Chapter 16 - Mila
When Ivan leaves the condo, the whole place seems to exhale. Or, at least, I do.
I sit there for a while after he’s gone with the music books in my lap, long ignored, and I stare out the windows in thought. Somehow, I feel both relieved and irritated at the same time.
It’s strange how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to his presence, and how everything feels a bit out of place when he’s gone.
And after the way he left, giving me nothing to work with, I know that’s exactly why I shouldn’t allow myself to get comfortable.
I might be living in his place now, but our lives are separate, as they always have been. I’m the one who gets directed and tucked away, and he’s the one who makes the decisions I’m not allowed to see or hear about.
Ivan is someone who operates how and when he wants, be it for power or survival.
One way or another, when the moment comes, he’ll always choose what benefits him. Not me.
I repeat those very words to myself all the while I go through the motions, ordering something to be delivered on the empty phone he gave me for this very purpose, with most other things blocked on it.
Eventually, the food was brought to me by one of his men, and when the door opened, I didn’t even consider running.
Whether that’s out of habit of actually keeping my word and doing what I’m told, or simply because I’m emotionally tired from being left in the dark, I don’t know, and I don’t really care.
My solo meal is weirdly tasteless, and before long, I grow bored of it, along with mindlessly watching TV.
With it being too early to go to bed yet, I grab the violin case with deliberate care, taking a long moment to bask in just how gorgeous it is. Music has always been the one thing that belongs to me, even if this instrument is technically his.
He can tell me all he likes that it’s a gift, but in the back of my mind, I know it’s just something to pacify me.
Either way, I tuck the violin beneath my chin and begin to play.
Eyes closing, I breathe slowly and measuredly, working through the stiffness of my movements. Letting muscle memory take over, the notes of a well-practiced song fill the condo, but as hard as I try to concentrate, I can’t fully.
Right when I get back into the proper rhythm, I hear Ivan’s voice again, quiet but firm. I see the way he looks at me like there’s so much he wants to say, yet he can’t quite get it out. How he tries to hide the fact that I’m a problem he won’t admit to.
Still, regardless of how many times this happens, I force myself back to the present, back into the sounds I pull from the violin.
After getting through the first mechanical-sounding song, the next one comes out smoother, and the third has me losing track of everything else around me.
Before long, I’m focused enough to forget all about Ivan and all the things he keeps from me, playing until my fingers ache. Until all that’s left is the quiet ache for more.
Performing was always an escape for me, but more so than that, it gave me a reason, and it made me feel like myself despite every rule and expectation put over my head.
By the time I stop, I pull in a deep breath and lower the instrument, feeling both raw and fulfilled.
Then the shuffle of clothing behind me makes me freeze.
Spinning fast enough to almost drop the violin, I clutch it closer as my breath hitches, and I find Ivan standing at a distance with a grin on his face. I blink back at him, taking far too long to finally speak. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I wouldn’t call it sneaking,” he says, leaning his hip against the side of the nearest sofa. “You were just lost in your own world.”
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, urging my pulse to slow.
“Long enough…I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“That’s a first.”
Ivan shrugs, completely unbothered. “You were focused, and I wanted to listen.”
Not knowing how to respond to that, I stand there a bit awkwardly, taking him in. He looks different than he had earlier, like the day has suddenly caught up with him and now he’s trying to brave it. Whatever he walked into earlier clearly had some effect, even if he’s trying to cover it up.
After a beat, he steps a bit closer, taking his time. “You’re talented, Mila.”
The compliment catches me like a cut and salve at once, and I pull my attention away, busying myself by returning the violin to its case. “You’ve said that before.”
“Because I mean it,” Ivan says a bit softer now, hands in his pants pockets. “You don’t just play for the sake of knowing how. You put a lot of emotion into it.”
Pausing, fingers hovering over the gold clasps, I swallow hard before securing them. “It has been my escape for a long time.”
Instead of interrupting, Ivan just looks at me like he’s actually interested in hearing what I have to say.
“Even before everything,” I continue, not knowing why I’m still sharing, but also not cutting myself off either. “Before Dad died, and before my brothers decided I was worth more traded than kept. I got to be me on stage, even if I was just at some rundown lounges and clubs.”
His gaze, both quiet and assessing, feels more like he’s committing every word to memory, rather than simply listening. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he even softens a bit.
Then, the admittance leaves me far too easily. “I miss it…performing.”
“It gave you purpose,” Ivan says with surprising care.
Despite not being a question, I nod. As much as I want to keep myself perfectly guarded around him, I can’t pretend like it isn’t true. It was all I had.
The longer we go without saying anything, the more I’m convinced the conversation has ended. Though I catch as his head tilts, almost curiously.
“Would you like to again?”
The question leaves him so abruptly that I’m sure I misheard him, or that I just imagined it outright. “What?”
“Do you want to perform? Either singing or playing, whatever you want.”
I stare at him, so close to gawking without fully committing to it. Then a disbelieving sound leaves me. “You’re joking.”
Ivan cocks a brow at me. “It’s a genuine question.”
In a traitorous way, my heart squeezes while I search his eyes for any kind of deceit or mockery, finding nothing but sincerity. I don’t know how to take it.
“You said I need to lay low.”
“I did, and you will, but I can make arrangements if it’s something you’re serious about,” he answers, as if he’s talking about something normal like a dinner reservation, not a performance that would put me in the open again, after the fuss he has made about keeping me here.
Standing there like I’ve been slapped, I’m too aware of how small the room feels now, and how near he is, offering me this like I had asked for before.
“You’d actually let me? You mean it?”
His lips pull fractionally, and he nods. “I can make it happen. Safely, of course.”
I hesitate for a moment, then I laugh to myself almost breathlessly. “God, you’re impossible to read.”
Ivan hums with amusement. “Good. I guess that means I’m still me after all.”
The way he says it makes it sound more loaded than he lets on, but I choose to ignore it. I’m not in the position to push too much, not with a potential show hanging in the balance.
“That’s not really a compliment.”
“It’s honest, at least,” he muses, unfazed about being called out.
Looking up at him, something heavy and unspoken lingers in the air, but I can’t pull my eyes away just yet.
Instinctively, I want to be wary, and I’m tempted to dissect his offer until I find whatever trap could be hidden inside it. Though the hope in my chest is too warm and comforting to ignore.
With a touch of reluctance, I mumble, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think of you.”
At that, his smile settles into a more sincere one, and he leans a bit closer, almost teasing. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Just keep practicing, and I’ll pull some strings.”
I know I should keep my expectations at a minimum to avoid getting too invested in the idea, but everything about the way he’s looking at me only convinces me more to trust him—in this, at least.
“I’d like that.”
“You’ll be back on the stage before you know it,” Ivan says, letting me take in his more pleasant expression a moment longer before he eventually turns away and heads for the kitchen.
Standing there a moment longer, I watch him go, and all the while, something uncertain settles in my stomach.
I don’t know what Ivan will ultimately decide for himself or me, but for the first time in a while, it feels like something might become mine again. Like I’ll finally get to feel like myself again.