Page 17 of Ink Deep Devotion

Dad jerks as if I slapped him.

“I’m sorry,” I add. I know seeing me dance is Dad’s memory of Mom, but that washislife with her, and I want to live mine.

“I want…I um…”Just say it!“I want to focus on painting.”

“Painting?” Dad questions with shocked disgust.It’s a brush and paint, not a picketing sign, and I’ll hold as I riot outside of the White House.

“Mila, please.” Dom sounds annoyed.“The painting is just something silly. Anyone can paint. No one can dance like you. You’re too good to stop.” Dom glances at my father.“She’s just stressed.”

Dad sits taller, rolling his shoulders back.“I think Dominic is right. Ballet is your passion. I knew studying both painting and dance was too much for you to handle. I think we should just focus on ballet. I know I don’t say this enough, but, sweetheart, your mother would be so proud of you.” Dad grabs his fork again.“I’ll talk to your school counselor this week and tell her to drop painting from your curriculum. If you still want to take a class for fun, I can arrange that as well. This way, you won’t be stressed about making the grades.”

“I guess the best quality I have is following orders,” I mutter.

“What was that, darling?”

“Nothing,” I reply, seeing a fruitless battle on my horizon. I could argue and kick my feet like a child. Refuse. The men in my life always win. I’ve always been this submissive doll.

I grab my wine and swallow half the glass. Dom clears his throat; his eyes burn holes into me.“You’re right. It’s the stress.”From you all, not my classes.I stand.“I have to use the restroom.” Dad nods his eyes, watching my every move.

Without haste, I exit the private dining room. Two guards follow behind me until I reach the restroom. I close the stall doorand lean my forehead against it.“I don’t want to be a doll,” I whisper gravely. That was why I made the deal with Dash. He offered me freedom, but I traded it in forhim.

I steal my spine with an idea in mind.Sometimes crazy ideas work. Right?

Wrong. I know I’ll fail because I didn’t make plans, but I have no other ideas. I need my dad to know that I’m done following his every rule.I will not be the ballerina they all desire!

I deviate from the usual path and go through the main dining room instead of turning toward the private rooms. I can feel the guard closing in on me from a short distance.“Mila,” he warns me. I continue to weave through the tables.Just act like you know what you’re doing. Think of it as a ballet.

There’s a silver wine stand next to the table up ahead.Perfect!A couple is on a date, looking so in love, they have no idea I’m about to be a wrecking ball.“Apologies in advance,” I say while grabbing the wine bottle. The ice in the bucket clatters and shakes. I rotate and lash out, focusing on my father’s guard. I swing like Babe Ruth, all passion and talent.

Boom!The bottle strikes my guard, and a huge splash of red wine flies, making the scene look much more dramatic than I intended. People gasp as my guard grabs his head and tumbles to the ground.Shit!The bottle makes a clanking sound as it falls and rolls on the floor, and at the same time, my gaze meets the guard as he glares up at me.He’s alive, at least. That’s good and bad.

He seems just as stunned as everyone else. I’ve always done what I’ve been told, so this is like seeing aliens invade.Where's an alien conspiracy theorist when you need one? I’d love a cheerleader for support right now.

I feel like Hilary Duff when she took the stage in The Lizzie McGuire Movie.Embrace it and sing, but in this case, run!I dash out the front door and onto the busy street. After turning left, I start running and keep going without stopping.

I finally did it! I broke a rule, and my father will find out.

Behind me, I hear the sound of loud stomping footsteps. Is it a Sasquatch? Nope. The abominable snowman? I wish.

The guard shouts. I steal a glance over my shoulder to see him closing in, in a wine-stained suit and his face covered with fury. What the hell is he Usain Bolt? I pump my arms more feverishly than an eighties dance instructor as I push my legs to the limit, sprinting down the street.

I need my phone! I need Siri to help guide me through this maze of cars and flashing lights! My feet stumble to a halt; I look around in a daze because the intersection feels bigger than the Shibuya crossing in Japan.

It’s just nerves. Calm down. Breathe.I push the crosswalk button. I quickly look behind me, then turn my attention back to the light.

What the hell am I doing?Run you fool!Disregarding the red crosswalk signal, a car zooms past me as I step out. I narrowly avoid getting hit as I run past one lane before attempting to pass the next.

A hand grabs onto my shoulder. They got me!

I jerk away with all my force, breaking myself free, but then I stumble and fall onto the street. Ouch!

I push to stand, but whooshing air from the swerving cars causes me to sway, directly into oncoming traffic. The screech of a car’s brakes and the shouts of a bodyguard are the last things I notice before something collides with my left side.

Chapter 7

Mila

“Take these pills, and you’ll feel all better, sweetheart.” The nurse extends the small paper cup, placing it in my hand. Four capsules lay inside. As I move, the thin sheets in the hospital scrape against my skin.

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