? My eyes flick back to the photo album, wondering if there is perhaps an answer there.
"Did you love her?" I blush when I hear myself ask it. Again, my mouth has run away with me-speaking my thoughts before I consider whether it's wise.
Aden raises his eyes suddenly, that glare focused onagain.
He doesn't answer my question, just tosses the album back onto the shelf as if it doesn't matter to him.
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