Page 96 of Mila: The Godfather

Never let others know your secrets, stelina. They’ll use them against you as a weakness. My sister’s, Kadra, voice plays in my mind as a warning.

Riagan’s not like that.

I don’t see the darkness that surrounds most cruel men in him.

Not when it comes to me, at least.

Ignoring all logic… again. I give in.

“I’m not that interesting.” I whisper honestly. I’m really not. All the secrets I keep close to my heart tend to make people look at me as if I’m a charity case.

“I beg to differ.” I become enthralled by the way his gentle touch on my skin makes me feel a million and one things at a time. Nervous. Thrilled. Happy. Emotions I’ve yet to understand I am sure I am feeling them somehow.

That is the Riagan effect.

I also think about how he knows me better than I think I know myself, and how illogical is that? How can someone who I’ve just met know so much about me? My sister Kadra told me once that fairytales aren’t real. Romance novels are just stories.

What if she was wrong?

What if fairytales do exist? What if I am living my own?

“Friends do that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Fiancés do.”

Fiancé.

Thud.

Thud.

My heart.

There’s that feeling again whenever he mentions our new status. We effortlessly graduated from complete strangers to strangers with a common mission to fiancées-slash-friends.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” I tell him truthfully, looking down at our joint hands, too nervous to look at his face.

Sharing secrets is like opening a book and letting someone else read it. It makes me feel vulnerable. And in the world I grew up in, vulnerability equates to weakness.

“Tell me something that makes you smile that no one else knows?” Riagan whispers, still holding onto my hand.

“Adding color to all that is colorless.” He says nothing, and I take it as he wants me to explain. It makes sense to me, but perhaps it won’t make sense to everyone else. “Every room in my house growing up was plain white. There was nothing in my room that had color or brought warmth to it. It felt lifeless. Empty. When I added a pop of color, it suddenly didn’t feel sad or empty. It made me smile. I paint everything I can. Colors are proven to uplift human’s emotions.”

“What else?”

I think about it for a second before replying. “I like vintage things.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.” I say softly. “I guess I’ve just always been drawn to old things. Usually, old things are forgotten and tossed aside when they’re no longer useful.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “It doesn’t make sense, I am aware, but I like the feeling I get when I fix them and bring them back to life by caring for them. Loving them. Same as my plants. Caring for them makes me smile.” I look up, and my eyes clash with his for a brief second then I redirect my gaze and stare at his chest instead. I wait in silence, hoping he understands and doesn’t laugh. In my head, it makes perfect sense but others might not see it the way I do.

“It makes perfect sense, butterfly.” He then rubs my hand with his thumb tenderly. I find comfort in his touch. That’s it. That’s all it takes. He never mocks or judges me. He just…lets me be me.

“Your turn.” I smile shyly at him. I want to listen to him talk. I prefer to listen to him. “Tell me a secret.”

“I don’t like people. I find most humans to be a nuisance and a waste of air.”

A waste of air? I smile wider, enjoying his honesty. That is one of the many things I’ve come to appreciate about Riagan. He genuinely doesn’t care if he sounds rude or mean when he is unapologetically himself.

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