Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

Chapter 36

#Chapter 36 – A New Pup

“That’s your dog,” I say, my fingers pressed against my temple as the puppy whines in the back seat. The boys fuss over him, fighting over names.

“We are going to call him Lucky,” says Alvin. Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

“No. Slug!,” says Ian, laughing.

“You are not naming him Slug,” I say, angry, twisting to glare at the boys. “He has to live his whole life with that name.”

“If it’s my dog,” Victor says, smirking, “Then why do you care?”

I roll my eyes, murmuring “Fine, do whatever you want. But have fun explaining to your constituents why their First Dog’s name is Slug.”

Victor nods, considering. “True. Boys! Slug is off the table.” Alvin cheers and Ian moans.

“Seriously, Victor,” I say, turning to him. “I don’t have the time or the energy to take care of what is essentially a third child. The dog stays with you, in your house.”

He laughs softly and nods. “It’s fine, Evelyn – the dog stays with me. I have a full household staff – we can handle it. It’s just a puppy.”

“Just a puppy,” I say, mocking. “That’s what you thought when you brought these two home,” I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb, “and then called me in a panic saying they were wrecking your house.”

“Ah, that was just first-night jitters. We figured it out.”

With that, we pull into Victor’s driveway just as the sun is starting to set. “Mama, can we stay and have dinner with the doggie? I want to eat out of a bowl on the floor with him!” Victor says, clutching the poor creature to his chest as we walk up the driveway.

“Whatever you want, Ian,” I say, smiling graciously at him. “Stay with the dog in your dad’s house as long as you want.”

“I want to stay too! I want puppy chow!” Alvin says, trying to grab the dog from his brother. Poor pup!, I think as it looks at me with wide eyes. But also, not my problem.

When I come in the door, I see Victor standing by the kitchen island reading a note.

“What’d you get?” I ask, moving to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.

“Note from Amelia,” Victor says, looking off into the distance.

“Oh?” I say, studying his face. He’s suddenly glum after being so cheerful all day. “Is everything okay?”

“She’s off to Milan,” he says, shaking his head. “For a couple of days with her girlfriends. Says she needs to ‘get some space.’”

I grimace as I twist open my bottle’s cap. “Guess it’s a good thing she wasn’t here for the arrival of the puppy. Might have sent her overboard.”

Victor hums, noncommittal, but I can see the frustration on his face. “Okay,” I say, deciding to leave him to it. “I’m going to check on the boys, and then head home.” As I make my way to the living room, Victor takes his phone out of his pocket.

“Okay, boys,” I say, leaning against the door frame and smiling at them. “You’re going to stay here for supper and play with the puppy?”

Both boys nod but don’t look at me, too distracted by the pup that sits on the floor between them.

“I want to call him Lizard,” Ian says, drawing a string in front of the dog, trying to get him to play.

“No,” Alvin says, “Merlin.”

I laugh lightly and watch them for a few more minutes before sneaking out. As I go, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I check it quickly.

Ty: Evelyn, we just got a call from your client asking for an impromptu meeting. He says you didn’t pick up. Would you be available for a call?

s**t, I think, and hurriedly reply.

Me: Yes, just give me a few minutes to set up. Tell him I’ll call him through the safe line.

Ty sends me back a thumbs-up emoji and I hurry into the kitchen.

“All right, Victor?” I ask, stowing my phone away in my purse.

“Yeah,” he says, running a worried hand through his hair. “Are the boys in there with the dog?”

I nod and smile. “Please don’t let Ian name it Lizard.”

Victor quirks an eyebrow at me. “No promises,” he says. “It’s my dog, after all.”

I laugh and wave as I head out the door.

Ensconced in my closet, I twirl the numbers on the old rotary phone, dialing the line at the office that connects directly to Victor’s cell. It rings several times before he picks up.

“Hello?” His mechanized voice sounds a little harried.

“Hi,” I say. “I apologize for missing your call earlier. Do you have a moment to chat now?”

“Yes,” he says, “and it’s fine, I apologize for requesting this unscheduled appointment. I’m just…having a bit of an issue with my relationship.”

“Go on,” I murmur, settling in amongst the boots on my closet floor.

“My girlfriend, she’s taken an impromptu trip to Milan. She didn’t even tell me about it – just took off while I was out for the day with my children.”

“Interesting,” I say. “Can you tell me in more detail about why this upsets you?”

He scoffs, as if it should be obvious. “Beyond the fact that she didn’t tell me, which seems common courtesy, she cited the fact that she’s getting away from the ‘chaos’ of our life as her reason for needing a break. I’m worried that if she can’t handle this chaos,” he hesitates, “that…well, that she’s not going to be willing to add more to the chaos, in terms of another child.”

“I see,” I say, twirling the rotary phone’s chord around my fingers. “This sounds like you two have different priorities. She wants freedom and fun, whereas you seem to be very focused on another child. Does that sound correct?”

“Yes,” he says, after a moment of thought.

“And you’d like her to be on your page?” I question.

“Yes,” he says, more definitive.

“Well unfortunately,” I say, laughing a little, “that’s unfair, and it’s not going to work.”

“What!?” He’s surprised my answer, I assume because he’s used to everyone falling into step with his own Alpha desires.

“You’re not treating her like a full person,” I say, gently. “You are both whole people in this relationship, with different wants and needs. It sounds to me like every time she tries to express what she wants, you punish her and demand that she adhere to your terms.”

“That’s a little unfair,” he growls, but I interrupt.

“Is it?” I ask. “Or is it kind of ‘your way or the highway,’ as the saying goes? I wonder how your relationship would change if you spent more time listening to what she’s asking for, and consenting to give it to her.”

“But we agreed, from the beginning, that we were going to start a family. It seems like more and more, these past months, she’s been moving in the opposite direction.”

“I hear your concerns there,” I say, working to show him that I understand. “But I don’t think the solution is to punish her for taking her space. My advice would actually be to do the opposite. Call her and let her know you hope she’s having fun, send some flowers and wine to the hotel at which she’s staying. Show her you also prioritize her selfcare.”

“Won’t this just encourage her to continue her bad behavior?”

“On the contrary,” I say, a little stern. “It will teach you the consequences of your bad behavior. Every time you push her so much that she has to go to Europe for a break, you’re out the cost of flowers and champagne. Also, probably the flight, the hotel, dinners….or, did she pay for those herself?”

Victor laughs lightly, considering the truth of this. “Look,” I say, continuing, “I’m not saying that you shouldn’t keep trying to talk to her about your mutual goals. But I am saying that punishing her for taking some time and space isn’t going to have the desired effect.”

“I see,” says Victor. “And when she comes home?”

“Again, continue to try to develop a vision for your life that you both agree to. If she wants freedom, and you want family, and you can’t find a space between those two opposites, then you two might be doomed.”

I chuckle, trying to keep it light with such a dramatic statement, but I realize, suddenly, that Victor is not laughing on the other end of the call.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I was just being hyperbolic – there’s so much you can –“

“No,” he says, sternly interrupting. “Thank you for this. I’ll send the flowers, as you suggest. But you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

I grimace as the phone clicks, breaking the connection. s**t. Have I pushed it too far?

That night I wrap myself up in my blankets on my couch, ready to get cozy and watch some trash TV, trying to ignore the quiet of the house. The boys called earlier, begging to stay at Victor’s for the night so that they could be close by the dog. I agreed, but asked to talk to their dad.

“Don’t let them stay up all night,” I say when he comes to the phone. “They need to sleep, and puppies sometimes have difficult first nights home –“

“It’s fine, Evelyn,” Victor says, all control. “They’ll get sleep. I’ll take care of it.”

Still, I worry for them. We have so much to do tomorrow, and if they don’t sleep…

I stay up for a while, the tv blaring, but unable to pay attention to it for my worries about the boys. Then, suddenly, I hear a faint whine outside my house. What? I move to the doorway, wondering, a little afraid. There’s a soft scratching at my door.

I pull the door open and see Beta Pete standing before me, holding – of course – the little puppy.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says, “he just ran up on the porch and started scratching at your door before I could stop him.”

“No, it’s fine, Pete,” I say, looking at the sad, scared little puppy, with his big brown eyes.

“I’ll take him back to the big house,” Pete says, turning.

“No,” I say, sighing and reaching out my hands. “Give him here. He misses his mother, and he’s not going to get anything close to that over in that madhouse.”

Pete laughs and hands the dog over to me. I give him a grateful smile and head back to the couch.

“Come on, puppy,” I murmur, kissing the puppy’s soft fur and petting his little head. “I get it, you need a mama. Not all those crazy boys.” We settle down on the couch and he falls right to sleep, his head cradled in the crook of my arm.

As the pup drowses and I find my own mind wandering, wondering about the boys sleeping in their bunk beds, about Victor, in his office, working late. Surely, they’ll notice the puppy is missing soon. Victor will probably be down here in a few minutes, looking for him.

I reach to the coffee table, where I’ve left a tube of my favorite red lip gloss. I quickly apply it, pursing my lips, refusing to think about my reasons for putting it on.