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Chapter14
“I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU to stay so long.”
It took a moment for the words to filter through Leonidas’ brain. He turned to face his mother, frowning. To ask what day of the week it was, and how long he’d been on Porto Mezi, would be to reveal far more of his mindset than he was comfortable with, so he shrugged instead. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Leave? Never. I’m happiest when all my children are here. You know that.”
He did. The problem was, all of her children would never be here. Valentina’s absence was a gulf in all of their lives, a pain that he now saw had shaped him more than he’d ever realised. She was his other half, his twin, bonded in a way that defied explanation, and she died. He knew, better than most, what it was like to love completely and lose abruptly. He knew the pain and peril of sharing oneself with another, of loving. He had sought safety, he now realized, all his life, ever since Val’s death. He’d avoided commitment unconsciously, telling himself it was a lifestyle choice, that he was happier this way. But he wasn’t happy now. He was something else entirely, and facing that reality meant he had to examine the motives of his decisions.
He turned back to the view, the stormy ocean appropriate, given his mindset.
“And yet, you’re not really here, are you, Leo?”
“What do you mean?” The words were gruff.
“Ever since she left, you’ve been distracted. Distant.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. Don’t apologise.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Oh?”
“You were clear about what you wanted. It’s not your fault I didn’t accept that.”
Wasn’t it? He’d pursued her even when he’d known things were different with them. Even when he’d known she was nothing like the women he usually slept with, even when he’d sensed the danger and felt their spark. Even when Benji had foreshadowed this exact situation.
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Who?” He muttered, playing dumb.
“The Queen of England,” his mother drawled. “Mila, of course.”
“No.” He turned to face her. “Why would I have?”
Was he imagining the look of disappointment in his mother’s features? The hint of blame?
“No reason, I suppose.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Stay as long as you can, Leo. I have always found this to be the perfect space in which to heal.”
She was gone before he could respond, before he could tell her that he didn’t need to heal. He needed to be alone; he needed to forget.
* * *
Mila wentthrough the motions on autopilot, the frisson she usually experienced while on the ice completely absent. She moved automatically, like a robot, technically correct but lacking any spark. Her smile was glued in place, reminders from her coach heavy in her mind as she went through the routine, beat by beat, as she had been for hours and hours a day since leaving Greece. Since leaving Leo.
A familiar pang exploded in her heart. She pushed it away. She couldn’t think about him. Not now.
Not here.
He was the one person who had the power to make her feel anything, but those feelings were too overwhelming, too powerful, too awful when they weren’t returned. She swallowed and kept dancing, the song building to a crescendo as she picked up speed and then launched herself into the air, spinning like a top, form perfect, once, twice, three times, four, landing delicately and moving straight into another rotation, then catching her ankle, trying not to remember the way Leo’s hands had felt on her flesh, the way his fingers had caressed her ankle when it had yet to heal. She extended her leg in front of her and spun, faster and faster, the crowd whirring before her eyes, the stadium packed with spectators—the Internationals always drew an exceptional crowd. She didn’t focus on the crowd though, but rather, on the music, on the familiarity of her movements, until finally, the music slowed and she began to twist, low to the ice, then catching her ankle again and extending, lifting up to standing, one leg above her head, spine curved perfectly, eyes focused on the judges as she came to a stop and the crowd broke out in rapturous applause. She held her pose for a moment, breath exhaling in one long whoosh, the sense that she had just done something monumental, crossed some barrier she’d had in mind for a very, very long time, sat inside her like a piece of rock, the rest of her numb to the sweet success of that moment.
She eased her leg down, eyes briefly skimming the stadium and then stopping, freezing, as a familiar face passed before her field of vision. Her mouth went dry, her heart stopped breathing. She couldn’t believe it. She chased backwards through the crowd, looking for him, wondering if she’d imagined him, right as Leonidas turned, his back to her now, familiar and unmistakable.
A sob lifted in her throat; she covered it by dipping her head down and skating towards her team in the box, but she couldn’t push him from her mind. She couldn’t stop asking herself why he’d come. And where was he going?
She wanted to run from the stadium, to find him, to ask him, but it was impossible. The formalities of judging were required, she had to sit and await her score. And even if she could have left prematurely, what would it have achieved? They’d said everything there was to say. She’d told him how she felt; he’d told her how he felt and wanted. Six weeks had passed. Six weeks of silence, longing, aching, hurting. Six weeks of trying to move on, to put him behind herself. Six weeks of training her butt off in order to focus on something besides Leonidas, in the hope that she’d be so tired by the time she got into bed each night, she wouldn’t be able to think of him, or dream of him.
Six weeks of loving and hating in equal measure.
