Chapter 12 The Special Gathering

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• Marriage talk?
• Again?
• The idea appalled him enough to make him want to stab himself with the butter knife conveniently lying beside his fist. But Miles kept up a poker face, ignoring the imperative tone his parents were using on him again.
• His mother, mostly. "We'll talk to her parents. Fetch them. Use the jet."
• Miles didn't reply. Mykaela's dad was critical in the hospital, so, her parents flying out all the way here just to meet his family? Definitely not happening.
• "Or we visit them in New York and...talk about arrangements," his mother went on. Her peach-colored lips tightened into a line when his mouth stayed shut.
• "Sì," was all his father replied. Stefano sounded interestingly lukewarm on the subject. Well, at least he had an opinion.
• Since finding out his only son was fooling around with guys instead of focusing on graduating with a reputable Fine Arts degree, his father seldom talked to him in the last couple of years. Mainly because his Pappa Stefano thought he was just a disappointment to the family.
• Miles would doubt it every once in a while, especially during occasions like this when they'd get to bond like a normal family...after the months-long nonchalance or estrangement, that is.
• Then again, Stefano Falco, now Chairman of his fast-growing multinational group of companies, was as status-conscious and power-hungry as the world's elite. An undergrad son who simply couldn't get his life together was definitely not the ideal firstborn his father had expected him to be.
• "Your future with their daughter is something they'd want to discuss with us," his mother said after a long, awkward minute. "I know, you think you're both not ready for that kind of commitment yet. But we should consider it a possibility this early on, Maxim."
• Shit. This was getting crazy. Why did he even think something good would come out of pretending and telling his parents he and Mykaela were a couple? Miles blankly stared at the knife, ignoring the keen impulse to facepalm himself and walk out.
• "Maximiliano, are you even listening?" Eleana Falco backed away from the candle-lit dining table. "You're both the right age, anyway. Just try to talk to her about it," she added, emphasizing the idea with a louder voice. Plus the elaborate hand gestures.
• Miles ignored the lecturing tone and took another sip of the strong wine Ricchar had personally picked out from his cellar. Pretty good stuff. Probably worth more than a hundred bucks. Miles stared at the wine bottle. Hopefully it would get him drunk enough tonight to help him sleep off the bitter taste of his family's issues.
• "Time flies so fast, and I'm not quite prepared for that surprising phone call one day. Only to find out you've already rushed her to the delivery room. I mean, you kids these days..." Eleana let out a strained chuckle. A faint shake of her head was enough to get her discontent across.
• Miles kept a snarky reply to himself as he sat opposite her. "Keep to yourself; show no emotions," he repeatedly told his brain. They'd get bored of lecturing him, eventually.
• To his left sat his older cousin, Ricchar, owner of the mansion they would be staying in for the weekend. It was an heirloom. Ricchar, unusually quiet and attentive tonight, only kept smirking, clearly enjoying the ongoing exchange.
• "If you want Mykaela to stay with you, talk to her parents," Eleana compromised. "You can't live in the same house if you have no plans to take her and her family to church."
• Great. Now his mother was waiting for him to settle the argument with concession.
• "Don't have to remind you that our family does not tolerate such unholy choices." Her flawless brows furrowed in apparent indignation, before she turned to her husband sitting at the corner of the table filled with pasta dishes, grilled meat, and other local delicacies. "It's that or you try working for the family."
• "What?" Miles snickered.
• "Your cousins think you just don't care." Eleana sighed. "You're almost 30. It's time you think of the family first and step out of your comfort zone, for once. Talk to her parents, or work for the company. Your choice."
• "Unbelievable," he murmured.
• "Stefano, tell your son he has to think it over."
• Right. She thought an obvious answer to a rhetorical question would be enough to sway him. At her not-so-multifarious imagination, Miles almost forced his eyes to roll to the back of his aching skull.
• "Certo." Stefano raised his wine glass to his lips, then spared his wife of almost 30 years a mere glance.
• His short response to his wife's whirlwind of suggestions left Miles glaring at his fist beside his half-empty glass. Like always, his parents were telling him what to do, what he shouldn't do, and why he should live his life according to their impossible standards.
• More than 20 years of it would have made anyone immune at this point, but, right now, he was actually having a hard time pretending it didn't make his blood boil with frustration...the kind that was about to turn into years of pure resentment. "Mamma, I'm not gonna ask her to marry me. Okay?"
• "Why not?" Despite her incredulous tone, his mother said the words with a remarkably straight face.
• An awkward silence stretched, until the shrill noise of someone's phone cut through the growing tension. "Scusi." Stefano briskly stood up from his seat and took a call.
• Miles looked up from his sauce-stained plate, studying his father's frown and stiff shoulders as he walked away from his chair. It was left at a slightly slanted angle at the end of the table.
• To its right sat Eleana, next to Mykaela's seat during dinner before the latter excused herself to take a call.
• "I'm asking you a question, Maxim," Eleana went on. "Answer me properly."
• "We don't talk about those stuff," Miles mumbled. His mother just wouldn't quit unless he aired his side.
• "Why?"
• "It's just not gonna happen." Miles scoffed. Actually he couldn't give two flying fucks about the subject. The only concern he had at the moment was the likelihood that Mykaela would have to leave first thing to catch a flight back to New York.
• "Seems great for you," his cousin butted in. Being their host for the entire weekend, Ricchar probably felt obligated to break the tension when the dining area fell silent again. "I was chatting to her about Cloe and married life. Nice girl. Smart and polite." Ricchar neatened his button-down shirt and filled his wine glass.
• True. Kel had been impressively social throughout dinner, considering her quite glum mood before they arrived here at his cousin's place.
• "You should talk to her about these things." Ricchar shifted into his big-brother tone, his Italian accent more audible thanks to the red wine.
• The unsolicited advice made Miles want to drop an inappropriate remark, but he opted to feign calmness and indifference. Maybe then they'd leave him and Kel alone.
• "Just talk to her, bambino." Eleana sighed after staring at him with her sharp hazel eyes. "And be honest."
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• The late dinner with the Falcos had been fine and pleasant, but something in her chest just didn't feel right.
• Every now and then she still thought of her father being stuck in Intensive Care again. Was he doing better? Was there any chance he'd recover from his long and depressing battle with cancer? She stared at the floor, quietly praying the doctors were doing their best to keep her Daddy Jim alive.
• Although difficult, she forced herself to stop worrying. Mykaela sat on the unfamiliar wine-red covers, appreciating the dimness of the room.
• It was one of Ricchar's spacious and lavish guest rooms on the second floor. The Falcos were certainly well-off. Miles was probably having a drink with Ricchar downstairs, and she'd reasoned a headache so she could skip the post-dinner chats (a.k.a. more background-digging).
• Apparently they all thought she and Miles were in a romantic relationship. The fact that they'd be sharing this enormous house with his parents and his eccentric, very loaded cousin for two more days kind of discomfited her, but she couldn't travel to the airport alone. Not tonight at least.
• This estate was too remote. Also, she'd promised Miles she would keep him company this weekend.
• "You at home? No photo shoots to slay?" Drew's tone sounded a little playful this time.
• "No." Mykaela tried to smile despite her growing anxiety and annoying indecisiveness. "Still in Milan?"
• "Waiting for the plane. Going back to LA to get something done." Drew sighed. "Are you in the city with Miles?"
• "No. We...kind of...went on a trip with his parents."
• "Oh," Drew answered. That was all he replied. Then he fell silent on the other end.
• Until she spoke again. "Spur-of-the-moment thing."
• "You told him about the letter?"
• "Not yet." Kel placed the phone beside her thigh, putting it on speaker mode. The guy's question reminded her again of that rejection letter from the university.
• Their mention of her "unverifiable" birth records still bothered her like an itch she couldn't scratch. She'd worked very hard on that application, unlike her impetuous first attempts in other schools, and she wasn't going to just sleep it all off.
• If only she could skip this impromptu weekend trip and hop on a flight back to New York...
• "You haven't booked a flight? Why are his parents there with you?" Drew asked, his clear and calming voice drawing her out of her anxious thoughts.
• "It's his birthday this Sunday," she muttered. "We're at his cousin's place. A freakin' estate in the middle of nowhere."
• Drew got quiet again. Then some thuds outside the door made her glance behind. A lamp kept the room from being too dark while moonlight streamed through the tall windows. "Don't get too involved."
• Too involved? What did he exactly mean?
• "You don't know them at all, Mykaela." He sighed when she kept mum. "Did you tell Miles you need to go back home?"
• "I did." Why was he warning her about the Falcos again?
• "Get some sleep. Then go home," Andrew said and abruptly hung up.
• "Bye," she murmured to herself as she glanced to the door, distracted by loud knocks. Barefoot in the dimness, she got up from the bed and rushed to the door.
• It revealed a tall guy in dark workout shorts and a damp shirt, chest heaving from every breath. The hall lamps shone bright enough to highlight the dripping sweat on his shiny forehead and neck.
• His panting eased as his expression remained dead serious. Miles wiped his cheek with his sleeve, staring into her eyes with some eagerness and angst she wasn't really used to.
• "What?" Kel ignored the warmth of his ragged breaths reaching her cheeks and glanced down at his clothes. "You okay?"
• "Got a minute?"
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