Page 47 of Milo

"I'm fine.” Milo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a deep breath. "It is none of your concern."

"Okay.” He’s clearly quite irritable right now, and I don’t wish to provoke him even further. I eye my empty flute. He doesn't seem in a very talkative state either. "I'm uh— going to get another drink. Do you want one?"

"No.” He closes his eyes, shoulders relaxing. "I should spend time with my niece." After a beat, he asks in a warmer tone, "Would you like to join me?"

I contemplate his invitation, nibbling on my bottom lip. I don't want to insert myself into his family bonding time. He's mentioned he doesn't get to see Natalia often.

"I'll find you in a bit. Go be with your family."

"Alright.” Milo nods, not pushing me to come with him. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

I cast him a weak smile. "Yes, I'm used to it."

Milo tilts his head. "Kiara..."

"Go," I say, forcing a bigger smile. "I'm fine."

He hesitates for a second before striding toward the arts and crafts area. I purse my lips, looking around at all the strangers surrounding me. I don't remember the last time I've had to mingle. Back in Hawthorne, I had one friend, Noelle, who would drag me out to events and bars, but she moved away a year ago and my social life ceased to exist.

After getting another glass of wine, I saunter from group to group, like a sad little nomad, searching for a table that's discussing something I care about, something I can contribute to.

With the mix of Italian, English, and French being spoken, my brain struggles to decipher the topics being discussed, hindering my ability to choose a clique.

I walk aimlessly around the vast gardens, catching tidbits of broken conversations. Instead of partaking in a meaningless discussion with people I don't know, I chose to admire the landscaping of the estate and take solace in the time I get to spend with myself, with my own thoughts. No pandering, no fake smiles, just me.

Or so I thought.

"Kiara," Marchello's voice calls out in the distance, startling me.

"God.” I grab my chest as he emerges from the shadows of the rose bushes, cigarette in hand. "You scared me. What are you doing out here?"

"Milo doesn't let me smoke in front of the bambini.” He takes a long drag of the Marlboro red. "So, I come here."

"Oh.” At least he has some boundaries. "That's very...responsible of him."

"Yes.” He expels a hoarse cough before smiling at me. “Milo is very fond of children."

"I can tell.” He looks so natural and happy around his niece.

Marchello tosses the butt of his smoke on the ground, stomping on it with his boot. "Enjoy the party, Kiara. Try not to get too drunk. We have an important day tomorrow."

I frown. "What's tomorrow?"

Marchello chuckles, his wrinkled forehead creasing. "We are playing poker with some friends at Monte Carlo then we go to Sezza Lounge. Milo didn't tell you?"

"He doesn't tell me a lot of things.” I tap my nails against the wine glass in my hand. "Do I have to play too?"

"You will be there to listen and watch. This time maybe no cocaina, okay?"

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "No coke, got it."

"Good.” He looks at me warily before walking away. I can't tell if he likes me or not, but I don't really care. His opinion of me is the least of my concerns.

When I've explored as much of the acreage as these stilettos will allow, I find myself approaching the white benches. Milo sits at the small table surrounded by three children, Julia and Antonia nowhere to be seen.

"Hey.” I tap his shoulder. "When were you going to tell me?—"

Milo turns his head toward me, and I burst out laughing, wine nearly spilling out of my nostrils as I take in the pink monarch butterfly painted on his cheek. "Oh my God. Wow."

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