Page 13 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

Mirella was by the punch table, swirling her glass in the way she always did when she was ready to disappear at any second. Her eyes moved around the room, wary but calm, like she was seeing the world through glass. That was Mirella for you, always wanting to be anywhere but where she was.

“Surprised to see you here,” I said, strolling up beside her, leaning casually against the table. “I thought you hated these gatherings.”

She looked up, and a tinge of surprise crossed her face before she smiled, that familiar hint of defiance in her eyes. “You thought right. I’d rather be just about anywhere else.”

“Still avoiding the small talk, I see,” I smirked, helping myself to a glass of the punch. I remembered how, as kids, we’d sneak off as soon as anyone tried to corner us with questions. “Remember how we’d sneak out and make a game of rating the guests?”

A glint of amusement lit up her face. “And when we got stuck, we’d pick out random people to read and guess their entire life story based on nothing.”

“You think I’ve lost my touch?” I raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Prove it,” she dared, crossing her arms as her eyes darted over to a tall man near the buffet table. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. Him.”

I looked the guy over. “Hmm… former athlete, peaked in high school, spends half his salary on a sports car he can barely afford. He’s probably here because he heard the host is connected, and he thinks he’ll ‘network his way to greatness.’”

Her laugh bubbled up, soft and real. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard her laugh like that. “Alright, that was a decent warm-up. Try her,” she pointed at a woman standing by the window, tapping away on her phone.

I studied her for a moment, leaning in closer to Mirella with a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s been roped into this by her boss, texting her boyfriend about how boring it is and thinking of excuses to duck out early. But I’ll bet she’s also texting her backup date, just in case the boyfriend flakes. She’s got options.”

Mirella’s smile widened. “Impressive. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“I still surprise myself,” I shrugged, and for a moment, I let myself just enjoy seeing her happy. Her laugh felt like some kind of achievement. I couldn’t help but grin at her. “You know, I’ve missed that laugh.”

Her smile faltered for a split second, and I could see something behind her eyes, something she didn’t want to admit to. “It’s just been a while since I had anything worth laughing about.”

“Funny. I seem to remember a time when you’d laugh at just about anything.”

She tilted her head, challenging me with her eyes. “Well, people change, don’t they?”

“Maybe. But some things stay the same.” I leaned in closer, letting my tone turn serious. “Like your terrible poker face. You’re hiding something, Mirella.”

She stiffened slightly, her smile turning guarded. “Is that so? You think you can read me that well?”

“Oh, I don’t think,” I smirked. “I know. Which means whatever story you’re about to tell me, I already know it’s a lie.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile like she was playing along. “Alright, genius, if you already know I’m lying, why bother asking?”

“Because the truth’s more interesting. But go on, humor me with the fake story anyway.”

She paused, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Alright, here goes. I left because… I didn’t know what I wanted.”

I nodded, pretending to believe it, letting her spin her tale. “Of course, the classic ‘I’m finding myself’ reason. So, how’d that go? Did you find yourself?”

She gave me a long look, something unreadable in her gaze. “Not really. I guess I kept losing myself instead.”

“Impressive. It takes real talent to lose yourself that many times,” I shot back, smiling as she glared at me. “But seriously, ‘I didn’t know what I wanted’?” I shook my head, clicking my tongue. “I expected something with a bit more flair.”

She huffed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Alright, Mr. Know-It-All. What would the ‘truth’ sound like, according to you?”

I pretended to think deeply, tapping my chin with exaggerated deliberation. “Let’s see. You left because… you were scared. Scared of what you might mean to people or what people might mean to you. Or maybe you were scared you’d lose yourself if you stayed.”

She watched me for a long time, her gaze turning softer, almost vulnerable. “Maybe that’s a little too close to home,” she said, voice dropping just enough that I had to lean in to catch it.

For a moment, we just stood there. I could feel that old pull between us, the way it had been when we were kids, when we were friends, before my father became the wedge driving us apart. But before I could say anything, she cleared her throat, the mask slipping back into place.

“So, how about you, Sergio?” She leaned against the table, watching me with a teasing glint. “What is your truth?”

“YOU,” I confessed.

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