Page 36 of Becoming Mila
“There’s a lot riding on this new movie and Dad’s every move is being scrutinized while they roll out the publicity campaign, so—”
“So, it’ll be easier if you’re not there to mess things up for him?”
Ouch. It’s the truth, but still it sounds harsh hearing it from someone else.
I look up at Blake and his frown has both pity and empathy in it. Maybe hedoesknow exactly how I feel. Guilt rises in my throat; I know my mouth should be sealed shut. Ruben would have me for dead if he knew I was about to spill this reality to Blake, but I can’t stop myself. Knowing that someone else gets how it feels to have so much pressure hanging over your head – well, it feels. . . comforting. Comforting to know that someone else can’t afford to make any so-called mistakes either.
“I’m too much of a risk,” I murmur. “They don’t trust me not to stir up anything vaguely resembling bad publicity again. And the movie comes first.”
“So, you’re here until it’s released?” Blake finishes. He evidently knows how these things work. He knows the lengths to which someone in the public eye will go to preserve their reputation. It’s not just A-listers. The Mayor of Nashville can live without dramatic headlines, too.
“Probably longer. It needs to earn however many millions of dollars at the box office first. Dad’s manager thinks I shouldn’t even leave the ranch. I think he expects me to be totally incognito, invisible, but my aunt lets melive, obviously. So, yeah. No one was really supposed to know that I was here, I don’t think. But now everyone does.”
Now that I’m saying this out loud, I realize how ridiculous it is. I’m trapped in Fairview so that I don’t potentially create bad press for a movie that I’m not eveninvolvedin. If only I’d not been hungover and humiliated that morning after the press conference, I could have fought my corner harder. I could have held my nerve and told Ruben that no, I wasn’t going anywhere. And I should have dared to ask my father where his loyalties really lie.
“Don’t you think it’s hilarious how everyone assumes life isgreatwhen your parent is some kind of star?” Blake scoffs. Then his expression grows gloomy. “They don’t know the half of it. Do you have any siblings?”
My throat feels so restricted now, I can barely speak. I angle my body into his, and our knees press closer still. “No. Do you?”
“No,” he says, then rolls his eyes. “Sogreat, right? No one else to share the burden with. All focus is solely on you. Ilovebeing an only child,” he adds dryly.
“Yeah, it sucks. You don’twantthe focus to be on you.”
“And I took it upon myself to keep putting you on the spot in front of everyone at the tailgate party,” Blake says after a moment. Looking troubled, he remorsefully touches my knee. “Fuck, Mila. I’m sorry – I know you were so upset that night.”
Transfixed by Blake’s hand on my leg, I can’t reply. I look at his fingers, the way his grip tightens as though he’s unaware he’s touching me. He follows my gaze down to his hand then pulls it back with a jolt. Pink flushes across his neck.
“I wasn’tupset,” I protest. “I was mad. There’s a difference.”
Suddenly, there’s a loud rap at the glass doors of the cabin. Blake and I both start at the same time, yanked out of our bubble as I twist around. Bailey lunges from his bed and barks madly at the door, making my heart beat even faster. LeAnne stands outside the cabin, her hands pressed to her hips, peering through the glass.
“Lunch is served.”
Her features are tight, and she does little to hide her disdain as she glances between Blake and me for a long while. Eventually, she turns on her heels and stalks back to the house, leaving me wondering if I imagined the disapproval in her look.
13
Inside, the Averys’ home is exactly how I would expect the home of the Mayor of Nashville to be: elegant and pristine, slightly soulless, but with a half-empty box of election flyers in the corner of the kitchen.
It may be an old manor house, but the interior has clearly been recently renovated. The kitchen seems brand spanking new, with fitted gloss counters and an oven that looks barely used. Even the floor is covered in shiny, sparkling white tiles. And no one would ever know that a meal has just been cooked – already the dishes are washed and packed away, the stovetop wiped clean and the scent of disinfectant in the air.
“This way,” LeAnne says. Still dressed in her pencil skirt and blouse, she plucks out a bottle of wine from a rack on the wall, grabs a corkscrew from a drawer, then crosses the kitchen into the adjoining dining room.
Blake and I follow her to a vast glossy table. The chairs are padded with silver crushed velvet, so luxurious that I hesitate to sit down, almost terrified in case I so much as leave a crease.
“You can sit here,” Blake says, pulling out a chair.
There’s music playing softly from a speaker somewhere and the scent of roast beef and all its trimmings fills the room, making my stomach lurch with hunger. Awkwardly, I sit down where instructed and toy with my hands in my lap.
Blake sits down directly opposite me; LeAnne takes the head of the table. There’s three other empty chairs, but I get the feeling they aren’t used much. As LeAnne sets the bottle of wine down on the table with a thud, I surreptitiously search her hand for a wedding ring. There isn’t one.
The atmosphere, despite the luscious food and the poppy chart music, isn’t all that comfortable. Maybe it’s because Blake seems quieter than his usual self or maybe it’s because of the look LeAnne gave me outside. Did she see Blake’s hand on my knee? Maybe she’s super protective of her son.
Blake clears his throat and pulls his chair in close to the table, distractedly piling potatoes onto his plate. “This looks great, Mom,” he says, breaking the silence. “Thanks.”
LeAnne gives him a weak smile and then pops the cork of her bottle of wine, pouring herself a glass.
“Mila,” LeAnne says, turning her focus to me, “please feel free to start.”
