Page 77 of Mila: The Godfather

At times like this one, I wish I were like my sisters. I wish I didn’t have to overthink every little thing. I wish facial expressions were easier to read and that feelings weren’t so hard to decipher.

Only to you, butterfly.

Only to you.

Does he mean that—

“Well, look at that…” My thoughts are interrupted by Riagan pointing at a spot in the sand a few feet away from where we’re sitting.

No way…

“Wow…” I whisper in awe, watching a dozen turtle eggs hatching at once a few feet away from us. So many baby turtles are making their way into the world, and Riagan and I are witnessing it.

It’s miraculous.

Reading about it will never be like experiencing the moment.

I am so happy I am here. So grateful.

Really, movies don’t do it justice. The beauty was almost overwhelming, making something in my chest expand and throb. The sheer, unadulterated, majestic beauty fills some primal void inside me. The natural beauty just…resonated. “It’s really, really amazing here, Riagan,” I say, after a while. He nods. “The view never gets old.”

We’re sitting in the sand, enjoying the view while Kelly, Riagan’s man, is sun-tanning on the yacht’s deck. I hear Riagan tell him to stay back before we swam here and got to the shore. It’s been just us since.

I spend the next few moments openly examining Riagan’s features, the sharp lines of his jaw, the column of his neck, his thick eyelashes. His messy, thick brown hair. He really is incredibly beautiful. Hot wasn’t a good enough word. Not to properly encompass what he truly looks like. Hot guys were a dime a dozen. Truly beautiful men? Not so much. He was masculine, utterly so— in his posture, in the way he carried himself, in his stride.

What does he see when he looks at me? I wonder. Curiosity gets the best of me. As always. “Riagan.”

“Yes, butterfly?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Do you like my appearance?”

“I do.” My breath hitches. I was expecting laughter, not this response. “I like it a fuck of a lot.”

“Oh.” My eyes widen. “I’m not as beautiful as my sisters. My father—”

“Your sisters don’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart, and your father is a piece of shit.” He’s mad. That much I can tell by the change in his tone. Is he mad at me or on my behalf? I think the latter.

“It’s just that sometimes I catch you looking at me in a way no one does. It’s unsettling because I can’t read your expression. I wish I could read your thoughts.”

“If you want to know what I’m thinking, ask me, and I’ll tell you.” he shrugs.

“It’s that simple?” I whisper while my heartbeat races in anticipation of his response.

Then he says the one thing I wasn’t expecting. “With us, it is.”

With us, it is.

Oh, my.

“You want to know what I’m thinking now?” He places his large hand next to mine on the sand, and his pinky finger plays with the pearl on the engagement ring.

I look down at our barely touching hands, and I nod because I’m unable to find my next breath.

“I’m thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but that’s not all. Want to know what else?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “Your heart is so good, so fucking good, that I have trouble believing you’re real. I swear to fucking God, when I look at you here by my side, it feels as if one of heaven’s angels has gone missing and has fallen into my grasp. How does someone like you exist? Someone so good in this fucked up world. There’s no logic in having someone as perfect as you exist.”

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