Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

“Wowww!” Ian says, wrapping his fingers into the fabric of her black beaded dress. “Mom, can we

please come?”

“Please please pleeeease,” Alvin begs, turning puppy dog eyes at her.

It breaks her heart a little bit and she bites her lip, looking down at her boys, not knowing how to

disappoint. Victor saves her, though, stepping out of the limo.

“No, boys,” he says, putting his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo. “Not tonight. We’ll take you out for a

big fancy dinner some other time.”

Evelyn feels her insides go warm at the sight of him, standing there, so tall and fit in his tux. Damnit,

but he’s a dream. Maybe she should just screw dinner and take him upstairs.

Victor smirks at her, apparently sensing the direction of her thoughts. His eyes flick over her in the

floor-length dress that hugs her every curve before spilling onto the ground. When his gaze comes

back up to meet her eyes, she knows he has the same idea.

“It’s unfair,” Ian says, collapsing bonelessly to the wood of the porch in his apparent agony. “We never

get to go anywhereeeee.”

“Yeah and all our food sucksssssss,” Alvin says, throwing his head back to vent his misery.

“Hey, you said you liked my grilled cheese,” Evelyn says, teasing him.

“I did,” he says, frowning and turning jealous eyes to the limo. “But I want to eat grilled cheese in that.”

Victor laughs, coming up the porch steps. He has realized that the boys aren’t going to let their mom go

without a fight, so he’ll have to steal her away. He holds out a hand, which she accepts.

“You have to be patient, boys,” Victor says, pretending to be stern. “I’ll take you in the limo for your

birthday, and you can eat anything you want.”

“McDonalds!” Ian says, jumping up from his prone position, apparently healed by this magnificent idea.

“No, Taco Bell!” Alvin says, clasping his hands together in joy.

“Seriously?” Victor says, frowning at them as Evelyn laughs and comes to his side. “I offer you the best

food the city can offer and you want to take the limo through the drive-through?”

“Yes!” Both boys shout, throwing their hands in the air.

Their parents laugh.

“Okay,” Victor says, shaking his head at them. Then he turns his face to Evelyn. “I blame you for this,

feeding them junk for all these years. They have terrible palettes.”

“Ohhh, I’m so sorry,” Evelyn says, standing up on her tiptoes to bring her face close to his, pretending

an apology she doesn’t feel. “I would have fed them fois gras, of course, but our years of poverty got in

the way.”

With that, she flicks him lightly on the nose and heads for the limo, calling over her shoulder. “Come on,

we’re going to be late!”

Victor laughs, following her. As they leave, Evelyn almost hangs out the window of the car waving

goodbye to the boys, so much so that Victor has to take her by the hips and pull her back in,

murmuring to her about the danger of errant tree limbs.

She turns to him, biting her lip. “Can’t we go back and get them?” she says, her voice pleading. “They

would have so much fun going to a fancy restaurant – I could get them dressed so fast –“

Victor laughs at her and pulls her close. “Next time,” he says, giving her shoulders a little shake when

he sees her pout. “Honestly, most moms would relish the chance to get away from their kids for a

night.”

“Most kids are boring,” Evelyn says, rolling her eyes at him. “Mine are funny. Hey!” she spies the bottle

of champagne cooling in the limo’s mini bar as the car picks up speed. “Is that for me?”

Victor nods and reaches for it, pouring them both a glass. She smiles at him, perfectly happy as they

clink their glasses together.

“To us,” Victor says, smiling at her with so much joy and excitement he feels barely able to contain it.

“To us, and to our family,” Evelyn responds, sharing the emotion. “As it is now and…whatever it looks

like. In the future.”

Victor’s smile grows as he takes a sip of champagne.

The restaurant is gorgeous. I almost gasp as we step inside of it, so overwhelmed am I by the splendor

in front of me. Everything is creamy white linen, shining silverware (made of actual silver), and waiters

bustling around with white gloves and cummerbunds.

“Oh my god,” I say, spinning to look up at the incredible ceiling with its eight crystal chandeliers. “Victor,

this is too nice.”

He frowns at me, but I can tell he’s not actually displeased with me as he pulls me close. “Too nice?”

He asks. “What does that even mean?”

I laugh up at him, letting him press me closer to his side.

“I’m not used to places like this,” I say, looking around even more. “I didn’t even get to go to them as a

kid – I only went once, with Joyce. I had all the lessons, of course, about how to act in places like this –

which fork to use, where to keep my napkin at all times – but it was all practice.”

“Well,” Victor says, shrugging, pleased to see me so happy. “Now you get to put it into action.”

“Oh my god,” I say, my eyes going wide as a new idea suddenly occurs to me. “Do you think people will

think I am an escort?”

Victor bursts out laughing at this. “Why would they think that?” he asks, and then, before I can answer,

“and why do you look so happy at the idea that they might?”

“I don’t know,” I say, laughing and looking around. “I’m just dressed so nicely, and this just seems like

the kind of place where that sort of thing happens. Do you think any of these women are escorts?” I

ask, peering into the faces of my fellow guests.

She turns to him, biting her lip. “Can’t we go back and get them?” she says, her voice pleading. “They

would have so much fun going to a fancy restaurant – I could get them dressed so fast –“

When I spy the perfect candidate, I lean close to Victor to whisper. “That one,” I says, nodding towards

an old man and a very young blonde. “She’s definitely an escort.”

When I spy the perfect candidate, I lean close to Victor to whisper. “That one,” I says, nodding towards

an old man and a very young blonde. “She’s definitely an escort.”

Victor laughs and tightens his arm around my waist. “You can be my escort tonight,” he murmurs into

my ear. “If you’d like to be.”

I bite my lip, enjoying the feel of the shivers that run up and down my spine. But when I turn to Victor, I

look at him with a serious face and half-lidded eyes.

“Baby,” I say. “You can’t afford me.”

His eyes travel hungrily to my lips, and I can almost hear him think the hell I can’t.

Suddenly, the maître d’ clears his throat. “Your table, sir,” he says, bowing us towards the center of the

room.

I stare up at the incredible chandelier that’s positioned directly over our table, enjoying the way it

fractures the light into a thousand tiny golden rays. Victor tucks my chair in beneath me before heading

to his own.

The table is small and sparsely laid, with only a little bunch of tea roses in the center for decoration. But

I barely look at it, so happy am I to stare at this gorgeous man across the table from me.

“No menu tonight,” Victor says excitedly, taking his napkin and laying it in his lap. “I called ahead and

ordered for us.”

“Oh,” I say, raising my eyebrows, “exciting. I love a surprise.”

Victor winks at me. “It’s going to be quite a night for surprises.”

“Really?” I say, raising my eyebrows and pausing as I move to put my own napkin in my lap. More

surprises? What else could there be in store?

Then, suddenly, I feel my stomach condense upon itself as I realize that something is a little odd about

this place. I look around the room, noting the sparse attendance – so rare, for a Friday night, when a

place like this should be packed. I note the waiters, at least a dozen of them, standing at the side of the

room staring at our table – ready to wait upon our every need. Why just our table, though?

My eyes flick around the room, picking up on everything that seems perfectly tailored to us, this couple

seated alone at the very center of the room. I notice the music, which is Victor’s favorite aria; the

flowers, which are my favorite shade of creamy blush; the photographer barely disguised behind a

plant –

The photographer – my eyes go wide – a photographer –

“Victor,” I say, suddenly panicked. “What is this?”

“Evelyn?” he says, concerned as he reaches out a hand towards me. “Are you all right? It’s just –“

“Victor,” I say, leaning away from him in the chair, feeling like a spooked filly ready to run. “Are you…is

this…”

His frown deepens and I suddenly feel – I can’t even –

I lean forward, flattening both of my hands on the table.

“Victor,” I hiss, “is this a proposal!?”