Fake It Till You Make It

9

I started to panic. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Madeleine had explicitly warned me that Mr. Vasilios didn't like it when there were people in the house after his intense training sessions. I should have paid more attention and watched the time. But now, I was trapped in a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

As I stood there, my heart racing, I scanned the room for options. I needed to come up with a plan, fast, to avoid Milan's wrath. The last thing I wanted was to be on the receiving end of his anger. If he caught me here, it would be a disaster.

My eyes darted around the dimly lit kitchen, searching for a hiding spot. The only viable option seemed to be the large kitchen table that dominated the center of the room. It was low enough to the ground that I could crouch under it without being too noticeable. It was a desperate move, but I felt like I had no other choice.

With trembling hands, I gathered my belongings—my backpack and my phone—and quickly ducked beneath the table. The instant I was hidden, my breathing became loud and erratic. I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to stifle the sound. My heart continued to pound in my chest as adrenaline surged through my body.

I strained my ears to listen for any signs of Milan's movements. The house was eerily quiet. If he went upstairs, I could make a run for it, but I couldn't be sure how long I'd have to wait.

Minutes felt like hours as I huddled under the table, contemplating the absurdity of my situation. How had I ended up in this bizarre predicament?

The minutes dragged on, and my muscles started to ache from the uncomfortable position. The darkness beneath the table felt suffocating, and I fought to keep my panic at bay. I was acutely aware of every creak and shuffle in the house, each one sending shivers down my spine.

Finally, I heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. My heart leaped into my throat, and I held my breath. The footsteps grew closer, and I prayed that Milan wouldn't decide to check the kitchen. My mind raced, concocting excuses for why I might be hiding here, but none of them seemed plausible.

The footsteps reached the kitchen doorway, and I could see a pair of feet through the gaps in the table's legs. I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white, as Milan paused in the doorway. He seemed to be scanning the room, his sharp eyes darting around.

My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure he could hear it. Every second felt like an eternity as I waited for his next move. Would he leave the kitchen, allowing me to escape unnoticed, or would he discover my presence?

I heard the faint creak of the fridge door opening, and my eyes immediately widened in alarm. He's going to eat now? Panic surged within me, and I silently cursed my terrible luck. I had chosen the worst possible hiding spot.

As I strained to listen, I could hear the distinct sounds of containers being opened and the clinking of dishes. My muscles were aching from the awkward position I was in. I couldn't believe I was literally hiding under a kitchen table while Milan was now having dinner. I felt like a stalker, invading his privacy in the most absurd way.

My heart raced as I contemplated my next move. Should I risk sneaking out now, even though Milan was in the kitchen? Or should I wait until he finished eating? The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I couldn't decide.

Just when I thought the situation couldn't get any worse, Milan's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Are you going to keep hiding under the table, Ms. Shadid?" he said suddenly, his tone stern and nonchalant.

I gasped and squealed in sheer embarrassment, caught completely off guard. How had he known I was here?

"Your car is in the driveway." He answered the question that was dancing in my mind.

My cheeks burned with a deep shade of crimson as I considered his words. I had been so focused on hiding that I had forgotten about the most obvious giveaway—my car parked in the driveway.

"Ohhh, I forgot about that," I muttered to myself, facepalming in frustration. There was no way to salvage this situation now. Slowly, I began to crawl out from under the table, feeling like the world's most inept spy.

Emerging from my hiding spot, I finally met Milan's gaze. His expression was a mixture of amusement and curiosity as he watched me extricate myself from beneath the table.

"Hi."

He looked even better in person. Despite the fact that he had just come from football training, he exuded an effortless charm that made him look like he had stepped out of a Vogue photoshoot. Milan's athletic physique was accentuated by the casual ease with which he carried himself.

As I stood there, flustered and embarrassed after being caught hiding under his kitchen table, I tried to come up with some explanation for my bizarre behavior. "I'm sorry," I stammered, my words tumbling out in a nervous rush. "I ran out of time with dinner, and..."

But before I could finish my sentence, Milan cut me off with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "I don't care," he said, his tone surprisingly relaxed. "You can go now."

Relief washed over me, and I wasted no time in grabbing my bag and hastily making my way past him. "Goodnight," I mumbled quietly, my heart still racing from the embarrassment of the situation.

I hurriedly made my way to my car, eager to put this awkward encounter behind me. As I fumbled with my keys and started the engine, I glanced in the rearview mirror to check if Milan had disappeared back into his house. To my surprise, I saw him walking towards my car.

Panic surged through me as I wondered what he could possibly want now. My mind raced with possibilities, none of them particularly comforting. I rolled down the window, my voice shaky as I asked, "Is there something else?"

Milan leaned down to the open window, a small smile playing on his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone, holding it out to me. "You forgot your phone," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "How will I text you to complain about the food if you leave this behind?"

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