Insouciant (The Billionaire With A Choice)

Where It Started

Where It Started

It's been six months since she's been gone.

"Milan!" I yell, entering through the door.

I frown. I know it's late, but he never goes to sleep if I'm not here.

I search everywhere.

"Milan!" I yell even louder before getting shoved against the wall.

"Hey, angel. How was the convention?" He's not supposed to be home.

My eyes coat with fear.

"W-we were chosen."

"We?" He questions, running a hand through my hair.

I nod slowly. "Oscar-"

"Oh, the useless boy who only speaks Italian. We know you did all the work, it's okay. Now, who did you get?"

"He's not useless. And he can speak English! Italian is his first language. He's my friend-"

I didn't have time to react as a palm smacks against my cheek. It wasn't hard, but it was tedious.

"You don't have friends. Now, who did you get." His blonde hair falls in front of his blue eyes.

"There was this man maybe a bit older than you. And a woman who has a new clothing idea to help the earth. I think the company was Saga? There were a couple of others, but those two were the top ones."

"Good." His lips are against my cheek. They linger for a moment too long. "Dismissed." He says, and I walk away only to be stopped by the grumbling of the other man sitting in that la-z boy.

My fault for making eye contact.

He notions that I should approach him.

And I apparently wasn't moving fast enough for his liking so I am now being held by my waist.

"You don't have to-" I freeze, feeling his breath against my neck.

A hand falls under my chin.

A tear falls from my eyes. If it was just one, it's so much easier. Both of them are a nightmare.

One wipes the tear. The other says, "dearest eyes like ours weren't meant to cry. They were meant to shine."

I close my eyes in defeat.

As the words, I heard too often, dance in my ear.

"Just breathe."

////////////////

I lock myself in my room.

But I hear crying.

I walk down the hall, and my world changes.

"Milan?"

He looks at me and smiles.

He's been calm these past few days.

"Milan, give me Sarah."

He gives me the 18-month-old. I rock her as she finds sleep again.

He steps up on the window as he does. He sits on the roof, and I join him.

"You were quiet today." He tells me.

"Screaming or audibly crying won't change a thing," I whisper.

Milan takes Sarah from me.

He stands. "Remember our dream of racing?"

I grin, "always."