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I push off the couch. “Fuck you. I want to go home.”
He chuckles. “After the shopping tomorrow you’ll meet with the wedding planner here.”
I don’t look back as I walk out of the room. Peter is standing waiting by the front door.
“Take me home,” I demand. I want to smack him when I see his eyes go behind me to get approval from Milos before nodding.
On the way home I study the ring on my finger. I can’t believe it’s really happening—I’m marrying Milos Levin.
After all this time he wanted me…still wanted me. I was sure after how badly I messed up the last time I saw him, he was completely done with me. He saw me for the girl I still felt I was, not the woman I wanted to be, and he didn’t want anything to do with me.
Sending him the invitation to my graduation was done with my heart in my throat and at the last minute, only a week before the day. Still when he didn’t come, it felt like a clear message—he was done with me.
Although I was sure by then he had paid my tuition. I wanted to ask him, and I thought that would be the time to do it. Then maybe…I don’t know. It didn’t matter because he didn’t come. He didn’t even call or send a card. It had hurt as badly as an actual cut to my skin.
Five months ago I thought I’d ruined everything between us. Deep down I’m grateful I didn’t.
Chapter6
Celia
Nine monthsago
The worldaround me shatters into a million pieces. Everything in me hurts. I press my lips closed in a bid to contain the scream I want to let loose. I hold my mother close as sobs rack her body. Taking the thick wad of paper from the doctor, I mouth “thank you.” He nods before leaving us alone in the examination room.
I focus on taking deep breaths. Working to control my own tears, I squeeze my eyes closed. Searching for something, anything like my therapist guided me through to center my thoughts. My place of calm where everything outside faded away. Where I breathed deep to the bottom of my lungs. There was only one place where that happened. When I was in Milos Levin’s arms. I had no idea it was even possible. Swore it was the last place on earth until the night I found out how wrong I was. I go there as I fight not to lose it for my mother.
Which has to be the only reason I give in and call him as easily as I do when Carlo refuses to give me his credit card. He says he’ll take care of it when he gets the bills.
I argue that they want payment up front for several of the appointments. Without insurance she was being sent to low-cost medical care that didn’t have appointments for months, wasting time she didn’t have. His response that I’m being dramatic is a smack in the face. I’m not, she’s at stage three breast cancer for fuck’s sake, it’s spread to her lungs and lymph nodes.
Hanging up on Carlo, I fight back tears. I won’t cry. I will do whatever it takes for my mother. His number is in my phone, only called once in all these years. He had come exactly as he promised the last time I called. Like some kind of avenging angel, he swooped in and saved me. And he didn’t ask for a thing. So what if the reason he had to save me was found dead in the local river a week later, clearly tortured before being killed? I never regretted calling him.
I take a deep breath and press the button. Only two rings sound before he answers.
“Celia? Are you all right?” The clear concern gets me more than everything has so far.
The tears flow fast, I’m a mess and I’m not sure I make any sense. He is calm, there is no instruction to stop crying or even breathe deep, he simply tells me he is here, everything will be all right. Only how can it be? Less than twenty minutes after he answers there’s a knock at the door. In a haze I open it, he’s there. I don’t hesitate to throw myself in his arms.
He catches me close. As he was on the phone, he’s gentle, no urging me to calm down. He simply holds me as I cry. Once I’m cried out, he pulls out his pocket square and cleans me up.
“Your mother is strong. She will be all right. I will handle the cost of her care. My mother went through something like this a few years ago. I will call her doctor and have her care transferred there. Everything will be all right,kotyonok. I willnotallow your mother to die.”
The way he said it, so sure—as if no one was allowed to do anything unless he approved it first—I almost laughed. Laying my head on his chest, I believed him. My mother will be fine because Milos Levin commanded it.
And over the next few months Milos was proven correct. His only request was I not let my mother know who was behind everything. I agreed, sure Carlo would flip if he knew. In the end, Milos paid for everything through a charitable foundation created by his mother after her breast cancer fight—something she went through only five years previously.
Milos was at every radiation treatment with me while I waited in the hallway. He called me every night. Talking to him was heaven and hell, he simply listened to all my fears and encouraged me to be positive. As badly as I wanted him to, he never spoke of himself, not what he was doing or where he was. Only once did he allow it to get personal…he never let it happen again.
It’s the day of the last appointment. Just as Milos said, my mother was fine. Weeks of radiation, chemotherapy, a mastectomy, and finally it might be all over. Carlo finally came through, but only for the mastectomy and reconstruction that happened at the same time. Ever the man, it was all to make sure my mom remained the woman he wanted her to be
I’m pacing my room, on edge as we wait for the phone call. “This is bullshit. Carlo has only been there for her for one surgery, no chemo, no radiation, and now he wants to be and we have to stay home. I swear I can’t fucking believe her sometimes.”
Carina sighs. “It’s sucks but it’s what Mommy wants. Deep breath, Celia. This is all going to be good.”
I nod. “You’re right. It has to be. I don’t think I can take even another week of this. I never want to see the inside of a hospital ever again.”
Her eyes drop. I knew she felt bad she never came to the hospital. She’s hated hospitals ever since her accident and several-week stay as a little kid. Once having a panic attack at the mere thought of going. Every time I went with Mommy, Carina felt awful she couldn’t be there too. “I’m sorry—”
