Page 27 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

Gia takes a step back, which angers me more because she shouldn’t be afraid of me. Not of me. Her confused gaze stays on me. Her chin lifts. “Then explain it.”

“You want me away from you and the kids, right? What do you think, I’m going to hurt them… hurt you?”

"They're not your responsibility." Her voice carries that same distant tone that's been driving me crazy since she arrived.

"The hell they're not. Your mother asked me to look after you, and by extension, that includes them."

“You can do that without making them breakfast and playing with them.”

“Why do you want me away from them?—”

“It’s not that,” she says with exasperation. “It’s just not a part of your job duties.”

Job. She thinks this is a job? I give my head a shake because she's not completely wrong. I have a duty to Nic and her mother.

"Last year in New York, you could barely stand to be in the same room with me. Now you're making pancakes and playing games with the kids like?—”

"Like what?"

"Like you care." She wraps her arms around herself, a gesture that makes her look vulnerable despite her cool façade.

"Christ, Gia." I run a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to shake some sense into her. "You think I don't care? You think I converted that playroom and stocked it with toys because Nic ordered me to?"

"I don't know what to think anymore." Her voice cracks slightly. "Last year, you couldn’t stand to be near us, and now you’re… you're…"

"I'm what?"

“The point is, I don’t want to disrupt your life. I don’t want you to feel obliged to spend time with us. I’m sure you have your own life, and I don't want the kids and me getting in the way of that."

“You’re not in the way.”

She looks at me like I’m not understanding what she’s trying to say. “The kids are growing close to you… always asking about you?—”

"Good." The word comes out sharp enough to make her flinch. "Maybe I like coming home to something other than an empty house. Maybe I enjoy having breakfast with people instead of staring at financial reports."

She presses her lips together. "We both know that's not true. Last year?—”

"Last year was different."

"Why?" Her eyes search mine. "What changed?"

Everything. Nothing. I can't tell her the real reason I kept my distance in New York, that being near her and pretending Ididn't want her were killing me. That watching her with the kids reminded me of everything I gave up.

The thing is, I should accept what she’s saying and stay away like I did last year. Nothing has changed. I’m still her godfather. Her brother is still my boss and best friend. I’m still ancient compared to her. And yet, for some reason, everything has changed. The need for her is so acute, I can’t hardly breath.

"This is my home," I say instead. "My territory. Besides, you’re the one acting like they can’t be in the same room with me.”

"Me?" Gia's laugh holds no humor. "I wasn't the one who could barely look at anyone. Who disappeared the moment dinner was over. Who treated me like I had some contagious disease."

I hate that she's right. I'd been cold, distant, wrapped in my own guilt and fear.

"You’re giving me whiplash, Max. In New York, you acted like you couldn't wait to get away from me. From us." She gestures between us. "And now you're making pancakes and playing games like we’re one big, happy family."

I deserve her anger, every cutting word. Last year, I treated her like she was radioactive. I’d seen clear as day how I’d hurt her when I'd dodged her attempts at conversation, when I'd made excuses to leave a room. I’d been terrified that one wrong move would expose everything I felt. So I ran. Like a coward. Christ, I was such an asshole.

The anger bubbles up, at myself, at this whole fucked up situation. Here she is, in my home with her kids, and I'm still screwing everything up. The truth is, I’m giving myself whiplash because all the reasons I shouldn’t want her still exist. But this time, I’m losing the battle.

"You want to know why I was different last year?" My voice comes out rough. "Because being in New York, seeing you again—” I cut myself off, knowing I'm about to say too much. I’m still a coward.