Page 41 of Milo

"They are staying at a hotel.” Milo pauses in front of the peach-colored double doors with golden accents on the trim. "My sister cannot accommodate everyone."

"Really?" I hum as he rings the doorbell situated inside a wooden carving of a lion's mouth. I tilt my head back to survey the grand villa. "Looks big enough."

Milo expels a low chuckle. "Let me rephrase. She does not wish to accommodate everyone."

"Is she not a fan of your...friends?"

"Not entirely," Milo confesses, knocking on the door.

So impatient.

"I like her already.”

The front door swings open. An adorable blonde child wearing a pink tutu and a sparkling crown grins up at us. Are those real diamonds?

"Zio!" She waves her arms in the air. "Zio!"

Uncle?

Milo swoops his apparent niece into his arms, the uninhibited smile plastered across his face throwing me off.

"Principessa Natalia.” He adjusts her falling tiara. "Why are you opening doors? Didn't mamma tell you it's not safe?" He pinches her rosy cheek. "I could have been a monster."

Natalia giggles, squirming in Milo's embrace, her chubby face scrunching up. "Monster’s not real. And my mamma say I can open the door."

"She did?" Milo gasps, his tone light, playful, happy.

Who is this man?

Milo's niece nods her head feverishly before snapping her round eyes over his shoulder, looking at me with a curious gaze. "Who are you? Why you here?"

I stifle a laugh. Adorable and blunt.

"I'm Kiara.” Milo leads us into the home, the colorful aesthetic of the estate a stark contrast to his Ligurian property. "I'm your uncle's uh?—"

"Kiara is my friend," Milo chimes in, setting Natalia on the ground as Gio places our suitcases against the coral walls of the foyer. "She's here for your party."

Party? There's a party? I'm always left in the dark. Always.

Natalia blinks as she stares at me. I swear she's judging me right now. The little girl pushes her lips into a pout as she crosses her arms.

"You pretty.”

In my peripheral, I catch Milo rolling his eyes.

"Awe, thank you," I reply to Natalia, subtly tossing Milo a boastful scowl. "You're pretty too."

"Oh, I know," Natalia says with absolute certainty as she taps her ballet slipper on the ground. "What's your favorite color?"

Milo crosses his arms, sidling up next to Natalia, mimicking her diva stance. "Yes, Kiara," he says playfully, “what is your favorite color?"

I bite my lip, my gaze fluttering across Natalia's costume. "Pink?"

Natalia's eyes widen, her tiny body about to explode from glee. "Me too!" She jumps up and down. "I love pink! I have pink shoes and pink dresses and pink walls and pink pants and pink shirts and pink toys and pink?—"

"Basically, her entire room looks like cotton candy," a perky feminine voice with a thick Italian accent calls out from behind us. "Milo! You're here, and look, no blood on your clothes. I am so honored."

"Julia.” Milo frowns as we turn around. His sister saunters toward us wearing a flowing red sundress, her ashy blonde hair pulled up into a cascading ponytail. "Not in front of Talia. Please."

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