6 | Reunion

◇ KEL ◇

My  mother's tone was not in distress, dominatingly loud, or anything. She was even more soft-spoken than Jill. But once Mathilda Nielsen switched to her native tongue, I knew my mother was now serious as a heart attack.

"Seryoso ko, Mykaela. Uli na, anak. Your dad wants to see you."

"I-I'll try, Mom. Still talking it out with my agents."

"K, mas importante pa imong trabaho?" my mother questioned. Her strained voice sounded more emotional over the phone. "I know you still have obligations, but he really wants to see you."

"I know, Mom. Sorry."

"That job supports you financially; I understand. But we both know that's not something you'll be doing a long time."  Mommy sighed in disappointment when I stayed quiet.  "Miles wants you to stay?"

"No, Mommy. It's not like that..." I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. The guilt just constricted my chest. Miles even encouraged me to go home.

"Mykaela, please." Mommy sighed louder. Now she sounded rather upset, her voice almost trembling. "Come home."

The request sounded more imperative than begging, but I knew better than to respond with anything less than compliant. "Okay, Mom."

It took me another ten minutes to calm her down, and when I finally heard a pleasant goodbye from my mom, she ended the call. My half-meant promises echoed in my head.

I hadn't even found the time to buy myself a plane ticket yet. And now I just promised my anxious mother that I'd be home in a few days.

The thought made me grunt in frustration. I gripped my phone and shut my eyes while my chest felt like it was going to implode. My eyes felt warm and teary now.  I'd hesitated all week, knowing my mother would force me to quit my job here and book a direct flight back to New York. I procrastinated for days, stupidly hoping the issue would just blow over.

Now I had to call up my agents just to tell them I had to either take time off work or just quit, something my handlers would definitely argue during this busy time in the fashion world.

◇ 

"Ah, bellissima! Stefano, look at her." Mrs. Falco gestured to her husband and kept studying my face, and the woman's pale pink lips smiled widely in appreciation.  "Beautiful Mykaela, we finally meet in person."

"Grazie, Signora." I tried a welcoming expression as vibrant and as long as I could manage, with Miles' gorgeous mother standing before me and gushing praises.

Unbelievable that the woman was past her 40s.  Mrs. Falco was also half-American, thus her East Coast accent.

"Buongiorno, Signore." I regarded Miles' father and bowed slightly.

"Ciao, bella. Come sta?" Miles' taller father smiled briefly before he sat down on the corner chair, his bodyguards nowhere in sight. Probably guarding the front and back doors.

"Sto bene. Grazie. Come sta, Signore?"

"Stanco, ma a parte ciò sto bene." Mr. Falco let out a short sigh.

"Call me Elle. Signora sounds old," murmured Miles' mother after giving me a tight hug. "Where's that secretive son of mine?" Mrs. Falco  glanced around.  "Maxim?  We need to prep snacks for the trip."

Trip?

"Maximiliano?"

"Pappa?"

"Um..." I glanced to the hallway and found Miles leaning against the console, busy texting on his phone.

Our eyes talked for a bit when he looked up from his phone.  Then Miles furrowed his brows at me.

Mrs. Falco let go of my forearm and called out to her son, muttering something about a long drive. Both her English and Italian sounded fluent.  Miles' father, on the other hand, hadn't spoken an English word since they arrived. 

Odd that they didn't call him "Miles".  Well, I knew he favored his artist name instead of his birth name, which was a mouthful, to be honest.

"I know, Mamma..." Miles replied, mumbling while his hand rubbed his nape.  "Do we really have to leave now?"

"Already called Ricchar and he's waiting for us." Mrs. Falco ignored her son's complaining tone and walked around the kitchen. The hem of her simply elegant dress sashayed along her ankles after every step, and her silver flats didn't look out of place in Miles' quite monochromatic kitchen.

"We haven't even packed yet."

"You haven't told Kel?" Mrs. Falco stopped raiding the fridge and propped a hand on her hip at her son's grouching.

At the question, I tried not to pull a face, my confusion doubling by the second.

"Mamma, Pappa, scusi." Miles took swift steps towards me and pulled me by the arm.

The entire kitchen and dining area fell silent as we made our way to the guest room on the farthest right of the house, where his best friend Paul had stayed the previous night.

I frowned at my roommate.  We were going on a trip with his parents? I had yet to hear a proper explanation from him. "What trip?" I kept my voice hushed.

"To Umbria."

"What?" I whispered, even though I wanted to yell. Umbria, I recalled, was his birthplace, but I had no clue why we were having this conversation. As I frowned at the strong smell of cigarettes in the room, my back touched the cold wall. Miles stood next to me with his palm on his forehead. I kept staring at his face.

His curly bangs almost covered his shapely brows, and I wasn't used to seeing him with his hair cut short. It just made him look...manlier.  For seconds, Miles' expression stayed as blank as the white walls. "They wanna visit family there. I can't say no."

"So go," I suggested, my voice almost inaudible to my ears.

"They want you to come with," Miles said after a moment of just staring at me. His brown eyes anticipated my reaction.

"Wha—" I glanced away and sighed. "I-I can't. I need to fly out."

"What?" He took a step forward, his toned arm touching my waist, his strong chin now at level with my forehead. "Like, tomorrow?"

"Mom called. Dad's worse."

"Shit," was his initial response. Miles pulled me away from the wall and sat me down on the empty bed. "You booked a flight already?"

"Not yet..." I mumbled. "He needs surgery soonest possible." I crossed my arms and regarded my plain blouse and white pants. "Do I look okay?"

"What?" Miles glanced down at my clothes. "Of course."

"Your mom's gorgeous." I faintly smiled at him, recalling his mother's compliments earlier. "You look exactly like your dad in some angles."

"She wants you to come with." Miles scratched his creased forehead. 

I nodded weakly and watched his puzzlement subside. "Your cousin's house in Umbria, it's five hours away. Right?"

"More or less. We'll be staying till Sunday."

"Sunday?" I repeated with another frown.

"Why? You really wanna go home?" Miles leaned in. The look on his face seemed pensive this time. He even held my wrist.

"I have to, babe."

"Two days." He clasped my hand. "Then I'll drive you to the airport."

I stared into his honest, heedful eyes. A tinge of sadness mixed with his hopeful gaze, and his frown showed discomposure. How could I say no?

He rarely asked for favors, and after all that he'd done for me, I couldn't just turn him down. "Please? Two days," Miles promised. With ease, he intertwined our fingers on his thigh, seeming eager.

"Okay— Fine...but just two."

◇

Darkness. Warmth against my cheek. Goosebumps on my arms and legs.

A small bump on the road roused me from my deep sleep. I forced my eyes to open, fighting off the drowsiness, bothered by the blaring of car horns around us.

My back strained to straighten, until I realized my bleary head was stuck in between someone's warm neck and shoulder. My gaze dropped to my legs stretched across the backseat.

Did I fall asleep sitting on his lap?  What the heck. Heavy sleeper problems...

"Andrà bene, Pappa." Miles' deep voice rumbled against my ear that stayed pressed on the crook of his neck.

Pretending to be asleep, I opted not to make any sudden movements.  My grogginess had worn off. Mr. Falco was the other deep voice speaking.

Although my Italian vocabulary was nowhere near mastery at present,  after some sentences, I was able to infer that the affluent businessman was talking about formality, as well as respecting one's family and traditions.

"Sì, Pappa," Miles replied. His immobile state hinted of his stiffness and slight discomfiture, and his muted sigh told me he was disinclined to keep the conversation going.

A bit ashamed of the fact that I literally slept on him, I tried to move now.  One of his arms loosely hugged me by the waist, and I could feel his muscles tense up as his parents carried on a conversation about keeping secrets. 

They kept talking, and from what I could understand, now they were lecturing Miles on how to manage long-term relationships?  Um...what?

"I'm not saying you should break up, Maximiliano, but...be honest with her family."

"Yes, Mamma," Miles sighed.

"They're conservative as well. You have to respect that. You want her to stay here with you? Tell her parents. Properly. Give them a call. It's not that difficult."

"I know, Mamma. Sorry," was all Miles said before a stretch of silence lingered in the vehicle.

It didn't take me another second to come to the conclusion that Miles was lying to his own parents, and the fact that they were not entirely approving of our current living situation.

Absentmindedly hugging me close, Miles scoffed and stayed closelipped  as we remained still in the backseat.

The embarrassment made the back of my neck warm up. I kept my mouth shut and got off of Miles' lap, my current thoughts brought into disarray by the things I'd heard.

He stopped touching me.  His brows creased. He didn't say anything as I pulled away from him to sit closer to the window.

So, all the while I was asleep, his parents were talking to him about me and our apparent "relationship"?

Shouldn't be a big deal. However, to me, it felt like a blatant trust issue. But I chose to keep quiet. Facing forward now, I could see his parents sitting behind the driver and right in front of us, while the bodyguards kept still in the front.

The van was big enough for ten people, but the Falcos preferred to have only two members of their security detail with them. The others must be right behind, driving another vehicle.

Were the tinted windows bulletproof?  Probably.  An odd feeling of insecurity now interfered with my thoughts. Couldn't do much but keep it all to myself, though.

"You okay?" murmured the guy beside me.  

I simply nodded. I couldn't look him in the eye, not after what he'd told his parents.  To brush the thought aside, I watched the retreating sun and stared out the window.

Traffic and busy streets no longer halted the drive, and our speed had picked up. This part of the Italian countryside didn't quite compete with Tuscany's quaint churches and cathedrals, rustic villages, lovely sunsets over stretches of fertile farmlands, and the long, sandy beaches of the southern Riviera.

But this part of the mid-regions also boasted an array of centuries-old structures that tell much about the country's colorful history.

The winding grapevines, rich olive groves, and spectacular spires on mountain cliffs also captivated my undivided attention.  Worthy painting subjects as well were the picturesque villages, striking taverns, and tourist-filled plazas we'd pass by from time to time.

For a moment, I forgot about my troubling thoughts and just appreciated the scenery.  We traveled by another historic town. The impressive suspension system made the drive feel smooth and effortless.

The Falcos filled the awkward silence with business talk.  Mr. Falco resumed talking to his wife about the family business:  from their recently messed up cargo shipments to their hotel chain's new management team.  Same conversations for the rest of the drive.

Trying not to eavesdrop was rather difficult, but I wanted to keep on ignoring everybody.  I sat still, admiring the stretch of lush greenery beside the road.

Then Miles touched my hand. He showed me his phone screen while his lips compressed into a frown, his curly hair all over his forehead. The lack of lighting in the vehicle cast shadows on his strong features, and his attentive eyes anticipated my reaction.

On his phone screen stayed a few words, written in all caps. 

"WHAT'S WRONG?" he'd typed on the screen. Miles kept staring at me as if waiting for me to speak up, as if we were the only people in the car.

Unable to focus my attention on his handsome face, I grabbed his phone and typed a reply. "LATER."

◇

7:19PM

I stared at my watch.  We'd been travelling for hours.  Hopefully we'd reach Ricchar Falco's house soon.  Ricchar was Miles' first cousin and second in charge of the Falcos' shipping business, as I'd been told.

"Hungry?" Miles muttered to my ear.

His breath fanned my cheek, planting goosebumps on my arms, even if I'd worn a sweater above my skirt.  I tried not to mind our physical intimacy, but his efforts to keep me close were nowhere near subtle.

Ugh. Why did he have to pretend? Why would he even lie to his own parents?

Not a single, rational idea came to mind. Did he really have to lead them on?

What for? And why was he being so uncommunicative lately? I even caught him snooping on my phone last night—something we had yet to discuss. Shouldn't make anything out of it, but, because of this off-the-cuff road trip with his family, my anxiety only doubled.

Thoughts of my ailing father crept into my mind again. How was he? Was Jill at the hospital with Mom? Could Dad still breathe on his own?

At the moment, I was starting to hate myself for not being there for him. Work was one thing, but, how could I just go on vacation with Miles and his family, while my own father was confined in the hospital, rapidly deteriorating?

I glanced at the tightlipped guy sitting next to me. We needed to talk. Now.  If only we could get to somewhere private. Sooner than I could change my mind, hopefully.

◇