Page 66 of Siren's Heart

He sighs, his eyes dancing over my face. I've filled him in on everything that’s happened today on our way here, and he's really supportive of us standing our ground and leaving our label and management if we find it to be the right choice.

"How long are you staying in Toronto?" I ask him, caressing the back of his hand with my thumb.

"At least three months," he says with a sigh, lifting our hands to press his lips to the back of mine. My stomach drops. Three whole months? That’s a lot. "But I'm going to call you every day."

"I'll message you until you grow sick of me," I promise him with a giggle, feeling my cheeks heating. "Jokes aside,” I take a deep breath and ask him the question that’s been weighing on me. I started thinking about how dating might work once the match is over. “Do you think we can make it through long distance?"

"Oh, I'm very determined to make it through long distance." He lifts our hands and leans a bit forward, until his breath feathers over my fingers and presses his lips against one of my fingers. "I've got you now, and I'm not letting you go, Millie. Even if I only got to see you once a year, you're mine now."

His intense gaze makes my heart flutter, and I gnaw at my lip as I rack my brain. How do I even answer that? I want to tell him that I'm never letting him go again either. I want to promise to go to Toronto with him, and that we'll never be apart, but that's just not how my life works.

Our waiter saves me as he approaches with a pitcher of water and takes our orders. Once he's gone, I finally know what to say.

"I'm in this, too, Luca. I don’t know what it is, but you’re so special. You’re the only one who makes my heart beat so fast I fear I’m having a heart attack, and so loved I wonder what kind of unlucky bastard I was in my past life to deserve you in this one. We'll make it work," I promise him, bringing a smile to his face that lights up the room. My gut tells me we can make it, and I just hope it's not about to betray me.

"Good," he whispers, pressing another kiss to my hand. "We might only know each other for a few weeks, but something inside me just tells me that you're it. I've waited all my life for you to turn up."

"Wow," I whisper, surprised by the sudden intensity of our conversation. I clear my throat. "I feel the same. When Kayla and Asher set us up, it was like it all clicked into place. I feel like I've known you half my life already."

"And I hope to know you for the rest of mine," he says sweetly, and I swoon. How is that man so good with words? If any, shouldn’t I be the poet of the both of us? But when he's in front of me, and I look into his emerald eyes, I lose all my words.

I just hope they come back to me when I work on new songs because that man deserves to be sung about.

Our appetizers come, and we change the conversation to a less serious topic. Luca tells me about the newest shenanigans his teammates and parents got up to, and I tell him about how my parents almost missed their flights.

When the waiter comes to collect our empty appetizer plates, I excuse myself to the bathroom.

Ignoring all the looks I think I’m getting, I find it, not too far away from where we're sitting even, but discreetly hidden by another curtain. To my surprise, the inside seems even more ritzy than the rest of the restaurant. The counter is made of an even more expensive-looking marble, the faucet is shiny gold, and the doors to the toilets are made of robust-looking wood with gold doorknobs. And they're really damn heavy to move.

Only moments after locking the door to my stall behind me, I hear the door to the bathroom open, and a chatter of voices enter the room, voices bouncing off the sleek tiles.

"Did you see her?" A female voice whispers. "The way she was dressed?" I tense. Are they talking about me? Am I overreacting because I feel like everyone is talking about me, just like Kayla said? Or do I just think they’re talking about me because I feel a tad underdressed myself?

"Seems she didn't get the memo," another voice answers before both of them giggle. "I mean, did you see her shoes?"

"Flats." The voice sounds downright disgusted. "And that bracelet! I wonder what trashcan she pulled that one out of."

I look at my wrist, closing my hand around the bracelet I've made myself.

"She should just disappear. Seriously, Luca deserves so much better. I wonder if he’s just dating her for money and his career." A third voice adds. "I mean, come on. Nobody likes that cringe witch."

"Right? I feel like she's just dragging Kayla down. Everything would be better if she just disappeared."

Insecurity makes room in my gut for pure, blazing rage. How dare those women talk about me like that?

We are women; we're supposed to stick together, lift each other up, and face the common enemy–whoever that’s supposed to be.

But I can't even argue when they say Luca is too good for me. Deep down, I fear the same. But I'm doing my fucking damnest to measure up to him, to be just as supportive, just as loving, and as much of a good partner. How dare they judge a relationship they only know, like, one picture of?

I flush the toilet and straighten my dress, ensuring I look the best I can in this cabin. They must know I’m in here, right? They entered so shortly after me, there’s virtually no way they didn’t see me come in.

After taking a deep breath and straightening my shoulders, I pull the door open with my head held high, not sparing the group of women a glance. Fuck them. I got the prize. I work fucking hard for everything I have, and I don't need to pay attention to sore, jealous women who talk down on others.

Jealousy is just hate with extra steps, I repeat Kayla's mantra in my head.

The women’s conversation subsided to a whisper when they see me, and I watch them from the corner of my eye.

Usually, one would be embarrassed, getting caught by the person you were talking about, right? Well, not those women. Those women are on a whole other level.

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