There’s no anger on her face. Just a cool, steady expression looking back at me. She’s confident, if not a little smug.
I clench my jaw, feeling the sting of that small gesture, and I force out a breath.
“Mila…” I mutter, vaguely annoyed but trying to keep my cool. She has me wound up so tight, and I’m starting to think she knows it.
Rather than looking embarrassed or shrinking under my gaze, she doesn’t apologize. “Not here.”
Forcing myself to straighten, like I’m walking off the burn of being denied, I huff under my breath. “I let you perform once, and you get a big head about it.”
At that, Mila grins. “As it should be.”
Something in me wants to be pissed off about her denial, along with the easy way she pushes right back, but despite it all, I find myself mirroring her.
There’s something undeniably attractive about the quiet defiance in the way she chooses herself instead of me, and regardless of the need burning in me, I’m almost proud of that too.
My head and my heart are a mess, confused by what I’m used to and everything I don’t want to miss out on. But above all else, I just want her to stay, and to choose me when she’s ready.
Chapter 18 - Mila
The days blur into each other, becoming almost impossible to mark with dates. Instead, I keep track mentally by the overall mood.
Ivan’s presence shifts in an unpredictable way. Some mornings, he’s distant and perfectly controlled, focusing on business and keeping tabs on his brothers and whatever they have going on. Others, he lingers within sight, drinking his coffee with me and asking questions more like he genuinely wants to know the answers. He comes up with things to do, instead of making me waste away here on my own.
Some days, I can tell he’s struggling to hold himself back, like he’s dying to be closer. His fingers brushing against mine when he hands me something, or the way he holds my gaze a little too long, are all his obvious tells.
I remind myself as often as I can that I shouldn’t look into it.
If anything, it’s just the proximity and the fact that I’m always here, always accessible, and in his space. It’s an inevitable thing, and it doesn’t need to mean anything.
Still, we circle each other like we’re both very aware of the tight rope we’re treading. In some moments, we’re close enough to feel the warmth of each other and whatever this is, only to follow it up with periods of isolation, like we’ve been shocked into remembering the danger of it.
I catch him watching me, and I catch myself perking up when he enters the room. It’s…interesting, but also exhausting somehow.
And now, to make matters worse, it feels like my body’s betraying me.
It started with weird, brief dizzy spells that made me brace myself against the back of the couch when I stood, and now, I hate the thought of eating. Worse, I hate the nausea that follows when I do.
I know it’s just the stress of everything, and with my luck, my body’s paying the price for enduring it for too long. Anyone would feel sick in the position I’m in, not quite a prisoner, but not free either.
“What, does my cooking suck that bad?” Ivan asks as he rinses his dishes off before loading the dishwasher.
Still sitting at the island, chin resting on my palm, I stare down at the eggs on my plate, which are long and cold now. The idea was that they might become more appealing the longer I looked at them, but enough time has passed for me to know that isn’t the case.
I make a noncommittal sound in my throat. “No, it’s fine. I just can’t.”
“You can’t,” he repeats, leaning back against the counter. “You didn’t eat breakfast yesterday either.”
“I haven’t been hungry.”
“You’ve been eating like a mouse the last few days. You should be starving,” Ivan murmurs, brows furrowing. Then, after a moment of consideration, he sighs and takes the plate. “If you want anything in particular, let me know.”
Without energy to argue, I just nod, then I pull myself up and head to the living room, where I stay for a while.
Not bothering to practice today, I stay parked in one place on the couch, head tipped back with my eyes closed. For the most part, Ivan leaves me alone, but that only lasts for so long.
A few hours later, Ivan emerges from his office, and he stands there with his arms crossed like a scrutinizing teacher.
I open my eyes just long enough to catch his subtle frown, and I wrinkle my nose before closing them again. “What?”
