Page 2 of Repluse

CHAPTER 1

Mila

THREE MONTHS LATER

My stomach knots as the lift doors open and I step inside. Nerves, anticipation, and excitement all churn inside my belly, causing my leg to bounce and my palm to sweat as it grips the handle of my carry-on case. Drawing in a deep breath, I pause for a few seconds and hold it in while the doors glide closed, and I start my ascent into the unknown.

“Bring what you need for a weekend at home,”Frankie had said.

So, I had a case full of leggings, trackies, tees, hoodies, pyjamas, undies, and toiletries—all things I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house in if I was back in Yira, but here in the city of Melbourne, no one knows who I am, and the only time I plan on being seen in public is when I visit my mother at her care facility. No one there will care, either, or even remember what I’m wearing.

To be honest, I’ve no idea what Frankie has planned for this weekend. When we spoke at the party, I’d said what I needed to say to sow the seeds, hoping they’d germinate over the course of the night. I’d played the role of the sad, lonely, bored housewifeI’d been practising in my head for months. I didn’t flirt with him, didn’t want him to think I was desperate. Simply more… vulnerable? So, when he’d made his way back to me later that evening and asked what it was I needed torelievethat boredom, to feellesssad and lonely, I’d giggled and raised a brow before looking down and shaking my head, as if I was too embarrassed to say.

Then while I waited for those seeds to bloom, I played with him for a while, letting him think I was shy; that he had to coax my response from me. Eventually blaming my confession on the alcohol, I told him my truth. That moment, me admitting to my darkest desires, was the only honest thing about our conversation… on my part, anyway.

I’d watched his jaw tense, his tongue flick out to lick at his full, plump lips, and his green eyes narrow as he swallowed before he leant in and said, “What if I could solve that problem for you? What if I could make it happen? Fulfil that need? Make you less sad, less lonely? Would you be up for it, Mila, or are you full of shit?”

I didn’t need to fake the shudder that rolled through me, the goosebumps that raced across my skin, or the hardening of my nipples. They happened of their own volition as his hot breath caressed the side of my neck when he spoke.

Slipping a business card into my hand, he added, “If you mean it, if you’re brave enough to live a little—or alot—call me.”

That was when, for the first time all evening, my husband appeared at my side and jokingly asked what we were plotting. In unison, Frankie and I fake laughed, and as if it had already been rehearsed, we told him a lie.

Lost in my thoughts,I jump when the doors open. I step out into the foyer of Frankie’s penthouse apartment, pulling my case behind me. The floor is covered in a black and white chequeredprint, porcelain tile, the walls white wooden panels. The lighting is soft, coming from three overhead glass domes hanging in a row, as well as a lamp on a long black console table right before the front door, which is open and filled with the tall frame of Frankie Walsh.

His dark hair is pushed back, and as I move towards him, I notice it’s damp and curling at the ends. His olive-skinned jaw is covered in stubble, and his green eyes sparkle as they travel from my head to my toes, then back to meet mine. When they do, I return the favour and rake my eyes from his to the tight black T-shirt that clings perfectly to his muscled form, down his dark denim-clad legs, all the way to his bare feet.

Bare feet and jeans… Fuck me! What is it about that combination I find so appealing? Maybe it’s because it makes him appear vulnerable, or that very few get to see him this way? I don’t know, but it has my pulse racing.

“You came,” he says with a lopsided smile.

I shake my head and shrug. “I’m… There are so many responses to that, I’m just going to say yes, and leave it there.”

That earns me a bigger grin. When I reach the door, he steps aside and gestures with his arm for me to go in.

“Leave your bags here. We’ll deal with them after we talk,” he instructs.

“Talk?” I question as I wait to follow him into what looks like a living area at the end of a short hallway, with four other doors and a spiral staircase leading off it.

“Yeah, talk. I didn’t want to do it over text. Too risky. But we need to discuss what will happen while you’re here, what we expect from you, and what you can expect from us. And of course, I need to introduce you to Sam.”

“Sam?” I question.

“Yeah… Sam, meet Mila. Mila, Samuel Olsson, my business andother thingspartner.”

Samuel is standing at the end of the stone bench top. Like Frankie, he’s wearing jeans and a tee. His is white and fits just as perfectly to his fine physic. Unlike Frankie, his hair is blond, on the longer side, his skin sun-kissed and golden, his eyes a piercing blue, which, right now, are dancing all over my face. My reaction to Sam’s stare is the polar opposite to that of Frankie’s. I feel my heart rate slow; my muscles relax. Where Frankie has me nervous, maybe even a little afraid, Sam’s gentle gaze feels like a reassuring caress. A place of safety.

“Mila,” Sam says with a chin lift. That’s it. There’s no more to his greeting.

“Hey, Sam,” I respond with my own chin lift and smile.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks. “We have every kind of spirit, beer, wine, Prosecco?—”

“Prosecco, please,” I cut him off.

The room is open plan. A white, high-gloss kitchen, with a light stone benchtop and black appliances, leads into a dining area, then onto the living/family room I’m now standing in. Two four-seater, tan-coloured leather sofas face each other. Between them is a timber coffee table that matches the dining table. At one end is a wingback leather armchair in a darker shade of brown than the sofas. Behind us, and to the left of where I’m standing, is an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows looking out towards the Yarra River and the city of Melbourne.

“Take a seat,” Frankie says as he passes me my drink.

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