It’s not like the glances they were stealing, though. It’s a fearful glance—she’s just worried about what I’ll do.
Where did my Mia go? She’s not worried about hurting my feelings; she’s only worried about his.
Perhaps I overplayed my hand.
Vince seemed like a non-threat to me. In the days just past, Mia seemed to accept that she didn’t belong to Vince anymore—and if she didn’t belong to Vince, there was only one other pre-approved lifeline, and that was me.
Maybe it really was just that. I’ve had her closed up in a bubble—I was the only person she had to interact with. On rare occasion, Adrian, but she was mostly kept in her cage, kept away from Vince and anyone else whose company she might prefer.
I don’t feel humbled often, but in this moment as this fucking 18-year-old kid seems to be the preference of the girl I just spent the whole day planning to make mine… it occurs to me that maybe I was only Mia’s choice when I was the only choice.
She was willing to try to make it work with me, but maybe… just maybe… that isn’t her preference.
Maybe she prefers Vince.
Vince points at Mia. I missed whatever came before it, lost in my own thoughts, but now I hear him tell her, “You shut up.”
Rage pulsates through me, but I don’t respond. Not yet. I’m a little floored by the doubts that have just sprung up—and a lot pissed off—but I need to see how this plays out. I need to see what Mia does without my interference.
“Fuck this,” Vince is saying again, tossing his belligerence around for anyone who cares to see it. “She’s mine,” he tells me. “I never gave her up. I never said I didn’t want her.”
He mutters under his breath, his hand still locked around Mia’s wrist, and without another word, he hauls her out of the dining room.
I can only sit here, completely stunned.
I don’t know if I’m more surprised by him or her. I don’t know if it’s entirely hit me what just happened…
He just took Mia. I just lost Mia. She just let him drag her out of my dining room, barely into Sunday night dinner.
I steeple my hands on the table and try to get my bearings.
“Should I go after them?” Adrian asks, hesitantly.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, a little too honestly.
On the one hand, yes, of course, go after them. Drag her ass back in here so she can serve me my dinner and warm my bed. Kick Vince’s ass out of the house entirely for daring to take my new toy away from me.
But on the other hand, Mia went.
Mia wants to be away from me.
You like me begging? Well, I’m begging. Please, leave me alone.
Did I see something that wasn’t there? Did I see only what I wanted to see? I replay each memory, searching for holes, for another perspective. Her hand caressing my jaw in the shower when she thought I looked sad. Mia sitting on my bed, painting her toe nails and joking about her enrollment at Heaven University. The simple joy of curling up and going to sleep with her each night.
All gone, and her last memories of me are terrible. Would she have gone back to him before last night?
I guess it doesn’t matter. She left with him just now.
I realize everyone at the table is tense and waiting to see what happens next.
My tone much lighter than I feel, I look across the table at Francesca and tell her, “Well, I suppose I’ll need you to bring me dinner, after all.”
—
After days of looking forward to coming back to my room at the end of a long day—or at the beginning, or in the middle, really any part of the day, as long as I knew Mia was waiting inside for me—I return to an empty bedroom.
And it sure is empty.
It’s never felt so empty.
The sheets are still mussed since Mia spent the evening in bed before I came to get her for dinner. I know it doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all me, but I take a seat on the edge of the bed and run my hand across the sheets. Mere hours ago, Mia’s bare body graced these sheets.
Undressing feels like an awful lot of work, so I don’t. I walk around to my own side of the bed and lie down in my spot, fully dressed. I regard the empty space where Mia should be. She should have come up to bed with me after dinner tonight. She should’ve walked ahead of me, stepped into the closet and taken off her shoes. I should’ve come up behind her and dragged down the zipper, kissing the gentle curve of her neck. She would’ve smiled shyly and ducked her head, that waterfall of blonde hair falling in her face. Maybe she would’ve turned and wrapped her arms around my neck. I could’ve helped her out of her dress and taken her to bed.