35. Mila
MILA
G oing to catch a cold out here in the evening air.”
I look up from where I’m sitting on the back terrace behind the family quarters. It’s become my secret place to come and hide when inside gets too loud and when my head feels like it’ll explode if I don’t get away.
The only difference is tonight, Paulina found me.
It’s not like it’s not safe. There are guards stationed all over Oak Ridge Lodge. Not to mention, wherever I am, Phantom is usually only a step or two behind me. Tonight, he’s lying at my feet.
I promise you’ve never felt safety like having a giant wolf protecting you twenty-four-seven.
“I’ll be okay.”
The truth is, I’ve been cold since Christian left three weeks ago. Like permafrost has settled into my bones.
I can’t escape the feeling that something bad is going to happen. Or maybe it already has, and I’m just too blind to accept it.
I’ve spent the last two weeks helping Bella with all her last-minute banquet plans. I met Robert, the man she’s been seeing, and had dinner with him and the rest of the family. I’ve spent countless hours staring at the canopy hanging over the bed, and I’ve even taken so many walks with Ava that I’ve memorized the walk through the trees.
I’m finally finding a place in Christian’s world, and I must admit, it feels good to finally have some sense of purpose.
—Even with Talia looming like Satan’s little helper wrapped in Gucci.
She was moved to the lodge, but that doesn’t stop her from making her presence known. She has an entire entourage of people that follow her around, laughing at her stupid jokes and otherwise, fluffing her ego.
She shows up for dinner every night and I sit in uncomfortable silence while she recounts old stories of she and Christian’s childhood together to Paulina who appears to barely pay attention.
Fortunately, with Bella in attendance last night, she quickly shut it down, and Talia sulked for the rest of dinner.
Life has moved on without Christian Cross here.
Unfortunately, I haven’t.
“You know, staring at that ring isn’t going to make it go away.”
Paulina steps up on the porch, taking the seat beside me. I hadn’t even realized I was holding Christian’s ring until she said something. Looking down at it, my stomach bottoms out, and tears sting in the backs of my eyes.
I shove it back under my shirt. “Have you heard anything?” I know the answer, by now I ask every day. I can’t help myself, though. I just need to know for sure.
Paulina grimaces, looking out over the forest beyond.
“Didn’t think so.”
“This is how this life is,” she says gently. “You have to understand that there are things they will miss. Birthdays, anniversaries. There will be nights where you don’t hear from them.”
Or weeks . . .
“Except I didn’t get a choice on if I wanted this life or not.”
“Do any of us?”
“Did anyone ever trick you into marrying them?” I counter.
“Touché.”
“They’ll be missing Founder’s Day.”
“And I’m telling you, whatever they’re doing has to be extremely important for them to miss that.”
I shake my head, and a rogue tear slips down my cheek. Angrily, I scrub it away.
“Is it bad that I miss him?” I whisper like he may be hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike.
Truthfully, I’m angry. I’m angry with him for leaving me here. I’m angry at Talia for merely existing. Most of all, I’m angry with myself for missing him.
God, do I miss him.
The rippling energy when we’re in the room together. The brush of his fingers on my lower back when we’re cooking dinner together. The scent of his skin clinging to me after he touches me.
I love him, and I hate him. What kind of sense does that make?
Paulina’s silent for a moment, thinking. “No. It’s okay to love them and be angry with them for their actions. We are human, after all.”
I draw my legs up to my chest, leaning my chin on my knee.
“Who tricks someone into marrying then? That’s insane.”
“I don’t disagree. Look at the alternative, though. Being held to a contract to marry someone who would hurt you. Rape you.”
“Don’t make excuses for him.”
“I’m not. I’m just giving you a different view of the situation. Tell me this, though,” she pauses, chocolate eyes meeting mine. “If he’d asked, got down on his knee, and done it the right way . . . would it have changed the outcome?”
Fuck.
Silence hums in the air, and my voice gets caught in my throat.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer, my cheeks hot despite the chill in the air.
I know exactly what she means, but I don’t want to acknowledge it.
She chuckles, shaking her head.
“I’ve never met two people who were so hell-bent on convincing themselves they aren’t in love.”
I glare at her, and she smiles, reaching out to pat my hand.
As she does, my little secret vibrates in my pocket, and I clear my throat to cover up the sound. Luckily, Paulina doesn’t seem to notice, standing and throwing her arms up with a yawn.
“Well, I, for one, am tired,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “You should get to bed, too. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I smile, breathing out a sigh of relief when my pocket goes silent. At least there’s some good to go around, even if the prospect of going to an event without Christian is terrifying.
“Can’t wait.”
I watch her climb to her feet. Leaning down, she presses a kiss to my temple, before disappearing into the house, leaving me alone in the night. Slipping the hidden phone from my pocket, it starts to ring again.
“You almost got me caught.”
“Sorry,” Savannah’s voice filters through the phone. “You weren’t calling, and I got worried.”
“They found my hiding spot,” I grumble, and she laughs.
“Who’s they?”
“Christian’s . . . mom of sorts.”
“Ah. The mother-in-law.”
“What are you talking about? Your mother-in-law is an angel.”
“Yeah,” I can hear her smile through the phone. “She is. At least you aren’t Mom.”
“If I had a mother-in-law like Mrs. Parker, I think I’d pitch myself in front of a train.”
I’ve told Savannah everything. I just had to. I needed someone who I didn’t have to lie to, and my sister’s always been that person.
Like me, she doesn’t remember our father much, either. She was only six when he died. For most of our life, we were just Marcus Parker’s stepdaughters, and for five years of hers, she was subjected to his torment in the form of illegal sex parties where he’d sell her to his Hollywood friends.
If anyone would understand not only my side but also keep an open mind about Christian’s, she would.
“How are things in LA?” I’ve spoken to her every night this week on my contraband phone about everything from Mom and our siblings to the weather.
I can’t lie; it feels good to hear her voice.
“You ask me that every day,” she chuckles.
“I know.”
“They’re good, though. I saw Mom tonight.”
“And?”
“And she’s getting by day by day. I think it helped that Hannah had a baby appointment today, and she got to see an ultrasound.”
My chest aches. I miss my family. My brother’s having a baby, and I’m a thousand miles away. I miss my mother most of all. I thought about calling her, but I know her. She’d have Savannah’s FBI husband tracking me down by the time I got off the phone.
“I miss you guys.”
“We’ve missed you,” she breathes. “Things haven’t been the same.” Then, after a pause, “How are you holding up?”
“I’m alive.”
“Mila.”
“Savannah,” I counter.
“You know what I mean.”
I let out a deep breath.
“I’m managing.”
“He’s going to come home, Mila.” I almost laugh that she knows me well enough to know that’s what’s on my mind.
“Trust me. Everyone from here to Nebraska has told me.”
“I still can’t believe you’re married.”
“Me either.”
Absentmindedly, I reach into my shirt for his ring, pulling it out and holding it in the palm of my hand.
“Savannah . . . can I ask you a question?”
“You know you can. Whatever you need.”
“How . . . how did you know Logan was the one?”
She blows out a breath into the receiver.
“Well, I think it would have to be when he learned what was happening to me, and he just held me tighter. People like that are hard to find.”
My stomach cramps, and tears warm in my eyes.
“Love isn’t hard, Mila. It’s the people around you that make it hard. If you’re questioning if you’re in love with him, I promise you already are.”
“Why do you say that?” I hate how small my voice sounds.
She chuckles softly. “Because if you’re questioning it, that means you already know the answer.”
I’m just drifting off to sleep when the sound of a creaky floorboard jolts me awake.
Someone is moving in the shadows.
The moon shining through the window provides little light, but I can sense him even before I can see him.
Relief floods through me when I catch that familiar scent hanging in the air.
Christian.
My heart lurches in my chest, and I sit up in the bed. His dark eyes rake over me like he was studying me, only to be caught in the act. My breath catches in my throat when his gaze flares, taking in his T-shirt I accidentally—on purpose—wore to bed because even if I can’t admit it to myself, I missed him.
“You’re back.”
He doesn’t respond, and I catch sight of the bruise on his cheek.
“Christian, what happened?”
About a million questions circle through my foggy brain, but I know he won’t answer any of them. I look up at his eyes, noticing the dark circles. How tired he is. The stubble on his jaw only makes him look more savage, paired with the scar on his cheek. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Something about that makes my chest ache.
I move to slip from the bed, but he stops me with a shake of his head.
“Go to sleep, Mila.” His voice is cold, but there’s something there under the surface. Desire? Possessiveness? “I just came to check on you.”
He starts to head towards the hall, but a surge of panic wells in my chest. This strange desire to not see him so . . . un-Christian like. So human.
“Wait,” I breathe, slipping the blankets off my legs.
He pauses, his gaze slipping down to my bare thighs.
“Mila, I’m exhausted.” His shoulders are stiff underneath his shirt; his body is wrung tight.
“Lay with me.” I can’t believe it leaves my mouth, but I can’t deny the longing swirling through me to feel his skin against mine. To . . . comfort him. I know I’ll wake up not knowing how I feel about him in the morning, but in this light, his shadows have never called to me more.
Christian looks as surprised by my request as I am, and for a moment, he doesn’t move like he’s considering it.
Then, his jaw feathers with tension, and he looks away from me.
“Not tonight.”
I try to brush his rejection off. Something happened, and even if he won’t tell me about it, I can see it playing tug of war with him.
“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly.
He chuckles, and though it lacks its usual wickedness, it still sends a shiver up my spine. He steps across the room, stopping at the edge of the bed. His touch is soft when he brushes his knuckles down the side of my face and pauses when he reaches my chin. His thumb strokes over my skin, and he tilts my face up to look at him. In the moonlight outside, it’s easy to forget everything that’s happened to us. The bullet wound in his shoulder. The figurative one in my heart from where he left. His brother . . . It’s easy to forget we aren’t who we are instead of two people falling in love all over again.
Unfortunately, we are Christian and Mila. And this isn’t a love story.
“I’m fine, little devil,” he murmurs quietly, dropping his hand back to his side. “Get some sleep.”
He heads into the hallway, disappearing into the darkness and leaving nothing but his scent behind when he goes. I stare after him, listening to the sounds of his footsteps as he makes his way down the hall.
This Christian is different. Almost . . . broken. Exhausted. Filthy.
The battle of wills rages inside my head, rendering me frozen in place, still staring after him. Slowly, I sink back into the pillows, staring at the canopy above me and listening to the faucet drip in the bathroom, but I can’t ignore the ache in my chest.
On one hand, he asked me to leave him alone. On the other . . . he looked like he wanted to lay with me. He seemed so . . . desolate. Like a country field on the cold, foggy morning after the last battle of a war has been fought.
I glance back at the clock on my nightstand.
A little after three in the morning.
I look back at the canopy, my eyes running over the soft cream material.
I count each of Phantom’s breaths from where he fell asleep beside me.
“Fine.”
Carefully slipping from the bed, I pad over to the door and follow him out into the small living room off our room.
Christian may be the strongest man I’ve ever met, but I also know he’s not one who likes to share his weaknesses or his failures. He stews on them until they eat at him, and regardless of whether it was consensual or not, he’s still my husband in the most basic form of the word.
Something new and strange and tender blooms in my chest when I see him. He’s never looked so . . . human.
He lays on the chaise lounge, his boots dangling off the end. His shirt is gone, and his arms are tucked under his head. The hard ridges of his abs rise and fall with each breath like he hasn’t slept a single minute in the last three weeks.
Resigning myself, I step over to him and stoop down, gently removing his boots and setting them on the floor before I grab a throw from the back of the couch to throw over him. It will have to do.
I’m just draping it over him when his hand catches mine, startling me.
“ Mila .”
Something about the way he says it makes my heart melt. Even mostly asleep, he knows it’s me.
“Shh . . .” I breathe, brushing the hair off his forehead. He doesn’t release my hand, his fingers locking mine in a death grip, so I pull the blanket up and slip onto the lounge beside him, curling up against his chest.
“I’m filthy, baby,” he murmurs groggily, his eyes still closed and his voice barely audible. Like he can’t fight sleep, but he also can’t fight his need for me.
I can’t keep my heart from beating awkwardly and the soft smile from tugging at the corners of my lips at the old nickname, even though I know I shouldn’t read too much into it.
“I know.”
It’s strange . . . holding him the way he used to hold me until I fell asleep. He’s always been this immovable force. The one thing in this world that I could count on to not crumble when I can barely hold it together at the seams.
Now, I’m realizing that even the strongest have their weaknesses, and Bella was right. I think I’m his. God knows he’s always been mine.
“Come here,” I whisper, tugging at his shoulder. He lets out a deep groan that rumbles through his chest, reaching for me. When he wraps his arms around my waist, burying his head in my chest and inhaling deeply, like he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him, I realize nothing could make me leave this bed right now. The world could burn down around us, and I’d happily watch it go up in flames.
I curl into him, our legs entwining and my fingers rubbing down the hard ridges of his back until his breathing evens out again. I force myself to focus on that because if I let myself wander, I’ll realize how completely and utterly in love with him I am, and nothing good could ever come from that.
Not with his secrets. Mine. The danger that seems to be lurking around every corner. His undeniable need to push me away while simultaneously holding onto me with an iron grip.
His murderous, psychopathic brother.
Tomorrow, things will go back to normal. We’ll be at each other’s throats, and he’ll see that I’m not worth all this trouble.
For now, I just hold him, letting him sleep after whatever hell he went through, and try not to let my heart get too wrapped up in the way he clings to me like I’m the angel coming to drag him out of it.