Chapter 2 Prologue ◇ The Rightful Heir ◇

[ 2 years earlier ]

◇ Milan, Italy ◇

◇ KEL ◇

It was his dark, wavy hair. Or was it the devil-may-care air about him? His height was also a plus. He was of lean build, considering he was several inches taller than me, but he looked quite muscular, too.

His attractive features also held my attention. I thought he was a full-blooded Italian. Apparently he was of American descent as well. Actually I found everything about him rather interesting. Subtly mysterious. Probably had a bad boy streak, too, but I didn't mind.

Miles gulped some more of his beer as the loud party music drowned out the conversations simultaneously happening around us. I reclined in the sofa with my legs crossed, watching him chitchatting with his friends while the dull lights made his shoulder-length hair look somewhat shiny and soft to the touch.

It was only the second time I saw him here in Italy. But I already felt drawn to him for some reason. Or it could be because we just did a freakin' blood pact in front of his friends barely half an hour ago. He even drank some of my blood.

Partly regretful and embarrassed, I smothered a laugh at the thought. I stared at the antiseptic-laden bandages on the small cut I made on my left ring finger. It still stang.

He said he just had to do the dare with me to avoid crossing paths with his ex-boyfriend again. Allergic much?

As a former medical professional trained in laboratory infection control, I shouldn't have encouraged it and should've just said no to the stupid dare. But they were all drunkenly and brazenly cheering us on, and most of my common sense had already been suppressed by the alcohol in my system.

It was really stupid and what we did was outrageously biohazardous, but he didn't flinch much when he tasted my blood. He must be that intoxicated already. Why was his friends letting him drink more beer?

His best friend said his real name was "Maximiliano" and that his parents were from Umbria. But Paul didn't mention a lot about Miles' background, leaving much to my imagination. I supposed Miles didn't like that his birth name was a mouthful...hence him choosing "Miles Falco" as his artist name.

Despite my opinion of him being an introvert, I could also tell he liked partying with his friends and some recreational activities-besides smoking cigarettes and the usual party booze. Bad boy cliché personified.

He wasn't a total wild child as far as I could tell. But he's definitely the type of guy my strict parents had been warning me to stay away from ever since they transferred me out of the all-girls Catholic school I grew up in with my sister. My gut feel told me he was inherently a nice guy, though.

Our first lengthy conversation an hour ago also assured me of my overall impression of him. As soft rock music soothed my fairly inebriated senses, I shut my eyes and rested the back of my neck on the sofa's headrest. I could tell I was already drunk, judging from my lightheadedness and the unpleasant sensation in between my thighs.

Almost like I was on my period. To be honest, alcohol and I were never friends...mainly because I stayed away from it and other indulgent habits.

Granted, I shouldn't be staying up this late drinking with strangers and doing nothing, but the past few days felt as if my brain was just completely worn out from all the studying and adulting.

Right now, both my mind and body just felt drained and useless, overworked, full of pent-up anxiety, and unable to keep up with adulthood's demands. But at least my mom wasn't around to chastise me eight ways to Sunday. I kind of missed her, though, and my sister.

"Sorry the party's boring you to death," someone mumbled to my face a few minutes later.

It was Miles. I could tell by his American accent and his minty, soap-smelling cologne. His joke sounded like he was rather serious, though. I opened my eyes to regard him.

He sat beside me, no longer clutching a beer bottle. His breath was warm and reeked of alcohol, and his eyelids looked quite droopy now.

"It's a nice party," I commented while staring into his attentive hazel eyes. "I was just zoning out for a bit."

"You look ready to bolt. Not blaming you, though." Miles clicked his tongue and reclined next to me. He was chewing gum while his lazy gaze roamed around the small groups of people drinking and chatting around us.

"Nah. Just tired. Sleepy," I muttered in reply.

My phone clock said I should leave the party and call it a night. But I kind of liked the feeling of being around strangers who knew nothing about me. Being invisible gave me a sense of comfort most of the time.

Most of them didn't even know my first name but I was fine with that. It was Paul's birthday, and he invited me to join the celebration. For letting me crash on his couch for about two weeks now with his girlfriend's full approval, I shouldn't be rude and should just try to enjoy the party.

"Just to be clear, though." Miles cleared his throat and chuckled afterwards, as if amused by something that crossed his mind. "I'm clean. Far as I know. I mean...I always use condoms and don't do oral. And I don't shoot up, so, no needles."

At his barefaced admission, I couldn't hold back my surprised laugh as I watched him itch the bandages I had placed on his palm to cover up his cut.

Earlier during the game, he actually cut himself using Paul's Swiss knife just for that stupid dare. And now he was casually sharing private matters about his sex life.

It was pretty funny. "I don't doubt it," I replied after I chuckled at his candor. "I'm clean, too. I don't sleep around and I don't do drugs. Just FYI." Except some anti-depression meds, I should say. But I doubted he would find that a relaxing conversation segue, so I opted not to elaborate. I just wanted to reassure him that I didn't have any bloodborne pathogens that could cause serious harm to his health, after he willingly ingested some of my blood in front of his friends.

"Yeah. I don't think you're into Italian guys," Miles mumbled with a slanted grin that partly showed his nice teeth. "They're pretty filthy. I mean, most of them."

I laughed at his comment again. "Does that...include your ex?" The one he'd been hiding from all night? He didn't say much when I asked about the guy earlier. I just heard the guy's name was Niccolo.

"Probably. I don't really give a shit if he sleeps around," Miles said with a mild frown. "Wasn't anything serious."

"Oh." I glanced around us and noticed that the other guests had returned to the party downstairs.

"And you?"

"Huh?" I looked at Miles and realized he had been staring at my face.

"You dating someone?"

"No."

"Why not?" he asked casually.

"I dunno..." I shrugged. "I just don't date," I admitted, faintly giggling at his apparent curiosity.

"Huh. Okay. Are you...asexual?"

"Yeah." I nodded almost too enthusiastically. It somewhat surprised me that he could tell so easily.

"Cool. First one I've met so far." He coughed away from my face before he stared at the pitch-black sky above us. "How old are you again?"

"24. You?"

"26 soon." Miles smiled for a moment and fixed his hair into a ponytail. "I like your hair." He scooped a chunk of my long hair and lightly combed his fingers through it. "Naturally straight and soft."

"It's boring. I like yours better." I smiled back at him. Actually I was crushing on his long and wavy hair that almost looked black. It completed his vaguely mysterious look. "It's got character."

"It's my mom's hair," Miles muttered before glancing away. He reclined again and put his arms on the headrest. "Why Italy?" he then asked after a few seconds of silence.

"I dunno. Just...impulse. I've always wanted to visit Europe."

"Paul told me you're looking for modeling jobs."

"Yeah. Wanna try doing it full-time here." I sighed to myself, knowing the transition wasn't going to be that easy. "I mean, I badly need the cash, too."

"Why?" Miles glanced at me and frowned slightly.

"I was modeling part-time to help pay for my tuition and student loans...all that."

"In New York?"

"Yeah. But I had to drop out. So now, I'm trying to work here full-time."

"Why drop out?" Miles furrowed his brows at me.

"Just, y'know, the money, and some family issues," I replied, not bothering to elaborate. He didn't need to know I was having a hard time looking for modeling jobs here in Milan.

Since I just moved here weeks ago, I couldn't get odd jobs because I didn't speak the language at all. I'd been crashing at Paul and India's apartment for the past two weeks now. Luckily for me, they didn't seem to mind.

"Paul said you been lookin' for a place to stay?" Miles asked after yawning.

"Yeah. Told him and India I'll move out once I get enough cash. I'm looking to book more runway gigs."

"You can crash at mine. But it's almost two hours away."

I stared at him. Was he being serious? "Where do you live by the way?"

"Brescia."

"Ah..." I nodded. "Alone?"

"Yeah." Miles glanced at me again and gave me a lopsided smile. "I need a new muse for my next collection."

"I'm sorry. What?"

"I'm starting a couple of paintings. Gonna sell the pieces next year. If I finish all of 'em on schedule."

"And you want me to...pose for your paintings?" Me? His new muse?

"Yeah. You said you need a modeling gig." Miles snickered. "No full-on nudity, if you're uncomfortable with that."

"Cool," I said, unable to think of anything else to say. So he thought I was good enough to be his muse?

"You can move in as soon as tomorrow. I got two spare rooms in my house. You can use the one downstairs."

Wow. His house? He already owned a house? At 25? Whoa. How rich was he?

"Sound good?"

"Uh...yeah." I blinked at his steady gaze. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he replied after getting rid of his lopsided grin. His tone sounded certain and not joking at all. "You'll be my temp muse, so you won't have to worry about rent. Then you can go to castings and work full-time on Fashion Week. That's if...you wanna live in Brescia."

"No, I...I'd love to." I couldn't hold back a smile while he stared at me, waiting for my answer.

"Really?" he murmured with a somewhat doubtful look. He was also frowning a bit. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Yeah." I sat still when he leaned in to regard me with his watchful long-lashed eyes. They looked even more beautiful up-close.

"Were you dating that Russian actor?"

The question wasn't what I expected, but I wasn't that surprised that he knew who Drew was. "Not really," I replied with a chuckle. "Paul told you I did?"

"No. Just saw a photo of you and the guy online. Made me curious."

"We weren't really dating." I pulled a face. "It's...quite complicated."

"Hey. Not judging here." Miles gave me a half-grin before he took out a wrinkled cigarette stick. "You smoke?"

"No. Just socially."

"Good. Don't smoke." Miles lit the cigarette and took a long drag while his head was turned away from me.

I almost smiled. He was full of contradictions, but I was starting to like that about him.

Why was he hanging out with me? Did he find me remotely interesting to talk to, or he just thought I needed company because I looked like such a loner?

"Any questions?" I muttered after he put out his cigarette with his leather boots. "What if I'm a serial killer or something?"

"Nah." Miles cleared his throat after staring at me with slightly creased brows. "You don't have that aura."

"How d'you mean?"

"I know a grade-A bullshitter when I meet one."

I giggled when Miles snickered at his own words.

"You ever posed nude?" He squinted at me. "Some photographers, stylists and agents can be total pervs."

"Yeah. Some definitely are," I muttered. "Just semi-nude. No nips."

"Hey. No judgment here."

I chuckled. "Thanks for hearting my photos, by the way."

Miles glanced away and grinned timidly. "I wasn't stalking you online or anything," he mumbled with a throaty chuckle that made me smile. "Okay. Maybe just a little."

"No judgment here, either." I raised my palms and snickered at his smirk. "I tried modeling 'cause I just felt like I needed a break, y'know? From med school, the pressure, anxiety...and the loans were piling up and dad's getting sicker." I shrugged.

"Sicker? Is he doin' okay now?"

"A little better. But not for long, I imagine." I sighed. Every time I thought of my Daddy Jim, my heart still ached. For him and Mom. When the stress and anxiety reached the peak some weeks ago, I just packed up and left America before they could even talk me out of it.

"Sorry about your dad." Miles pouted.

"The stress and anxiety just got so overwhelming, and, I just decided I gotta leave New York. Get a breather for a bit."

"And you thought you could try working here to save up and enjoy the anonymity."

"Exactly." I chuckled.

"Your parents know you're here in Milan, though. Right?"

"Yeah. Definitely. Mom's a worrier, to be honest."

"Ah." Miles looked away and stared up at the starless sky again. "Wanna try living in the countryside? Lots of privacy there." He yawned. "Just sayin'..."

"At your place?"

"Yeah." He grinned slightly after glancing at my fairly skeptical reaction.

"But...how am I gonna pay rent?" I squinted at his handsome profile, gauging his seriousness. I knew he was rather inebriated, but the certainty in his tone told me he wasn't merely joking about the whole thing. "I don't have a steady job yet."

"Did I say you gotta pay rent? I told you I need a muse." He stared at me and snickered. "Yes or no?"

◇