another reason to stay, to return to him.
Mila exhaled softly. “Just be honest with yourself.”
“About what?”
Her expression softened. “About the fact that you’re no longer trying to avoid this.”
She paused. “You saw the photos. The woman from the café.”
“That proves nothing.” I didn’t believe that as much as I wanted to.
“No,” Mila agreed. “It doesn’t.”
The café noise swelled briefly around us. Cups clinked. Someone laughed near the counter.
Mila wrapped both hands around her coffee. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“I know.” And somehow, that made this harder.
“But before this goes any further, you need truth. Not whatever story you’ve built from half-finished conversations.”
I looked down at the table. “And if I find out?” My throat tightened. Part of me already suspected the answer.
Mila studied me for a moment. “Then at least you’ll know.”
Silence settled between us.
Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to find him.”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t need to.
Mila let out a long breath. “Then be smart.”
I almost laughed at that. Smart had disappeared from this situation days ago.
I stood, pulling my coat back on. “Thank you.”
“For the coffee?”
“For seeing me before I was ready to.”
Her expression softened. “You’re my family, Luka.”
I nodded. Then I stepped back into the freezing Milan air.
Training schedules. Federation pressure. Olympic expectations. I should have been thinking about any of them.
I found myself thinking about Dean Foster.
About the way he kept stepping closer.
About the fact that every opportunity to push him away had somehow become another reason not to.
Mila was right.
Something had already changed.
