Faking it with Damian Black novel (Millie)

Chapter 60

-MILLIE-

Would it be strange if I said that I was not as affected by this kidnapping fiasco as I should be?

Everyone kept asking me how I was doing and how I was dealing with the trauma of being taken.

I said, ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m okay,’ but the look on their faces told me they believed otherwise when, in fact, I

was being honest.

What were they expecting? I’d be hiding in my room, and I’d stop working, dig a hole underground, and

hide there, dreading I’d be taken again?

I was shaken, yes, but mostly, I was just grateful I made it out of there alive. Scared? Maybe a little.

These couple of days, I get easily spooked. One time, I was reading a book on Kindle inside my room,

and Mom knocked on my door; I dropped my phone on my lap. In my defense, the female lead in the

book was being haunted by ghosts. There was another instance where a squirrel appeared out of

nowhere, jumping over my feet as I was getting into my car. I squealed at the top of my lungs. I might

have woken up the entire neighborhood.

But these were simple, mundane things. A part of my everyday life even before I was kidnapped.

What concerned me the most was how my family and friends were treating me like a fragile porcelain

doll.

It had been two weeks since I’d been discharged from the hospital. I wanted to get back to work the

next working day, but Candice and Andrea told me I should take the month off.

How could I even do that when we’re already behind schedule because of me?

My mom, oh, don’t even get me started with her. She stayed in Roslin City just to take care of me. She

insisted I stay at their place for now. Damian didn’t argue with her on the matter, not that I was Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

expecting him to. I just thought he’d want to take care of me, just like before. Then, he went on a

business trip the same day I was discharged without telling me when he’d get back.

I was a little disappointed because of that. Well, maybe more than a little, but I knew better. That’s the

downside of spending a lot of time with someone. You get accustomed to their tells, and I knew he was

lying.

Now that Natalie confessed, I know Damian won’t rest until he finds Aidan. Natalie’s

sworn statement reinforced my case against Rome. Yet even with this development, Rome’s lips were

still sealed on who paid him to threaten me. He stood by his statement that we knew each other.

Silverio moved Sonja to France, and she’d been radio silent since. Rumor has it that they’re now

processing their divorce.

Three weeks. That’s how long Damian had been out of town. I miss him. He hasn’t messaged or called,

and I’m drowning myself in work just to stop myself from reaching out to him. I kept convincing myself

he needed space and he’d come back when he missed me, but as the days rolled into weeks, those

thoughts became repetitive and meaningless.

A dizzying merry–go–round of why Damian would come back to me and why he shouldn’t keep circling

in my head.

His secret was out. The public learned about his relationship with Sonja. That was the sole reason he

had been with me in the first place. Then our conversation in the beach house would come forth, a

reminder that Damian had ended the contract and started a new one. He said I was his to protect and

take care of, but then, aren’t promises meant to be broken?

These conclusions were on my mind when I was not busy, hence the overloading myself with work. It

kept me sane.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Mom, sporting her purple fluffy robe, stepped out on the deck with two cups

of coffee at hand. Her hair was lazily pulled up in a bun, and her face had no trace of makeup. She was

beautiful with or without makeup, but this had been an unusual sight for me.

“Would you believe me if I say I’m not thinking of anything?” I said, accepting the cup she offered with

both hands. I sighed in relief as it warmed my palms.

She regarded me with her motherly eyes, smiling willfully. “I’m your mom. I can tell when you’re being

dishonest.”

I looked back at the street I’d been staring at since I went out earlier. About an hour or so, I’m not sure.

I’ve counted red cars that passed by, a game Dad and I used to play while eating ice cream until I was

eight. I totaled five.

“Mothers,” I sighed, then sipped my coffee.

Mom sat beside me on the wooden swing chair. The chains groaned as they swung gently. This house

had become our vacation house as soon as I left for college. This swing has rarely been used since

then. I was worried it would give out with our combined weight.

It was a gloomy Friday afternoon. The temperature was starting to drop a few degrees as fall drew

nearer.

Silence swelled between us. Mom sat beside me, throwing no questions at all.

Mom’s company was comforting. I don’t know how she does that. It must be a motherly thing.

I was brought back to the times she sat here with me and waited for me to stop crying. The reasons for

my tears became inconsequential as I grew older, but I would never forget Mom sitting here with me,

accompanying me in my sorrows.

Mom was patient. Sometimes, it would take hours for my tears to run dry, but she’d sat there the whole

time until I was ready to say my piece.

My gaze dropped to the dark liquid inside my mug, and I sighed. “I’m really okay, Mom, don’t worry

about me.”

She replied without missing a beat. “Sure.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. She kept her focus on the street. “Really, mom. You need to stop

worrying.”

“Alright, honey,” she murmured, sipping her drink.

Her tone made me frown. My brows knitted together. “I’m fine.”

Her expression softened as she gazed at me, reaching for my hand. “I know, sweetheart.”

Her thumb, rough with all the hard work she’d done when she was younger, skimmed over my

knuckles. Something in her stare made my lips tremble, and my eyes sting. I blinked away the water

gathering on my eyelids and focused on the cedar tree on the corner of our lawn. Mom’s thumb,

skimming over my skin, shot warming electricity straight through my heart. She dragged my defenses

down with her touch until it crumbled beneath my feet.

I didn’t realize I was crying until Mom swiped her thumb over my eyes.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I sobbed, “why won’t you believe me?”

She smiled at me and said nothing, cupping the side of my head and guiding my cheek against her

shoulder.

Her motherly touch was magic. How could anyone explain what Mom did to me?

We stayed on the swing until darkness overthrew the daylight. She didn’t ask me anything. I didn’t say

a word, but something changed in me. My chest felt lighter. My

mind wasn’t as jaded as it had been since the hospital.

“I’m going to see your father tomorrow,” Mom said when I detached myself from her embrace. “Why

don’t you come with me?”