Chapter 6
Mila
“ Thank you,” I tell the waiter as he pours my glass of Merlot. I sink into my seat and try to look relaxed. The show is over and my painting was sold, but not to my father. I made him and Dom promise me they would not buy it. I needed to know my work was valuable to someone who didn ’ t love me.
“ What did you think of the show, Dad?” I cross my legs, tighten my abs, and brace myself for the conversation.
Greg Michelson, my father, is as charismatic and manipulative as any lawyer should be. He ’ s fit, wears designer suits, and his now graying hair is styled back, not a strand out of place. He sits tall, claiming any chair like his throne of power. Dad ’ s very good at listening; he has to be in order to make two enemies decide to work together. Dad can find the smallest of things you care about and control it. But I still love him, and he loves me. To protect me, he has always kept me at a distance and sent me to exclusive schools. He wants his enemies to believe that I am merely an accessory he doesn ’ t care about, but I know it ’ s all just an act.My father is scary, but there are men out there who can strike fear into even him.
Dad grabs his napkin and wipes the corner of his lip. “ It was great, just like everything you do, sweetheart.” He grins, his eyes scanning our private room. His security team is just outside.
“ I agree,” Dom adds. He stealthily slips his hand under the table and rests it on my bouncing thigh.
My father glances at him. “ I ’ m happy you could join us, Dominic. I can always rely on you to look after Mila; you ’ ve always been like the son I never had.” Dad dips his chin, casting a dark shadow over his eyes.
Dad has made it a point never to show me his anger, but I know it exists. You can ’ t be the contract maker and enforcer to the underworld without being very good at making threats.
My lungs expand, remaining stretched from the tension. This zipper on my dress better hold! Who needs a corset when your own ribs are revolting against you!
Dom grabs his water. “ Absolutely, sir.” He takes a sip and grins.
That ’ s a good idea, drink some water. I reach for my glass with trembling hands. There, that ’ s it, take a sip. Wait! Slow down. Don't choke. Good, now calm down.
“ How are your classes going, Dominic? I ’ m sure you ’ re ready to finish them and come to work with your father and me. You have a bright future ahead of you.” Dad picks up his silverware with the elegance and grace a French Renaissance court would admire and praise.
Dom sits back and relaxes. “ It ’ s easy work. You and my dad prepared me well.”
“ I know.” Dad grins, although I ’ m not sure if it's due to Dom ’ s success or the Michelin-star chef meal he ’ s sinking his teeth into.
“ How ’ s the expansion going?” Dom asks. “ My Dad ’ s been away longer than expected.”
Dad waves his hand. “ Everything is going according to plan. Our European offices will be ready for you to oversee. Are you eager to move to Europe?”
What?
My eyes briefly meet Dom ’ s. This is news to me.
He pats my thigh reassuringly. “ Yes.”
“ You ’ re expanding your offices to Europe?”
“ Oh yes, Dominic is going to be heading it.” Dad grabs his wine and takes a sip.
“ You ’ re leaving?” I choke.
“ We ’ ll talk about it later,” Dom replies under his breath.
My chest sinks an inch. Was he just going to leave me like Dash did? I blink away tears and pocket this conversation for when we ’ re back at school. I came here on a mission, and I will not watch it be derailed.
Dad smirks, small wrinkles crinkle in the corner of his eyes. I see my opening. “ Speaking of classes, Dad, I…um…I wanted to talk to you about my school schedule.” I clear my throat.
Dad pauses mid-bite. “ Is everything alright?” His eyes snap to Dom in question.Our server appears to refill our sparkling water at the most inopportune time. I swallow, the sound amplifying against the heartbeat in my eardrums.
I glance from Dad to Dom. What ’ s that silent look they just shared? Oh, I understand now. Dom hasn ’ t just been my friend; he ’ s been a spy for Dad. The trust I have in Dom fractures slightly like an iceberg beginning to dissipate and melt ever so slowly. And the slight nod Dom just gave my father makes me feel less numb. My emotions start to swirl like frigid waters forced to merge with polluted waves.
I wonder if he told my father about the times he ’ d pick me up from Silverstone and go drinking with me?
I extend my hand towards my wine glass and drink a mouthful.
“ Darling?” Dad presses, “ What about your classes?”
Be honest, little fox. I imagine Dash whispering to me. I set my glass down, filled by anger that Dash is still my fuel.
“ I want to drop ballet as my major.” My sigh is as heavy as an explosion as it leaves my lips.
Dom ’ s hand on my leg jerks as he sits upright. My father ’ s eyes widen, then narrow into a slit. “ What?” Dad snaps as he leans forward. His eyes look at Dom for an answer.
“ I…I don ’ t want to dance any... anymore.” There, you said it.
From the corner of my eye, Dom shakes his head; then I feel his eyes on me.
“ Act... actually,” I hate that fear makes me stutter, but I don ’ t know how to stop it. “ I ’ m going to,” I say as firmly as I can.
“ Mila,” Dom snorts a stressed snicker, “ you ’ re—”
“ Done dancing. And, apparently, you ’ re moving to Europe.” I hiss at the last part.
“ I have a plan,” Dom growls.
I nod. I do, too.
“ What ’ s going on?” Dad presses his elbows on the table. “ You love ballet.”
“ I loved it when mom was alive,” I admit on shaky breath.
Dad jerks as if I slapped him.
“ I ’ m sorry,” I add. I know seeing me dance is Dad ’ s memory of Mom, but that was his life with her, and I want to live mine.
“ I want…I um…” Just say it! “ I want to focus on painting.”
“ Painting?” Dad questions with shocked disgust. It ’ s a brush and paint, not a picketing sign, and I ’ ll hold as I riot outside of the White House.
“ Mila, please.” Dom sounds annoyed. “ The painting is just something silly. Anyone can paint. No one can dance like you. You ’ re too good to stop.” Dom glances at my father. “ She ’ s just stressed.”
Dad sits taller, rolling his shoulders back. “ I think Dominic is right. Ballet is your passion. I knew studying both painting and dance was too much for you to handle. I think we should just focus on ballet. I know I don ’ t say this enough, but, sweetheart, your mother would be so proud of you.” Dad grabs his fork again. “ I ’ ll talk to your school counselor this week and tell her to drop painting from your curriculum. If you still want to take a class for fun, I can arrange that as well. This way, you won ’ t be stressed about making the grades.”
“ I guess the best quality I have is following orders,” I mutter.
“ What was that, darling?”
“ Nothing,” I reply, seeing a fruitless battle on my horizon. I could argue and kick my feet like a child. Refuse. The men in my life always win. I ’ ve always been this submissive doll.
I grab my wine and swallow half the glass. Dom clears his throat; his eyes burn holes into me. “ You ’ re right. It ’ s the stress.” From you all, not my classes. I stand. “ I have to use the restroom.” Dad nods his eyes, watching my every move.
Without haste, I exit the private dining room. Two guards follow behind me until I reach the restroom. I close the stall door and lean my forehead against it. “ I don ’ t want to be a doll,” I whisper gravely. That was why I made the deal with Dash. He offered me freedom, but I traded it in for him .
I steal my spine with an idea in mind. Sometimes crazy ideas work. Right?
Wrong. I know I ’ ll fail because I didn ’ t make plans, but I have no other ideas. I need my dad to know that I ’ m done following his every rule.I will not be the ballerina they all desire!
I deviate from the usual path and go through the main dining room instead of turning toward the private rooms. I can feel the guard closing in on me from a short distance. “ Mila,” he warns me. I continue to weave through the tables. Just act like you know what you’re doing. Think of it as a ballet.
There ’ s a silver wine stand next to the table up ahead. Perfect! A couple is on a date, looking so in love, they have no idea I ’ m about to be a wrecking ball. “ Apologies in advance,” I say while grabbing the wine bottle. The ice in the bucket clatters and shakes. I rotate and lash out, focusing on my father ’ s guard. I swing like Babe Ruth, all passion and talent.
Boom! The bottle strikes my guard, and a huge splash of red wine flies, making the scene look much more dramatic than I intended. People gasp as my guard grabs his head and tumbles to the ground. Shit! The bottle makes a clanking sound as it falls and rolls on the floor, and at the same time, my gaze meets the guard as he glares up at me. He ’ s alive, at least. That ’ s good and bad.
He seems just as stunned as everyone else. I ’ ve always done what I ’ ve been told, so this is like seeing aliens invade. Where's an alien conspiracy theorist when you need one? I ’ d love a cheerleader for support right now.
I feel like Hilary Duff when she took the stage in The Lizzie McGuire Movie. Embrace it and sing, but in this case, run! I dash out the front door and onto the busy street. After turning left, I start running and keep going without stopping.
I finally did it! I broke a rule, and my father will find out.
Behind me, I hear the sound of loud stomping footsteps. Is it a Sasquatch? Nope. The abominable snowman? I wish.
The guard shouts. I steal a glance over my shoulder to see him closing in, in a wine-stained suit and his face covered with fury. What the hell is he Usain Bolt? I pump my arms more feverishly than an eighties dance instructor as I push my legs to the limit, sprinting down the street.
I need my phone! I need Siri to help guide me through this maze of cars and flashing lights! My feet stumble to a halt; I look around in a daze because the intersection feels bigger than the Shibuya crossing in Japan.
It ’ s just nerves. Calm down. Breathe. I push the crosswalk button. I quickly look behind me, then turn my attention back to the light.
What the hell am I doing? Run you fool! Disregarding the red crosswalk signal, a car zooms past me as I step out. I narrowly avoid getting hit as I run past one lane before attempting to pass the next.
A hand grabs onto my shoulder. They got me!
I jerk away with all my force, breaking myself free, but then I stumble and fall onto the street. Ouch!
I push to stand, but whooshing air from the swerving cars causes me to sway, directly into oncoming traffic. The screech of a car ’ s brakes and the shouts of a bodyguard are the last things I notice before something collides with my left side.