Page 43 of Beautiful Broken Obsession

Milos slams his door. “What the hell was that?”

Sighing, I shrug. “I needed to know if Tony thought you would be…if I was making a mistake in saying yes.”

“And?” he demands.

“I left with you, didn’t I?” I keep my eyes out the window.

Nothing else is said as I’m driven home but I have a feeling that is the last time I get to go anywhere without Peter or someone else glued to my side. It’s fine, in the end it was worth it.

I’d knowmy mom’s knock anywhere. The timidity of it is the giveaway. Also Carina doesn’t knock, just barrels in. Which is why I keep the door locked. I know Carina by her attempt to open my door, then her outrage at finding it locked.

Opening my door, I’m a little surprised my mother’s here at all. Since I went to school she basically lived full time with Carlo. From what Carina told me she was never here.

“How are you?” she mumbles.

I don’t want her in my room, so I make a movement to go with her out into the living room. She understands and backs away, going to sit on the sofa.

I shrug. “I’m fine. What is this? The what-to-expect-on-my-wedding-night talk? No need, already covered.”

With a sigh, she reaches for my hand. I pull away. She blinks fast at the move. I can’t help it. I don’t want her touching me. For years she never hugged me. She still doesn’t hug me.

I figured out not to seek her out at night when I had a nightmare or was sick. If I was lucky Carina was up and we comforted each other. It was even better when I woke up at my nonna’s house and she gave me all the hugs and care I needed.

Despite all of that, I loved my mother. I wanted her to be my mother—but she didn’t want to or couldn’t be. When Nonna died the emptiness of my mother’s love echoed around me. I never stopped trying to win her love, to be the daughter I thought she wanted me to be, so maybe she could…

It was the cancer thing that broke me. I did all the heavy lifting for her, there at all the times she needed me, holding her while she cried. And as usual, I was the one who hugged her, she still didn’t hug me. Carlo wasn’t there at all—not for any of us. Yet the minute she was healthy, she acted as if he was the one who was there for her. I loved my mother, but I didn’t like her.

And what hurts the most is I have no doubt she is aware and doesn’t care. For her, all that matters is Carlo. I can’t forgive her for the way she hurt me and my sister—sacrificing us at the altar for Carlo.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay with this. I’ve looked into Milos Levin and he’s a good man. He will make you a good husband. You will be happy with him.” Her soft green eyes are from her Scottish father, who met my Filipino grandmother while he was stationed in her country. They remind me of Carina, yet as I look into them I feel none of the love I feel for Carina—the love I used to feel for her.

“Like you give a fuck. If I hadn’t said yes you would have pushed Carina on him because it’s what Carlo wants. The quicker you can be done with us the better for the both of you. I know Milos told you to help me with the wedding, but I don’t want you to. I’ll have a wedding planner. It’s all I need and want.” I stand and make my way into my room and close the door firmly. Then like the idiot I am, I cry for all the things I wanted from my mother and never got—will never get.

Chapter14

Celia

The next morningshines way too brightly. My eyes are crusty with tears. I pad into the shower and stand under the water until I finally feel human. Out of the shower, I use the most prized girly thing I own—the hairbrush styler that makes it look like I know what the hell I’m doing with my hair.

A text is waiting from Milos. I’m to be picked up in a half hour to get to the stylist appointment. I sigh as I respond “fine.”

Looking through my closet, I have no idea why I pick the pretty pink dress from the first day with Milos. It still fits perfectly. I don’t bother with makeup since I’m not in the mood for it. I’m hungry and want coffee badly. I hear a brief honk, my ride is here.

As I go out to the SUV Peter is waiting with the door open. I get inside to find Milos there. “Privet,zhena. Have you had breakfast yet?”

All I can do is shake my head. I hate the way my stomach tightens when he calls mewife.

“In that case, we will stop for something.” He tells the driver to go through the drive-thru of a major coffee chain nearby.

As we stop, Milos asks, “What would you like?”

I give my order.

“Why are you here? Afraid I’m going to skip out again?” I wonder aloud.

A smile flashes. “As you said yesterday, you came with me. I am not afraid of you going anywhere.”

His smug reply fills me with resentment—at myself for giving it to him.

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