Chapter 30 Mila
Chapter 30
Mila
“Have you read this? Read what this skank is saying about you?” she says, brandishing her phone.
“No, and I’m really not interested.”
“I get it. You’re too classy to spill the tea. Congrats on your new man, though. He is fine .”
“Thanks.” I think. As if this wasn’t an awkward enough exchange.
“I can’t believe she’s sayin’ this shit, though.”
“What?” Okay, so that didn’t last very long, I think as I flip over my phone.
A Little Bird Told Us ...
Oh, what a tangled web the gorgeous Fin DeWitt weaves, according to his former love interest, reality TV star Charlotte Bancroft. The saga continues!
Blond Charlotte took a break from filming the new season of Made in Rich mond to confide that she was “rocked” by the news of his sudden wedding, adding, “It was only three weeks ago that we had dinner together. He’s been working in the Far East, and I was looking forward to being reunited with him.” She added that his new romance must’ve been “a whirlwind affair.”
“Affair!” I spit.
“She is, like, so main charactering right now,” Ronny adds angrily. “As if this is even about her! You’re the one that married him. A hard launch too.”
“Yes, I suppose our marriage was a hard launch. A surprise, anyway.” Most of all to us. “But the tabloids can’t be trusted for real news,” I add, trying to temper my anger as I lower my attention once more.
The svelte Surrey native added that she harbors Fin’s new bride no ill will and wishes her luck in keeping her man’s eye from wandering. “He’s a very generous man, both inside and outside of the bedroom. Of course, we can all see her attraction.”
“What the fuck!”
Oh, well. That didn’t last long.
And as the spokesperson for SynCycle, the latest gym sensation to hit the UK, she added she’d be willing to introduce curvy Mila to the worldwide craze. “I can tell it hasn’t hit the poor girl what it takes to be in the public eye, but she can rely on me to show her the ropes.” She just needs to “reach out.”
“Reach out and throttle her, more like,” I mutter. “Don’t for a minute believe any of this.” I hate the post’s accompanying image. Charlotte Bancroft doesn’t look pregnant. In fact, she looks like she barely eats. It was obviously me the journalists were talking about at the airport. Just because I’ve got a bit of a tummy.
“What a bitch,” Ronny adds. “She’s just some fame whore who’s pedaling hard to stay relevant.”
I’d like to pedal her right off a pier, I think. Stick the SynCycle so far up her skinny ...
No, stop, Mila. Those thoughts just make you as bad as her.
“What kind of woman says that sort of stuff about another woman? What happened to sisterhood?”
“All’s fair in love and war,” Ronny says. “Especially when we’re talking TV deals.”
“I don’t follow.”
“ Made in Rich mond —which, by the way, is the worst TV program I’ve ever watched. The so-called stars are like, so cringe.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I have no desire to watch it.”
“You won’t need to. It’s been canceled. The current season is its last. She’ll be trying to create a name for herself, and she’ll use you as drama, if you let her.”
“I’m not letting her. She’s just doing it,” I mutter.
“Stay classy,” she says. “Don’t get pulled into it.”
“I have no intention of getting involved.”
“But if you do, show her who’s the fucking wife, yeah?”
“Okay.” I eye Ronny from across the small table.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demands, her tone still mildly belligerent.
“I was just thinking that I’ve missed you.”
“Aw, sis! That’s, like, so nice.” Her expression softens.
“Sometimes, I feel like you’re with me even when you’re not.”
She nods, impressed.
“And I find myself thinking, what would Ronny do?”
“Yeah?”
“And then I usually do the opposite.”
“Piss off!” she says, throwing the singular packet of oatmeal my way. “Was Charlotte Shit-for-Brains his ex?” she asks suddenly. “Or were they just hooking up?”
“Neither. They just happened to be in the same place a few times. Photos were taken, and that’s about it.” I mean, why would he lie about it?
Ronny’s mouth twists pensively. “She must have a thing for him, though.”
I make a gesture—kind of so what? “I’m sure she’s not alone.”
Ronny grins as she holds up her hand for a high five. “My girl Mila married the GOAT!”
“Did I?” I answer, meeting her hand awkwardly.
“The ‘greatest of all time,’” she supplies. “So, when did you meet him? Did you meet him before, or was it a case of instant island love?”
“We met about four months ago. At a wedding.” It’s the truth, and I’m sticking to it.
“Cool,” she says before falling quiet.
“What’s with the face?” I ask, waving my finger in front of hers. “What’s going on in this head of yours.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“You’re not thinking about doing anything, are you? To Charlotte, I mean.”
“Like what?”
“I just remember how you wanted to send your mates around to trash Adam’s car.”
“That was just in the heat of the moment,” she says. “And he is a cheating scumbag. Charlotte is just a loser. So no, I wasn’t thinking about retribution.”
“Good. Because I don’t want you to get involved in any of this.”
“Meels, you’re so suspicious,” she admonishes.
“Promise me you won’t.”
“Course. Honestly, I was just thinking about the research I did.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m impressed.”
“That was my aim. And I hope to find it reflected in my wage.”
“You look very happy this evening.”
A few days later, I’m pouring myself a glass of celebratory wine when Fin walks into the kitchen.
“I am. Very!” I brandish the bottle. “Want one?”
“Not a whole bottle, but I could go for a glass.”
“Fun-ee,” I reply in the opposite tone.
But I’m super peppy today. Everything seems a little brighter because business is booming. Earlier this week, I resolved to stop reading posts from A Little Bird, and I’ve managed to get Baba’s kitchen almost clear. Though there’s a lot of stuff in boxes and bags that I need to somehow get down three flights of stairs. I was going to ask Fin’s security guard—the mysterious man in the Mercedes—but we’re both pretending we don’t know anything about him.
As in, I haven’t noticed him, and Fin hasn’t sent him.
As Ronny would say, lol/jokes .
I get that he’s there as a precaution, especially after those kids got mouthy. But that’s all they turned out to be in the end—teenagers looking for a reaction rather than pyromaniac extortionists.
“I signed another client today. Woot!” Being married to Fin is wedding-planner gold dust.
“Congrats.”
Our marriage, our names being linked in the press, and Fin’s status, his high profile, have been such good news for me. Whether it’s curiosity (get to meet the woman who caught the man) or aspiration (meet the wedding planner married to a wealthy man) or something else, I don’t care. Whatever gets them to pick up the phone I’m okay with, because the bookings are ultimately my doing.
“It’s just a cheap bottle,” I preface as I reach for another glass.
“I said yes, Mila,” Fin replies with a soft, slightly exacerbated smile. He strips from his jacket and drops it to the back of one of the stools before his gaze flips down to his chest. “Did I spill something earlier?”
“No.” I’m just staring, because yum! “You’re wearing braces—suspenders, I think you call them.”
“That’s it?”
“I’ve just never seen you in them before.” I hug the wine bottle to my chest. For reasons.
“And you like them, I take it?” His voice drops lower.
“They’re okay, I suppose.” I flick my shoulder, then remember I was supposed to be filling his glass. “You don’t often wear a tie either.” A dark tie and suspenders, a silver tie clip, and a brilliant-white shirt. He looks so very sexy, but I can’t stand here gawking. “Have you had a haircut?” Twisting off the bottle top, I splash a little into his glass. I set it down beside him as I round the island.
“Just the back and sides.” He gives a soft chuckle as he rubs his palm up the back of his head. “I was starting to look a little like a fuzzy tennis ball.”
My skin shimmers with that sensory memory of it as I lean against the marble. It’s not like I need to cast my mind back very far to remember the circumstances. To last night, that’s all.
“So we’re celebrating?” he asks, taking his glass.
“Absolutely. The wedding isn’t until May next year, but it’s a start.”
“Well done,” he says, tipping the rim of his glass to mine. “Here’s to many more.”
“Yes, more of those, please, powers that be.” I bring the glass to my lips and sip without really tasting, because the way he’s looking at me means all I can taste is him.
Fin leans closer, feeding his hand under the weight of my hair. He cups the back of my neck, his fingers warm and comforting. “You’re the power, and it will be. Because you deserve great things.”
I’ve never considered myself the addictive type, but the risk feels real with him. The thought ripples, like a stone dropped into the mellow warmth of my chest.
It’s just sex, that’s all.
We’re the king and queen of commitment-phobes.
It’s just, his shirt and that tie, the one I feel my hand gravitating to, is so attractive. Settling my palm against the center of his hard chest, I decide they’d look even more attractive someplace other than on him.
Fin’s glass makes a tiny chink against the marble as he sets it down, before taking mine. I giggle, ticklish, as his hands link around my waist, and he lifts me to the countertop.
“Did you go to see Roza today?” His cologne is heavenly and his features hazy as he rubs his nose against mine.
“It was one of her good days.” The new nursing home is trialing her on new meds, which make her a little sleepy, but sleepy is better than agitated, for her state of mind.
“Did she ask after me?”
“She asked after Alexander,” I say, pinching in my smile.
“So she did.”
“Get a toga and a breastplate, and then maybe we’ll talk.”
“You’ll get it.” Pulling back, he slides me a sultry smile. “Sometime.”
“Sounds promising,” I say, wrapping his tie in my hand and pulling him closer, until his lips are pressed to one corner of my mouth. Then the other. I sigh at the gentle press of his teeth against my bottom lip. “What if I don’t want to wait?”
“I have something I want to talk to you about.”
I make a sound of pleasured inquiry as his lips brush mine once more.
“I want you to let me hire in a clearing service.” I still, but he doesn’t seem to realize as his touch feathers down my neck. “Sorting out the flat is taking so much of your time. It makes you sad, so I thought—”
“No,” I answer softly. “Thank you, but no.”
He pulls back to look at me. “It could free you up to concentrate on Trousseau, the business that makes you happy.”
“Clearing Baba’s house is my responsibility.”
“Yeah, I know, but—”
“No,” I reply firmly, sliding from the countertop.
“Mila.” He presses a hand to his hip, his expression one of consternation. “It makes no sense, you spending all your time doing that.”
“It doesn’t take up all my time.” Though it probably should, because the housing association is breathing down my neck. It wants to place a new tenant, and I’m not working fast enough for them.
“But it pulls you down. Why make yourself sad like that?”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? I called the housing association today.”
“You did what ?” I make it to the other side of the island, instantly annoyed.
“I wanted to see if there was something I could do to help.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “Why would you think that’s even appropriate?”
“It’s just as well I did,” he retorts, “given what they had to say.”
I stalk out of the kitchen before I say something mean. Because Lord knows my head is full of mean right now. And my chest feels tight. He’s stepped way over the line.
“Don’t you want to know what they told me?” he calls after me, his shoes echoing on his shiny marble floors.
“No!”
“They’ve written to you a dozen times.”
“That’s not news,” I retort over my shoulder as I storm into the bedroom. I swing the door closed behind me. I hear it slap against his palm as he catches it, then his footsteps as he follows me in.
There’s something about this exchange that feels familiar. Maybe that’s why my head and my chest hurt. It feels ... controlling. Am I overreacting? Fin isn’t anything like Adam. Is he?
“They’re considering court action, Mila. Do you know that? Every week you keep the place on is another week’s rent overdue.”
“That’s fine. I can afford to pay it.”
“But why delay? They want their property back.”
“I have it under control!” I stalk to the window and stare down at the Hyde Park treetops below. My blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. He just doesn’t get that I owe it to Baba to ensure her possessions, her worldly treasures, are treated with the utmost respect. The contents of that flat are our history, and I became her sole purpose within those walls. I can’t let some stranger tear through the place. Yet I can’t seem to say any of that, the meaning behind the words too large to spit out.
Do I even owe him an explanation, the way he’s behaving right now?
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
“But you’re not trying to help. You’re trying to take over. In fact, this feels like you’re trying to control me!”
“Control—” He swipes his hand through his hair, then presses it to his mouth. “That’s not what this is,” he answers. “I’m just trying to help. I’m doing my fucking best to keep you out of the shit!”
“I don’t need your help,” I snipe, hating how it makes me feel to see him like this. This other side of him?
“Well, fuck,” he says, leaning back against the dresser as though I pushed him there. His expression turns so cold, he looks almost unfamiliar. Un-Fin. “Only, that’s not quite the truth, is it, honeybuns? You need me for your business—need my name. Not to mention my notoriety, because that shit’s good for the ladies, right?”
“Your notoriety has nothing to do with me.” My mind instantly fills with the thought of that fucking influencer, or whatever she is, and the things she spouted to the press. I hate the power I’ve given it in my head, and I hate how I feel right now.
“And my cock. You might not need it, but you sure like it being part of the deal.”
“There’s no need to be so crass.” My heart echoes in my chest. Or maybe it’s the truth in those words. His hurt.
“Is it crass when it’s the truth? ‘Help me Fin,’” he says, sweeping his hand through the air, “‘but only in the narrow areas I say. Fuck me,’” he adds, sweeping it back. “‘But don’t care for me. And whatever you do, don’t love me.’”
“That’s not—”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mila. I’m feeling more than a little used.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I retort as I begin to tremble. When he puts it that way, it sounds so bad. He doesn’t deserve that.
“No, but you did ask me to keep on fucking you. As long as I don’t fucking fall for you!” This he almost yells, his composure finally breaking.
“Because love means betrayal and lies to you. Why would I put myself up for that?”
“What the fuck?”
“Those are your words,” I spit. “So don’t pin this on me.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” By his sides, his hands tighten into fists.
“Of course I don’t, because I’m that shallow. So shallow, in fact, what I ought to do is take this curvaceous body the press loves to hate and set myself up an OnlyFans account. Cash in and create my own notoriety, because I’ll do anything for money, right?”
“That’s your hang-up, not mine. Money is just a means to an end, not something to set us apart.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I murmur as I stare at my reflection in the darkened glass. Behind me, Fin folds his arms across his chest and tips back his head. I don’t understand how we’ve gone from kisses and sexy suspenders to this—to hurting and throwing insults.
“Not everyone in your life is going to fuck you over,” he says so softly, I wonder if the fight has drained out of him. “You’re just scared. And I get it. I really do.”
I pivot and glare at him. I want to believe he’s nothing like Adam, that he truly thinks he’s helping, not controlling. That his past is just that, and that when he talks about love he’s being serious. Because, God help me, I think I want that. I want him to love me, but not like this. I won’t ever make the mistakes I did before. I won’t ever settle for someone who makes me feel less.
The thoughts swirl and tumble and turn, and I just can’t stand it. I cross the room so quickly—as though I can escape them—only to find him in my path. He takes me in his hands. His hands, not his arms, pressed to my forearms.
“I’m done talking about this,” I mutter. My thoughts and my feelings are too tangled to untie.
“Admit you’re scared, Mila. Scared of your feelings.”
“What I am is hurt, and I can’t do this right now.” Pulling away, I leave the room.