Page 97 of Mila: The Godfather

“But you like Cianne.” I think back to all their moments together. All I’ve witnessed, and yes, it does seem like they’re always at each other’s throats.

“I tolerate him. There’s a different, sweetheart.” He chuckles when I frown.

“Your father? You most love him to go out of your way to complete his bucket list. That’s a sweet gesture you only do for people you care about.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I wonder if I said something out of line, but then he speaks. “I love my father. I am capable of love. I just don’t enjoy being around other people unless it is necessary.” Well, I get that. My sisters are the same. Is it fate? That I found a man who thinks and, at times acts, just like my sisters. But with me, they change. They’re not cold or uncaring. Perhaps, cold people need people like me to keep them warm. I can do that for them. As long as I’m able to, I will be there when they find themselves in the dark. “What I’m getting at is that I’ve never been a huge fan of the human population. It’s exhausting having to follow their rules and social norms. It takes a toll on me to have to pretend to be someone I’m not because they’re afraid of a little dark. I guess I never quite felt like myself around others until you.”

Until me.

“I’m not afraid of the dark.” I say truthfully. Most people are terrified of what lurks in the dark, but I am not one of them. Evil has no preference. Evil hides in daylight as well.

He nods once, still holding onto my hand. “You shouldn’t fear anything ever again.” I wish it were that simple, but we’re all afraid of something. I don’t tell him that, no. Instead, I run the pad of my index finger over his four-leaf clover tattoo on his knuckle. I like that Riagan is a walking, talking coloring book with how many tattoos he has inked on his skin.

He is… unique.

“Can I ask why you sleep in the closet?”

“I do?” I frown, not really knowing what he means.

“Last night I heard whimpering coming from your room, and I found you in a fetal position sleeping on the closet’s floor.”

I do not remember that. I do have nightmares of bad memories of the past, but I don’t recall ever waking up inside a closet. Thinking about it, I hid in my childhood closet when I was a child. I spent more time there than I did anywhere else in that mansion. So, I tell him that. “My father liked to terrorize us, and I used to hide inside the closet so he wouldn’t get to me. If I wasn’t in his way. If I was invisible, he would let me be.”

“And the scars?” He asks bluntly, while I feel his fingers caressing one of the scars on my left arm. The scars are barely visible, but the skin is marred. I can feel the puckered skin, and so can he.

I take a second to think about what I’m going to say next.

I don’t want his pity, but that’s the thing about Riagan…he never treats me as if I’m made of glass. He doesn’t look at me as if I’m some broken little thing that can’t protect herself. Perhaps, he thinks so, but he never shows it.

“I told you I love adding color to colorless items. I used to do it a lot when I was younger. I found comfort in the little things, like drawing pretty pictures for my family, and I thought it was harmless. My father found me one day coloring the white walls in front of my room and lost it. He threw a glass at the floor next to me, and when it exploded, the sharp glass cut me.” I whisper and wait for his reaction. When his hand that’s holding mine tightens, I get the sense that he’s angry on my behalf. Livid, actually. My neck and cheeks are flush red. I feel embarrassed, and I’m unable to hold his gaze. He wanted my secrets now he has them. Surprisingly, I feel lighter now that he knows. He should know all of me if he plans to bring me into his world. I am not perfect, and I never claimed to be. I am most likely someone he’s not used to. My past is not pretty, and I am not the easiest person to understand. Yet, here he is, trying.

“Would it scare you if I told you that I daydream of slitting his neck and watching the blood pour out as he slowly dies a painful death?”

A sane person would.

Apparently, a sane person I am not.

“N-no.” I mumble. Then to ease his anger, I tell him. “Do not feel sad for me, Riagan. My sisters had it worse.”

“Don’t minimize your pain, your trauma, Mila. You were a child. One who did nothing wrong to deserve the twisted shit that motherfucker subjected you to. None of you did, but their pain does not diminish yours.” My heartbeat slows and all I can think of at this moment is how handsome he looks, looking down at me with angry eyes. The anger is directed at my father. Then his words touch a part of me that’s been hurting for a long time. The part where guilt resides permanently in me. “I’m sorry you had a shitty life, Mila.” I force myself to look into his blue eyes and my breath hitches when I see how intensely he is looking at me. There’s no pity or anger. There is just…longing? Is that it?

“Thank you, Riagan.” I breathe out.

“For?”

“Being you.” My eyes fall on his smile, and I watch in delight as it grows wider. I like it when he smiles. His smiles make me happy. Maybe one day I’ll find the nerve to tell him, but until then, I’ll just love them in silence.

“Only for you, butterfly. Only for you.” And that makes my heart beat abnormally fast, so much so that if I didn’t believe in science like I do, I would think my heart is trying to free itself from its confines in my chest and fall into Riagan’s hands.

The feelings this man stirs inside me never cease to surprise me. Every day with him feels like an adventure. Even the most ordinary of days with Riagan feel extraordinary.

Then, it all happens so fast, my head starts to spin.

Lost in my head, busy trying to make sense of a basic human reaction I’ve yet to fully comprehend, I notice Riagan is no longer holding my hand or sitting next to me.

No, he’s a few feet away, outside the gazebo, with his arm stretched out towards me as rain falls rapidly down on him.

How deep inside my head was I thinking of him that I missed the moment his hand let go of mine and he left my side?

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