It was onlyas she settled into the comfortable bed of her hotel, she remembered to switch her phone back on. She held her breath as she waited for it to buzz to life then explode with the predictable congratulatory messages. Her agent had sent her a schedule of media requests—more than ever—and she eyed the list with a sinking heart.
She was in no headspace to go out and talk about this.
She couldn’t trust herself.
It was like wading through mud.
She lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, but his message wouldn’t go away. She felt it in each throbbing of her heart, every twist of her being.
With a groan, she reached for her phone and typed out a reply.
Why did you come?
She sent it, rolling onto her side and staring at the screen. Despite the lateness of the hour, three dots appeared immediately, to indicate that he was typing.
I wanted to see you.
She squeezed her eyes shut against that. To see her. Not to be with her. To see her from a distance, to see her skate. It would never be enough for Mila.
She turned her phone off again and closed her eyes, even when she knew sleep would continue to elude her, just as it had since leaving Porto Mezi.
If Leonidas hadany doubts remaining about how badly he’d screwed up, then the agonizing wait for her reply would have spelled it out, loud and clear. Ten minutes after sending his message, he accepted he hadn’t given her enough to replyto.He loaded up a new message, finger pressing at the screen for several minutes, typing letters then deleting them, then finally giving up. This wasn’t a conversation to be had over text message.
He had to see her, just as he’d said. He had to see her, to touch her, to speak to her, to be near her. He had to fix this.
“Miss Monroe?”
“Yes?”
“Front desk. There’s a visitor here for you by the name of Mr Xenakis.”
Mila blinked her eyes open, looking around the room with complete disorientation. Leo was here? Where? She sat up, pushing her hair from her eyes.
“Miss Monroe? Shall I send him up?”
“No.” The answer was instinctive, wrenched from the depths of her soul, but she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head a little. “I mean, yes, but give me five minutes, please.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
The phone line went dead. Mila pushed out of bed and looked around the spacious room, squinting a little at the sun coming through the window. She checked the time. Surprisingly, given how badly she’d been sleeping lately, it was after nine. Sheneverslept in. The competition, the late night, the emotion leading up to it, had obviously all conspired to knock her out, when she had finally fallen asleep.
She showered quickly, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and oversized shirt, then brushing her hair until it shone, dragging it over one shoulder, and moving towards the door. Right on time, the buzzer rang.
With a heart that wouldn’t stop pounding, she dragged it inwards and simply stood there, staring. She hadn’t forgotten what he looked like, but the impact of him here, like this, took her breath away. She looked at him as a starving man would food, her stomach churning, mouth dry, eyes heavy.
“Leo.” His name was a torment on her lips; how she ached for him!
“Mila.” He shook something in his hand and she looked down. Flowers. An enormous bunch of sweet peas, her favourites. “These are for you.”
She frowned, staring at them, as though she’d never seen a bouquet before, when in fact, her room was littered with them, all the arrangements that had been delivered while she was at the stadium the night before. But they were lilies and hothouse roses, nothing so wild and uncontained as these beautiful, fragrant sweet peas.
“They’re lovely.”
“I brought them from Port Mezi.”
Immediately, she remembered the place. The beauty, the sunshine, the family. She swallowed, looking over her shoulder. It would be so easy to invite him in, but she was still hurting from their last encounter, from his rejection, from her love. She moved further into the opening created by the door, forming a physical blockade. “Why are you here?”
“Straight to it?”