◇ KEL ◇
His phone wasn't on loudspeaker, but I could hear enough. His dad just had this deep and clear-cut, usually authoritative voice.
I grabbed my satchel and pretended not to listen in before unbuckling my seat belt. Ignoring Miles and his glances took some acting skills; I just didn't want him to think I was eavesdropping.
He reclined in the driver seat, frowning, his attention currently held by an unexpected phone call from his parents. Mr. Falco asked another question over the phone as Miles parked in front of the house.
"Sì, Pappa." Miles pulled the car keys out of the ignition before I stepped out of the passenger seat. "Erm...sì. Aspetti, forse verrò," Miles said, his obvious reticence thinning his voice. With his cellphone pressed onto his ear, he muttered more Italian phrases and stepped out of his car, hurriedly and with a mild frown I got used to seeing every time he talked to his parents.
Consistent and quite curiosity-piquing, but definitely none of my beeswax.
Miles didn't talk to his family often. Why? Not sure. He rarely visited or called his parents. Granted, they were busy with the family business, but they were merely a two-hour flight away.
To give him some privacy, I proceeded to the front lawn of our quiet abode. Well, I barely had the right to imply partial ownership of the high-priced house and lot. But for several months now, the simple but elegant two-storey house had been my home away from home, my secure and private residence away from the busy city...Miles being my freehanded roommate, of course.
He caught up to me sooner than I could unlock the huge front door. The drive from the show venue lasted two hours or so, my aching back and legs telltale signs of my overworked state.
"Feelin' better?" Miles murmured with a pout.
"Kinda," I sighed. Sleeping in all weekend, for sure.
Fashion Week always did me in. Grueling. Time-consuming. The only thing I appreciated right now was the apparent fact that my head didn't feel like it was being jackhammered from inside my skull, and the possibility of a bigger paycheck this week.
"Rest up." Miles watched me fumble with the keys and held my purse for me.
"Want something to eat?" I unlocked the bolts. The heavy, solid hardwood door made me wince. My limbs ached whenever I would make sudden movements. Dinner and a good night's sleep to recuperate from the runway stints would definitely help.
"I'll cook. Haven't eaten all day, have you?" Miles lingered in the doorway, his car keys jangling in his hand. "Want something heavy?" he asked when I ignored his questioning.
"Um..." I was already in the hallway to his spacious kitchen. "Rice and...something fried?"
"Sure." He nodded, walked into the kitchen, and flipped some lights on as I dragged my feet until I reached the dining room. "No more shows?" Miles took raw meat and vegetables out of the tall fridge. "Free tomorrow?" He switched the stove on and kept his back to me, his hands quick with the ingredients.
"Yeah. So tired," I muttered. The exhaustion forced me to just say "tired" instead of thoroughly exhausted. I stretched my achy back and enjoyed watching him get busy. I chose one of the eight dining chairs.
The wide table served little to no purpose, frankly. The only time the dining set wasn't totally empty was when Miles let the security staff enjoy a warm home-cooked meal with us, which was a rarity. Miles loved his privacy.
"Rare or medium rare?" Miles asked. "Mykaela..."
"Yeah." I smiled as the aromatic smell of meat cooking distracted me from falling asleep with half of my torso on the speckless dining table. "Cook it your way."
"Still finishing a painting. Can't drive you around if you'd like to go somewhere later."
"Goin' out's the last thing on my mind right now." I massaged my temple and reclined.
Strange how my headache and dizziness just vanished after a two-hour drive with Miles behind the wheel. I didn't even nap for a whole hour.
"My headache's gone." I moved to another chair, the one nearest to the stove. I loved watching him cook. Miles Falco...slaving away in his own kitchen to fix me a meal—such a rare sight. Almost funny, actually. "What's your secret? You're always better than painkillers."
"You just like me that much." Miles smirked when he caught me staring from afar. He flipped the pinkish pieces of meat and let them crackle on the pan.
Everything just smelled divine. My stomach wanted to jump for joy. No runway shows until next week—now I could eat whatever I wanted. My stomach grumbled while my nose enjoyed the scent of garlic and raw meat cooking.
"Eat everything on your plate. I'm not stepping outta the basement after this."
"Sudden bout of inspiration?" I smiled and waited for him to spare me a small grin. More often than not, he behaved like the serious, loner type. And we hadn't had a proper conversation since he sped out of the show venue's parking lot. "You done with the biggest?" I asked with more enthusiasm. His newest paintings must look breathtaking. "Can I take a look?"
"Definitely not." Miles kept his gaze on the stove. The barbecue sauce on the pork chops made noise over the intense heat. "I'm not even done shading the first one yet."
"How's your Mamma and Pappa?" I asked out of sheer curiosity.
The phone call from his father didn't even last two minutes. "Fine."
Counting out the scraping and crackling noises on the stove, the entire kitchen and dining room fell silent when Miles didn't further our conversation.
Something bothered him. I could sense it. He was never this reserved, except when he got busy behind a canvas. Miles hadn't even looked me in the eye since that kiss back at the show venue.
It wasn't really a kiss, though. More like, an awkward lips-on-lips contact. Between friends. Plain old friends. Never been the "with benefits" kind. Not in the romantic sense, at least.
It wouldn't be an issue had the circumstances been different. If it was him who gave me a kiss, I wouldn't put any meaning behind it. At times, he was just that easygoing and affectionate towards his friends after a couple of drinks—not that he had a lot of friends.
But we both knew I'd kissed him earlier because of something else entirely. Miles seemed uptight that I hadn't come clean about it and my panic-stricken behavior earlier.
Perhaps he was just waiting for me to start a discussion about it. Fine. I'd let the cat out of the bag, just so he would stop being fairly unsociable. I walked towards the stove without hesitation and then hugged him from behind. "Thanks."
"For what?" Miles stood still and stopped angrily scratching the frying pan with the spatula—like he'd rather do construction work than kitchen duties.
"For being the chef today and for picking me up early."
"Not gonna happen again, so don't get used to it."
"Hey. I'm tryin' to be nice here." I stopped hugging him to pinch his arm.
"Fine— Just, get off me." He chuckled while his free hand tried to push me away. "You'll get oil burns."
"Fine. Be mean." I backed a few steps away from the warm stove and kept my hands to myself. Was he dodging the serious conversation I was just about to start? Good thing we were back to being friendly, though.
"Get the cayenne." Miles continued to stare at the brownish pork chops making noises on the hot pan. "And parsley."
"Got it, chef." I was just about to tend to his request when my ringtone trilled. I froze and gripped my phone.
Could it be the university offices?
Did they have to reprimand me over the phone, too? Did they actually blacklist me? Jeez. Another headache I didn't need... I badly hoped they didn't actually think I would forge records just to qualify for that scholarship.
Honestly, I still had no idea why they thought I submitted counterfeit documents. "They were all certified true copies—I swear," would be what I'd say to their Admissions Department first and foremost. That's if, they would care to entertain my newest inquiries via phone.
The last thing I expected was a rejection letter with a warning. Strictly for me. Why did they think I sent them fake background records? Would they report me to every medical institution in the country?
Dear God...I hope not.
My anxiety didn't escalate into panic mode when I read my sister's name on the screen. For a moment, I just stared at Jill's photo, her big smile and light brown curls promptly reminding me of our mom.
Jill took after our mom, whereas I inherited my stick-straight dark hair and strong features from our dad. Jill and I hadn't been in constant communication since our last serious conversation on the phone, which had resulted in an argument, expectedly. She'd scolded me about me leaving America on a whim.
I took the call and stepped away from Miles, curious as to why Jill called again this soon. "Hey. Baby's asleep?" I asked her over the phone.
"Yeah. Hey." Jill's hoarse voice greeted me, her tone urgent. "Mom wants to take Dad to the hospital."
◇
◇ KEL ◇ "Dessert?""No thanks." I glanced around the spacious basement. Paint-smeared cans, scrapped lifesize canvasses, and soiled, overused rags littered the floor of the studio. Most of them were just days-old trash waiting to get stuffed into large garbage bags.It was the only room in the house where my artistic friend didn't observe cleanliness and order to an impressive degree. It was also the only room where I was least welcomed in. Miles loved working on his art in total solitude, quiet and undisturbed.White lights lit the basement but not too brightly. He probably liked the fairly mysterious lighting. Maybe it helped him get in the mood to paint? Miles stood in the middle of the room, and his pants looked overused with patches of different colors. "You're the only girl I know who doesn't like chocolates.""I'm just really full," I replied. My stomach just protested at the thought of artificial flavorings and processed sugars. The juicy, meaty steak he cooked for me s
◇ KEL ◇"How's he doing?""Worse, of course," my sister muttered on the other line.I shut up after Jill's reply."Just hop on a flight. Say it's an emergency leave.""Would be nice if I had the option," I sighed as I furiously rubbed a soap-drenched sponge onto the floor tiles. I cursed myself in my head, well aware of the three things Miles hated about having a roommate.Number one on the list?Sharing.Being an only child—for 27 years and counting—"sharing" wasn't particularly present in his vocabulary. All of his friends knew Miles only took me in and let me cohabit with him in his uber-expensive property out of pure pity (my parents weren't filthy rich like his), and for that one time I helped him get rid of an apparently obsessive ex.Number two?Sharing a kitchen.And third on the list:Sharing a kitchen and having a roommate who didn't appreciate kitchen hygiene as much as he did. Yep. He could be such a neat freak, too.Raspberry syrup. It used to be my favorite—like, two hour
◇ KEL ◇ Another photo shoot consumed my entire day. It was a local eyewear brand, and my agent said they paid well. Quarter past five, I took the bus and a cab to head back to Miles' house, two hours away from the photo shoot venue.His car wasn't in the driveway. It was still early evening; he was out with his best friends, probably drinking again. I locked the gates and scanned the lawn before heading to the front door. Everything looked in order.Exhausted, hungry, and alone, I retreated to the warm confines of my bedroom—the bigger one among the guest rooms—and immediately rang my sister's number. For seconds, I just waited for the ringing noise to end, eager to hear Jill's voice again."Hey. Done with the shoot?""Yeah. Home now. How's Dad?""A little better, but..." Jill's voice thinned. "The doctors don't recommend surgery. For now."So surgery wasn't an option. I scratched my forehead at the discouraging news."Still under heavy meds. He's asleep most of the time." Jill sig
◇ KEL ◇My mother's tone was not in distress, d
◆MILES ◆
◇ KEL ◇The late dinner with Miles and his family had been fine and pleasant, but something in my chest just didn't feel right after overhearing his entire family talking to him about me.Every now and then I also thought of my father being stuck in Intensive Care again. Was he doing better? Unlikely, but I still hoped and prayed. Was there any chance he would recover from this long and depressing
◆ MILES ◆"Good run?" Ricchar glanced to the labyrinth. "Is Mykaela in her room? Cloe will be back tomorrow. She can keep them entertained until Sunday."Sunday? Oh. Right. It was my birthday this Sunday─actually the main reason I, Kel, and my parents were all here on this boring, weekend family vacation."Since all you plan to do is sulk after every little thing your Mamma Eleana says." My cousin Ricchar chuckled when I didn't say squat."I don't sulk." I poured myself a glass of wine. I'd already drunk two glasses during dinner, but my half-hour jog barely got rid of the muscle tension I was trying to alleviate. My back still ached as much as my legs, no thanks to the long drive."I get it, though
◇ KEL ◇ It took me a while, but, finally! I figured it out. I let out a sigh, white mists coming out of my nose and mouth.The dimness only amplified my dark imagination. My skin just hated the bitingly cold horror-movie ambience of this place. "Miles?" I wrapped my arms around myself. I peered around the grass-covered space. To my utter confusion and horror, the paths diverged into more mazes. "Shit." This thing didn't end! Did anyone see me walking into this labyrinth? Anyone from the Falcos' security staff? Or one of the maids could've seen me. Moonlight was sparse in this side of the lot. Shadowed hedges towered over me by at least four feet. How did I even end up trapped in this creepy old maze? Ugh. I was just trying to find him. Perhaps Miles and his older cousin were hanging out somewhere in this impressive garden. This backyard could be the size of an entire football field, if I wasn't overcalculating. "Miles?" I called out. An old sweater covered half of my poor excu