MILLIE
My gaze returned to the vast expanse of the ocean, my thoughts a tumultuous sea mirroring the waters before me. Words remained trapped within me, a war between pride and vulnerability raging within my chest. I couldn’t be the one to bridge the chasm between us he needed to meet me halfway. After all, it wasn’t just my heart I had to safeguard, but the life that now existed within me.
“He wishes for you to consult the doctor about your weight loss,” Sebastian’s voice interjected, a note of concern woven into his words.
“I hadn’t thought he noticed,” I admitted, a surprising warmth stirring within me at the realization that he still cared, even if it was concealed beneath layers of distance.
A crease formed between Sebastian’s brows. “He notices, even if he doesn’t show it openly.” He paused, then sighed. “Millie, can’t you consider extending an olive branch, even if it’s insincere? Someone has to take the first step.”
Decisively, I turned away from him, retreating into the refuge of the house’s warmth. The cold air had momentarily quelled my nausea, but now it returned with a vengeance. Shedding my coat, scarf, and gloves, I navigated toward the kitchen, intent on soothing myself with a cup of tea. An infuriatingly recurring situation awaited me: the tea bags were placed on the highest shelf by one of the maids, despite my consistent efforts to bring them within easy reach. Frustration bubbled within me, and I contemplated using a chair to retrieve them. However, a sudden dizziness gave me pause the risk of falling was too great. I abandoned the idea of the chair, instead opting for a spatula to reach the elusive tea bags.
In that quiet moment, with my hand stretched upward, the mundanity of the situation contrasted starkly with the complexity of emotions that engulfed my world. The simple act of making tea became symbolic of the larger struggle I faced reaching for something beyond my grasp, trying to mend what was broken, and navigating the delicate balance between self-preservation and vulnerability.
I found myself standing on the balls of my feet, a futile attempt to reach the packet of teabags perched high on the shelf. I resorted to using a spatula as an impromptu tool, hoping to nudge it closer. However, my efforts seemed to backfire as the packet stubbornly retreated even further. In my growing frustration, a sudden shadow enveloped me, causing me to startle and instinctively shrink back. Frozen in place, I glanced up to find Gio, his presence casting a shade over me. His hand effortlessly reached into the shelf’s recesses, retrieving the elusive packet before placing it onto the counter. His expression was stony, but a flicker of something indefinable lingered in his eyes.
Caught off guard, I shifted my gaze away, mumbling a quiet “Thanks.” The air seemed to hold an unspoken tension as his silence persisted, broken only by a slight nod. He then moved across to the coffee maker, leaving me a stolen moment to observe him. Dressed in black sweatpants like Sebastian, Gio had forgone a shirt. The urge to touch him surged within me, a longing for his closeness and the warmth he radiated. The ache for his love was palpable. My eyes trailed to the tattoo on his shoulder, its script declaring a commitment: “I’ll go where you go no matter how dark the path.”
Swiftly averting my gaze, I swallowed hard, hastily turning my focus to making tea. The kitchen suddenly felt confining, and I yearned to escape its tight embrace. With my mug gripped in my hand, I headed toward the exit, only to be ambushed by a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. My grip faltered, and the mug shattered upon impact with the floor, scalding tea spilling over my bare feet. Yet, the pain was a distant sensation as my vision betrayed me, fading into darkness. Desperation prompted my outstretched hands to search for stability, but the ground approached rapidly. Just as the abyss threatened to consume me, strong arms encircled me, lifting me from the precipice. My palms found purchase against a warm chest, and I inhaled deeply, familiar comfort and love permeating the air. Gradually, my sight cleared its fog.
“Millie?”
The gentleness in his voice, a balm to my wounded heart, was both healing and shattering. Raising my head, I met Gio’s gaze-worry etched in his features, or had I imagined it? His brows furrowed, a man I loved deeply.
As our gazes locked, it was as if I could witness his emotional armor reassembling itself, an impenetrable barrier of steel descending. Frigid and resolute. Perhaps the worry had been a mere mirage. Withdrawing my hands from his chest, I stepped back, a wince escaping as I registered the burns on my feet.
“Those need burn salve,” Gio’s voice asserted firmly. “I’ll contact the Doc so he can take a look.”
Exerting all my resolve, I countered the urge to close the distance, even though my heart clamored for his nearness. “I don’t need him. I’m fine.”
In truth, I needed only him.
Before I could articulate these sentiments, I found myself kneeling, picking up the fragments of the shattered mug. Raising my gaze cautiously, I met Gio’s eyes, their intensity baffling. His expression seemed tinged with anger, yet not entirely. Abruptly, his hand reached for me, fingers gripping my arm before drawing me up.
“Go.”
I blinked in surprise. “I should clean this up. The cleaning staff won’t be back until tomorrow.”
His eyes bore into mine, a fierceness that edged on wrath. “Leave,” his voice quaked, a hint of something almost furious beneath the surface. “Just go.”
Spinning on my heel, I obeyed, retreating from the scene.
~*~
A few days had slipped by, and there I was, nestled into the cushions of the sofa, engrossed in a book’s pages that seemed to blur before my eyes. The words danced across the paper, their meaning lost in the haze of my distracted mind. It was as if my thoughts had grown restless, refusing to be tamed by the confines of a storyline. Lost in this mental labyrinth, I barely noticed when Harper, a constant presence in my life, joined me in the room. Her gaze wandered toward the book in my hands, and with a casual nod, she inquired, “Is it any good?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I tried to summon my attention back to the book that lay on my lap. However, concentration had become an elusive companion lately, slipping away like sand through my fingers. I had attempted to read the same paragraph twice already, yet its substance remained a mystery to me. As if to offer a respite from my inward struggle, Harper extended a plate adorned with a tempting array of cookies.
Her voice held a hint of mischief. “I tried my hand at baking.”
A quizzical eyebrow raised, I regarded the plate skeptically. Cooking was not exactly Harper’s forte in fact, culinary talents were a rarity within our household. Sienna, with her culinary prowess, was the exception, but her absence left the kitchen in a state of quietude. Harper’s presence had become a constant in this unpredictable landscape.
With curiosity piqued, I accepted one of the cookies, its aroma of freshly baked dough and chocolate wafting toward me. However, as I took a cautious bite, a wave of nausea accompanied the otherwise delightful flavors. The once-beloved taste of chocolate had turned into a reminder of an altered state, a life reshaped by impending motherhood. I managed to swallow the bite, then delicately placed the half-eaten cookie back on the plate.
Unexpectedly, Harper’s tone turned more serious, carrying a weight of concern. “Millie, can you please stop starving yourself now?”
Startled by the shift in her words, I met her gaze with a mixture of surprise and defensiveness. “I’m not starving myself,” I protested, my voice holding a trace of irritation. “You see me eat.”
A knowing look passed between us a silent exchange of truths that were difficult to admit. Harper’s observations were astute; she saw beyond the surface, noticed the patterns that had started to define my days. The morsels of food I consumed were meager, and the restroom visits that followed had become a ritual, a shadow of something more insidious. The reality was etched in her words, and I couldn’t deny it.
And then she uttered his name, the one I had tried to keep locked away in the chambers of my heart. “Gio isn’t worth getting bulimia over.”
The mention of his name was like a spell, conjuring memories, pain, and love intertwined. A tumultuous mixture of emotions surged within me, and I found myself saying, almost in a whisper, “He’s worth anything.”
The reflection was undeniable; my body bore the physical signs of the emotional turmoil that had gripped me. Weight loss was a manifestation of a battle waged internally, the toll it took on my form evident. Yet, I hadn’t really registered the change until Harper brought it to light.
Harper’s eyes rolled with a touch of exasperation, as if my stubbornness frustrated her. “You’d give catwalk models a run for their money.”
A self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of my lips, a fleeting acknowledgment of the irony. “Except for the ten missing inches, perhaps.”