Chastened, her gaze zoomed to the table, right in front of her. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
His breath rustled her forehead as he expelled sharply. “It’s fine.”
Changing the subject, she looked back towards the ocean, and the little fishing boats coming out to bob on the surface, their shapes quite charming against the pewter-coloured sky.
“It’s so peaceful.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Only once, many years ago.”
“With Benji?”
“Yes.”
“It’s easy to see why he loves it so much.”
“He told me he feels most at home here.”
Her smile was softened by affection for her cousin, the one family member she had; a pervasive sense of loneliness followed. She looked towards Leonidas, about to observe something about their mutual acquaintance, but he was staring at her with such intensity that any thoughts skittled from her mind. “I—,”
She couldn’t speak. No words would come to her. Hesaidhe wouldn’t act on whatever crazy desire was humming between them, but his eyes made the opposite promise, homing in on her lips so they tingled and grew warm beneath the intensity of his gaze.
“When did you start skating?”
The question seemed to be dragged from him, almost against his will. It was not the first time she’d felt this hesitation from him, but now, it made sense. He didn’t want to wonder about her, to need to know about her.
She folded that realization inside herself, and propped a hand beneath her chin, leaning forward a little.
“Mila?”
She focused on his question. “I was very young. My mother used to take me.”
“She liked to skate, too?”
“My mother was a professional. An Olympian. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? Lorraine Monroe?”
He shook his head once.
Mila’s lips twisted sadly. “She was—very talented.”
“Was?”
Mila’s throat went dry, grief, a hardened knot in her gut, ever-present. “She was forced to give up skating professionally when she fell pregnant with me, and then, she died, when I was seven years old.”
“How?” No platitude from Leonidas, just the pursuit of information.
“A car accident.” Mila said, numb. “She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and was thrown clear of the windscreen. Her injuries were too great; she died instantly.”
“That’s a tragedy.”
“Yes.”
“And your father?”
“I never knew him,” Mila murmured. “My mother never told me about him.” It had been years before she’d learned the truth from someone in the skating team. Lorraine had been honest about her pregnancy—he just hadn’t wanted any part of a daughter. Nor had he stuck around to help put the pieces of Lorraine’s life back together. Pregnant at twenty three, the only career she’d trained for in tatters, unable to support herself…Mila shook her head with silent anger at the older man who’d taken such awful advantage of an adoring young woman