Page 85 of Isolation

“Milo,” I groan. “Please, it’s late. No lectures.”

I hear his husky laugh. “It’s not late, baby. It’s mid-day, remember? And my lectures are good for the soul. We can talk about what’s causing your lack of sleep, if you like.”

That would gut him. There might have been a time when I wanted that, but not anymore.

Uncle Reese wanted his children to grow up with all the luxuries he was denied; private school education, trust funds, and a large house to entertain their friends.

He was proud that his children were privileged. He wanted to serve the world to them on a silver platter.

I used to think that his thought process was skewed. His children would much rather have his attention and time than the other superficial offerings.

However, watching the end result, I can’t argue with his logic. New York is flashy and people here are desperate to belong to flashy inner circles.

Enamored by their mansion-like home and seemingly grand life, the Sinclairs were surrounded by people. It gave them credibility and connections in a superficial society; though no one knew what it took to keep up this façade.

Milo’s trust fund ensured that he is the majority share owner of his company. He was able to recruit investors at the mere age of twenty-one because they didn’t suspect a rich kid of running away with their money.

Milo would have been successful regardless, but probably not at such a young age without the backing Uncle Reese insisted that his children received.

Yes, their childhood was hard. But Uncle Reese wanted to give his children their best chances. From the looks of it, he did just that. His calculations paid off.

Milo’s career is only in the beginning stages according to the Forbes article about him. He is already well off. I can’t imagine where he will be in a few years.

That same article quoted his company’s worth. Even now, his company is worth enough that Milo can sell his share and walk away a very wealthy man.

Unfortunately, Milo is not a regular twenty-five-year-old. While selling his company might ensure that he will remain a rich New York bachelor until whatever next passion project comes his way, it will not be enough to support a houseful of people who are used to a luxury lifestyle.

Perhaps Milo is just like Uncle Reese in that regard, stuck on trying to provide everything he possibly can for his family. He is a man of habits, after all. One of his habits is taking care of people.

I hope it’s a habit he can someday break to become a free man.

Whatever he decides, I just know that I don’t want to be one more person he has to take care of, or yet another burden.

I can’t even count the number of all-nighters I have seen him pull in this month alone, and all the shit I have seen him do for the household to take care of everyone. I can’t be another person that he has to worry about or feel guilt over. We are past all of that.

“We can work on identifying the issues and come up with a plan accordingly,” Milo continues with the lecture that I have been sleepily tuning out.

I slowly flutter my eyes open, turn to him and smile. He looks like an angel sent here to help me chase away my demons. A beautiful angel with beautiful eyes.

Do angels also have their own demons? It looks like the angel and the devil are in an epic battle inside of him. It’s ironic because the devil is also an angel.

I shake my head at my ridiculous thoughts. “You are so cute.” I lean over to kiss his stupid, arrogant face.

He brushes the hair off my face.“I am serious, baby. We have to work on this. It’s getting bad.”

“I know,” I agree because otherwise this man is going to call every therapist and specialist under the sun, if he hasn’t done so already.

I have to tell him everything so he understands that he is wasting his time talking to therapists. I probably have to do it sooner than later. I just want us to have a few more days. We need more time.

“Good,” Milo sighs and presses more light kisses all over my face.

I hum contentedly. I can’t get enough of this. How come it was never this good before?

The back of Milo’s hand continues to stroke my cheek. I can’t decide what I like better. The small kisses all over my face or the gentle strokes.

I love this side of Milo. It makes me feel so cherished and protected. When he is not busy making his business partners’ lives miserable, he has this softer side that no one else gets to see.

Selfishly, I prefer it this way. This side belongs to only me. I wish I could pocket it and keep it away from everyone else for safekeeping.