Page 35 of Becoming Mila
“Convenient,” I mumble.
His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “Right. Convenient isexactlywhat you were.”
“Oh. So, you do want everyone to talk aboutmerather thanyou,” I say, my shoulders sinking. This is what I didn’t want – a stir. Ruben’s words echo in my head, all that crap about maintaining a low profile. . . But how is that possible in a town as small as Fairview? Nothing exciting ever happens – and then Everett freaking Harding’s kid pitches up?
“Well, yeah,” Blake says. He steps in front of the couch and props his arm on top of a rack of vinyls. “Most of Fairview High are wondering if Everett himself is about to show up too.”
My heart sinks. I should have never gone to that tailgate party. And honestly, I should have never even befriended Savannah again. I should have stayed within the ranch boundaries, painted flaky woodwork, listened to Popeye’s stories from the Vietnam War, and learned to take care of the horses with Sheri. I should have done what Ruben and my father expected of me – to remain silent, poised, and obedient, a perfect pixel in the Everett Harding picture, with no wriggle room in which to simply be Mila Harding.
“Mila?” Blake says with concern.
I look up at him, my heart thumping hard in my chest. “Did you not think –” I try, but my throat has gone dry “– that there was areasonI didn’t want anyone to know who my dad was?”
The crack in my voice reveals my panic, and Blake moves suddenly to sit down on the couch next to me. He hunches forward, hands on his knees, searching my face for a hint of what exactly thisreasonmay be.
“You don’t sound pissed at me anymore. Should I be concerned?”
Bailey shuffles over and jumps up, paws on the edge of the couch, furry head nestling into Blake’s lap. His tail wags enthusiastically, but Blake pushes him off.
“Not now, Bails,” he whispers. He points firmly to the dog bed and Bailey skulks off to the other side of the cabin. “Good boy.” Blake fixes his attention back on me, his expression intense. When I don’t respond, he takes a stab at guessing. “You don’t want anyone to know Everett Harding is your dad because you don’t want everyone in Fairview kissing your ass? You want to make real friends and not fake ones? You’re bored of talking about him?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want anyone to focus on who my dad is,” I say, my voice flat, “because no one was supposed to know I was even here in the first place.”
Blake furrows his eyebrows. “Huh?”
I turn to look at him sharply. “C’mon, Blake. You’ve already figured out that I’m not here because Iwantto be.”
If he feels smug about being right, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he relaxes back against the couch and stares ahead for a few seconds, pensive. “When I pushed you so hard in Nashville, it wasn’t just for fun, Mila. I was giving you a chance to get something off your chest. Anything at all.” He sits forward again, edging in slightly closer to me this time. His knee bumps mine. “So. Anything?”
I glance down at his knee by mine and instinctively pull my leg away.
I’m probably the onlyperson around here who can understand you. . .
Those words of Blake’s from our argument in Nashville circle inside my head, on a constant loop. I told him our lives were totally different, but when I steal a peek out of the cabin doors at the pristine house, I think of LeAnne. The Mayor of Nashville, with her son under strict instructions to keep his act in order so that there isn’t even the possibility of a single blemish on her record. A familiar feeling for Everett Harding’s daughter.
I tilt my chin up and my eyes meet Blake’s.
Maybe heisthe only person around here who could possibly ever begin to understand me, to understand lifeas the kid of someone in the spotlight with an image to maintain. I bet there are a lot of people out there wishing to ruin the mayor’s reputation, and Blake must surely be under pressure to act a certain way.
So, I take a deep breath and start talking.
“TheFlash Pointmovies,” I say. “The latest one hits theaters next month.”
“Yeah, I know. The trailer plays during every damn commercial break on TV.”
I give Blake the side-eye, and he holds up his hands apologetically and then mimics zipping his lips shut.
“The production company is convinced that if there’s bad press about any cast members then the movie won’t make as many millions at the box office. And the whole no-bad-press rule extends to family members, too. Like me.”
“So, you’re bad publicity?” Blake asks, intrigued.
“Only byaccident,” I groan. I sink my head into my hands and rub at my temples. Even now, I can still taste the sweet fizz of that champagne from the press conference. The final straw in the very, very short list of Mila Harding’s mistakes. “The past few months I’ve done a couple of things that would be minusculeif I were anyone else, but in Dad’s world they’ve been escalated into totally end-of-the-world stuff.”
“Like?”
“Like being photographed giving the finger to the paparazzi. And TMZ have a video of me throwing up at one of Dad’s events.” I drop my hands from my face and raise my head, my cheeks blazing red. “If you’ve not seen it already, then please, please don’t google it or anything.”
“I promise I won’t google the video of you throwing up,” he says with a smile, his hand clasped over his heart. His knee touches mine again, but this time I don’t shift my leg away.
