if we ever meet again (milo)

[stella]

outfit

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The Alibi Nightclub was the last place in all of California, save for her family’s estate, she wanted to be in. Running her fingers through her hair as she sat in the town car (because even if she wasn’t in New York City, she would be riding in one. Screw the West Coast), she double checked in the mirror to make sure her locks looked just the right amount of messy to be pulled off as polished and chic. Yes, it was an oxymoron but you, being the moron, wouldn’t understand the inner workings of the fashion world the way Stella Madison had since she was fifteen years old. Now at the age of twenty eight, she was more than just on top of her game. She was the game. She set the standard and now every editor in chief wanted a piece of her, to become her, or envied her to absolute bits. It was why she was on her way to the Alibi. She was invited by the Los Angeles editor and chief of Vogue, practically making it mandatory, since she owed her a favor. Well, Stella owed Vogue a favor, not specifically their new editor (who would never be as amazing as the woman who had been Stella’s mentor early on in her career) since they had been the one’s to give Stella her very first cover shoot shortly before turning sixteen. She knew how this worked, only because she’d been the one to start the trend. No guest list unless those certain well known names were necessary to get things going, have the bouncers stand with those carefully picked interns who showed their loyalty without blinking pick out which socialites and celebrities were important enough and fashionable enough to go into the club, turn away everyone who wasn’t important without hesitation. And don’t have a theme. Not unless it is actually necessary which most of the time it wasn’t. So here she was, door now being opened, photographers going insane as one smooth leg after the other, feet clad in sky high nude pumps, stepped out of the sleek town car usually only visible in the city that never slept.

In typical New York fashion, she was fashionably late and looked like she’d gotten ready in a rush-as if she had somewhere else more important to be but would smile for the camera just for the sake of looking gorgeous. But Stella Madison, though she embodied all these ideas most failed at trying to reproduce, she didn’t hold that smile. She was stoic, standing on the small stretch of carpet to enter the night club as she was bombarded with questions as to whether she found a man or not, congratulations on the award she recently received as Editor of The Year, what she felt about the tell-all book her mother planned on writing (but her mother was too lazy to do so hence her not worrying at all), and how her family vacation was going and if family meant anything to her. She ignored all of them, not even saying she didn’t have any comments, and entered with everyone being left behind in the dust her five feet even stature (minus the pumps) managed to conjure up…which was more than anyone anticipated…always. Once inside, she gave a small smile to Mrs. Lady, the newly instated editor of Vogue as of last year when Wimbledon passed away-a funeral Stella properly went to and properly made sure not to looked affected by the loss (though behind closed doors she cried for what felt like months at the loss of her replacement mother). “Glad you could make it, darlin’!” Dear Lord, she was southern! Stella would gag if she had those reflexes anymore…her ex and their antics made them disappear all together, “Pleasure,” Stella replied with a simple nod before letting Mrs. Lady go on and on about how much she adored her outfit and how simple and chic she looked. Stella didn’t compliment her, despite the hopeful look in her large green eyes. No, she didn’t like the fact she wore jeans when she was the host. Denim at a promotional gig? Not a very savvy idea, Mrs. Lady.

Eventually, Stella made her way to the bar. It wasn’t difficult since the crowd practically parted like the Red Sea for her. She took a seat on the stool that spin, her petite frame enabling her small feet from touching the ground like everyone else. She was pint sized but boy was she powerful and they all knew it…so they all stayed on her good side. If she wanted, she could rip anyone a new one on any of her magazines or any magazine she sponsored. “Casablanca,” she asked the bartender. Of course she’d ask for a Moroccan drink. It was white rum, coconut rum, pineapple juice, coconut cream, and grenadine. All together, if made strong enough, would keep Stella fairly content for the rest of the night. She’d be here an hour, since she mingled more than enough with the important people, and then she would leave. She was staying at her family’s place in the guest room on the third floor toward the back of the house…as far away from everyone as possible with the most amount of privacy imaginable. That and her manager reminded her that staying in a hotel would just make her look like she was trying too hard and Stella easily agreed.

But as she looked down and started reading through an email on her Blackberry, she stopped as she realized she hadn’t said her order alone. A male voice, one all too familiar to her, had said her order at the same exact time and as she looked up, her eyes landed on him. She could feel the heat blossom on the apples of her cheek and she locked her eyes on his. How long had it been since she last saw him in her penthouse? She had only gone out to that balcony a handful of times since that night-she’d always get upset every time she did. Milo Lowe. Her eyes were torn away from the man she hadn’t seen in what? Five years? Three? She stopped counting after one. The tall drink was set in front of her and she took a sip, barely giving the bartender a smile as she handed him to four dollars the drink was worth, “Hello, Milo,” she looked over at him again, if anything because, like the first night she met him, she couldn’t help but stare. He was handsome, of course he was considering how shallow Stella had always been, and the fact he’d ordered her drink…maybe it was in her head or something…she didn’t think he’d bother to remember such a tiny fact.

[LERA GORBUNOV]

He lived alone: no cat, no dog, nor even aquarium fish accompanied him in his mansion. Maids came and went, a chef to prepare his meals, and a physical trainer to keep him in shape. The psychiatrist told him that he should try surrounding himself in people, find another woman to build a relationship with that could create the family image he had in his head; Milo didn’t do anything near it. He had shut people out and off during his meltdown, the only thing he had wanted was alcohol and cigars – they were all afraid he would revert back to that stage, but he was making a point to tell them he wasn’t going to. He was now strong enough to live alone where he had not been just years before. Stella Madison had turned his life around, upside down, and inside out before he walked. Whereas he could understand her drive to be successful, that her career was important – she made Milo feel like he was an accessory for her success. The title of “It Couple” and everything else he provided was probable to be the only thing she truly loved about him. He had loved everything about her, her hair, the smoothness of her skin, her sarcastic way of speaking, and her flawless style. She was everything he wanted in a woman and when you won awards for movies, nominations in double-digits, millions of dollars, and you had calls to model men’s wear because if one famous gentlemen saw you wearing Dolce & Gabbana then business would boom when you were known for impeccable style and taste in clothes. When Stella Madison, rising ice queen, woman you loved – didn’t want any of your heart and love, just the titles you brought – it sent you plummeting in despair.

The invitation from Vogue to join them at Alibi Nightclub in the town of where he lived, he was torn. It was a silent oath and promise to his parents, stylist team, public relations team, casting directors, therapists, and everyone else who asked you not to go out to a club that made him bring it to the trashcan. He could go to a club and not drink, have fun, dance, smoke a couple of cigars in the place – but he knew that inevitably he would be drawn to the glass bottles holding copious amounts of liquor. There was even more of a reason not to go, because she would be there. Stella Madison: woman he loved and still loves. How can he face the woman the single-handedly destroyed him with a straight face and continue to surge in popularity? People still asked him questions about her, if they talked, saw each other in private – any sort of interaction. Their needy tabloid claws were digging for it, but there was nothing to dig up on her. Had they not had their fill in his public fall from grace? He guessed not because they were still after him. They would be there, the cameras because she would be there. It would give them hope that Hollywood’s former It Couple was on the verge of a make-up. Snapping open his phone, he dialed his confidant to see what she would have to say. She eventually told him to go, that there would be people this time to help him through whatever happened. Once he was through, he set the invitation on his board of “things to appear at.” He was just being asked to appear and it would promote his new movie – the Oscars were coming. He needed the publicity – he went.

He was keeping it simple tonight, because there was no reason he had to go out and beyond on his dressing. He wore a simple black suit, a grey tie, a black silk pocket square, and grey leather footwear to compliment his tie. Milo Lowe meant business, tonight, and he wasn’t going to ruin it by getting drunk. A simple rum and coke would be all he would allow himself – no more than two. His biggest debate was on talking to her, Stella, but he couldn’t deny himself how badly he wanted to at least say hello. It had been so long that he heard her voice addressing him and not on the television screen when she was being interviewed. Anything that Stella publically released or did, Milo knew about. It was perhaps a bit compulsive, but he never let himself fall behind on what she was doing. When he was down, she fueled his drunken rages, when he smashed the mirror with his fist when the newspapers gloated about her success. She used him! She used him! She used him for his name and an accessory – he allowed her to do it. He was so in love and he didn’t realize what she was truly doing. Now, he wanted her to know, subtly, that he didn’t need her and he could do just as well without her. How would he say it to her to get a response from the ice queen? Thanks for using me doll as a step-stool for your fame, but two can do the same. Two could do the same, he could write a tell-all book with exclusive interviews. They could have a twitter war if need be – he couldn’t be afraid anymore. Eminem had his back on this one – he had to take a stand.

The Alibi Nightclub had a brief red carpet and he milked it for what it was worth, it was about the pictures and the news on the internet. He spoke of the movie, how he was nervous but grateful for the Oscar nomination and how everyone nominated was truly worthy and whoever won deserved a standing ovation and a drink from him. They asked about Stella, and he responded casually instead of saying no comment. He spoke that he was aware she would be here tonight and despite the break-up and years without speaking there was no bad-blood. Which was a perfect lie if he could ever tell one, he loved and loathed the woman for what she managed to do. When she arrived, the cameras turned and he entered – she didn’t know he was there and by the sound of things she wasn’t answering any questions. Typical Stella Madison behavior, she didn’t speak if she didn’t have to or want to – tonight they wanted her face and her presence. She clearly well knew that so he knew how she acted. He watched her from the side, hidden in a shadow and women walking by. He hadn’t ordered his drink yet but he would when she went over to that bar. He was a hunter watching the healthiest doe in the forest maneuver her way around and when she was in plain sight, he approached. “Casablanca,” he told the bar tender as she had told them, “and a rum and coke – more coke than rum, you know what I like pal.” It was not his first time to the place, so he was more relaxed than she was. When she finally acknowledged him he smiled. “Stella, fancy seeing you here and I do thank you for the acknowledgement, doll.”

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words: 1200
outfit

[stella]

outfit

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Despite popular belief that Stella Madison had used Milo Lowe to gain more fame to her name, it was a complete and total lie. Of all the people Stella Madison used to get to the position she was in, there were only two people she never used: the now deceased editor and chief of Vogue who was replaced by the red headed Southern moron and Milo Lowe. She never had a lot of relationships involving love in her life and thus, she was never one to want to jinx it, so to speak. Milo had been the first man she had ever been with aside from her first teenage love that had more bloodshed and tears wept than those Rambo movies. She had truly cared about Milo, adored everything about him, but love? No, she wasn’t sure if she loved him. With her ex, Pascual, she had felt a terrible rumbling in her stomach and like her world was being flipped upside down. She had felt pain and pleasure mixed into one blur of a feeling, her eyes saw everything as a whirlwind of color and music, dancing and sleeping, drugs and liquor. Everything was a risk and she had been riding the rollercoaster for three, almost four, very long and grueling years. She figured all love was supposed to feel that wild and spontaneous. It was why she figured she didn’t love Milo-she was just infatuated. With him she felt safe, protected. Everything could stand still and she’d be comfortable just standing there with him. She never had to worry whether his hand would smack her across the face or if she’d have to yell obscenities at him to get a reaction because they were too high to know what was right and wrong. There was no drugs involved, there was barely any liquor involved unless it was a special occasion. She figured this was what a grownup relationship was like…and if she got married-it would only get boring.

She knew if Milo wrote a tell-all book, if he decided to put all of their relationship out there…she’d just let him. She’d give no comments and no interviews on the subject. After all, she rarely did interviews in the first place. She only ever had them with a handful of certain television talk shows and that was it-maybe one or two a year give or take. With Milo she used to do more-but only if he was sitting right next to her and they were talking more about him than her. Sure, he could write about how stoic she was and how she blatantly rejected his proposal. Sure he could say how on their first “sleep over” she burped during breakfast by accident (considering how impeccable her manners tended to be). Sure he could say she had a tiny butterfly tattooed on her lower left hip that no one but he and her ex knew about. He could say she liked walking around in her underwear when no one was home or how, when angry, she’d get nasty and have the mouth of a sailor. He could say anything he wanted and the press would eat her up. If he did all of that…then she’d start using him…if he really wanted her to. She knew she seemed heartless considering she made herself out to be that way but she really wasn’t. She wouldn’t intentionally hurt Milo and yeah, she did pay attention to everything that happened to him in the tabloids whether it was true or not. She felt guilty, as selfish as that sounded, but she knew she needed to do it. He shouldn’t want to marry a woman like her-one whose family he never met, whose past she never spoke about…yet she knew everything about him. He’d been an open book while she’d been closed up tight.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” she answered casually and she could feel eyes secretly facing them, trying to eat up their conversation one syllable at a time, “More rum than coke, hm?” she looked at him with that emotion-lacking face of hers that used to actually light up whenever he came home from a trip overseas for filming. But the tabloids wouldn’t know about that…she remained like a robot the same way she was now with him. She always tried to seem unattached but once the doors and curtains were closed and it was just them, she was down to earth and a whole lot more welcoming-to him-than anything, “And your welcome. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you, now, would I?” the heavy sarcasm dripped from her accented voice as she took another sip of her drink. She always hated being in California. Whether it was when she was meeting his family and friends or when she was here visiting her own family she hadn’t seen in over a decade. They weren’t even from here and yet they had to move to a place she disliked just to add to how much she didn’t want to see them, “Enjoying yourself?” It came out more as a statement than a question and she remained emotionally distant and unattainable.

He’d been the one to walk out. She hadn’t kicked him out or told him to leave. She didn’t see what was wrong with them continuing the way they were. She didn’t want to get married. She didn’t want to have children. She had gotten married before, while drunk and high, at the age of sixteen because she’d gotten pregnant. He’d beaten her so badly, she ended up losing the baby, hitting him over the head with a lamp, and taking off. She didn’t want marriage when it was just a piece of paper and some metal around one’s finger. She didn’t want children when they could be killed and lost so easily. She didn’t want to relive any of it…If he couldn’t understand that she wanted him the way they had been, then all those years together meant nothing…and therefore-he meant nothing.

[LERA GORBUNOV]

When you were apart from someone as many years as they were apart, Milo should have expected that the affection he used to hold in high regards for Stella would be diminished if not entirely gone. He expected right because as they barely exchanged words he began to wonder why exactly he was bothering. She was so focused on her image and just the fact that she was here proved it to him. To be as career orientated as she was could be seen to more of a curse than a respectable trait. Even now she couldn’t step down off of her pedestal she put her five feet tall body on top of. Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with her at all and he just hadn’t realized it. Silently, almost ignoring her as she spoke to him in the same style and manner she always had that he realized he lost himself over someone who probably didn’t love him at all. It was a little heart wrenching to think that everything they shared was so one-sided that Milo didn’t notice she wasn’t exactly as deep into it as he was. She certainly looks like she cared anymore at all.

“You misheard me, doll – I believe I said more coke than rum. Wouldn’t want to lose control of myself and doing something utterly embarrassing, eh? Cheers.” He lifted his glass slightly before tipping it back to feel the familiar taste on his lips. Stella had her own taste that he could distinctly remember and savor much more over the alcoholic beverage he held in his hand. The perfect way to describe Stella was sweet and salty – a granola, chocolate, and peanut bar he found once in a grocery store – in terms of her personality. She was salty when it came to anything professional, crude, and no one really wanted to tell her the way she handled herself was almost as terrible as a diva pop star needing the room at a certain temperature, room temperature water, all of their favorite foods for them to pick from, and an always present assistant to cater to their every whim if it was not already met. To Milo, Stella conducted herself in the same way professionally and from the outside this Moroccan ice queen seemed hung up on herself and people just wanted to know why. Why did she think highly of herself?

Milo didn’t think highly of himself, at most times he wished all of his fame would let him be just another face in the crowd, but holding a good chunk of change. Except he didn’t have that option until he fell from grace – if he ever fell from grace – and people stopped caring exactly what he was doing. Milo didn’t have any plans to stop acting, he had several movie deals, leading and supporting roles, in the works and even a television show. He was more excited about the television show – it had a very good prime-time spot and he knew to others it would be a step down but he was really just expanding himself and covering all the bases that he could possibly do. He was in recent super bowl commercials, he was the voice behind the commercial that was ranked number one, and he was in other commercials too. He was a philanthropist, he believed in giving back some percentage of his earnings. It went towards children born premature and needed intensive care to even dream of making it through. A close pal of his had lost her child because of lack of advanced technologies, a tragedy.

“Well, Stella-doll, you already are the biggest disappointment so far in my life – your next move wouldn’t surprise me at all if it were one that would make me frown.” He finished his drink – the square glass was no more than three inches tall and there was not much to do but drink when you were in her presence. He felt regret, only briefly, for his words. Milo loved Stella with an intensity of a thousand suns when they were together. As salty as she was and appeared to be, she had delectable sweetness that only he saw for the longest time. When it was just them, secluded and no one else could see them, Stella was warm and cuddly – affectionate. It was in front of the cameras that she acted like this, but with eyes, ears, and cameras all following their movements and listening he had to choose his words wisely. Of course, he was known for comments that were not always deemed social acceptable, Milo didn’t seem to care at all. No, this woman hurt him and drove him to a point where his fifteen closest people around him had to intervene – he practically hated her more than he loved her.

“I am quite enjoying myself, I’m quite amused right here. I can’t possibly imagine how your image is still thriving without my interviews for you to sit and act the role of perfect girlfriend at or my words of adoration for you. Of course you know I was one of your assets, more of an accessory for you than apparently anything else. It wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t know the low I hit or the pain I endured. Of course, not even my undivided love was enough to melt the castle around the frigid ice queen.” He spit his words out like venom, but he needed it to feel alright with it. A better closured than he had the first time. When he was pacing around her New York residence, he was deeply and secretly hoping she would change her mind but she didn’t. She just sat there and did nothing, acted like she didn’t care he was leaving and again, that she never loved him. It fueled the drinking and all of the pain – the realization that all he felt was only on him and none of it was returned from her.

“Are you enjoying yourself, prestigious Stella Madison? Or is my presence bothering you and you will give me the silent treatment, again, to leave your sight? No words, no anything – just to bury whatever hopes and dreams I had because you’re too selfish? You do realize marriage wouldn’t have been a bad thing? It would have added to your name, your beloved image. What I didn’t know was that you were too selfish to carry a child for me to raise because of what? Were you afraid of stretch marks, having to buy maternity clothes, being scrutinized for you weight gain? Most of the women in Hollywood are commended for taking the time out for having children. Don’t say it’s not the same in the modeling world, because I know better. Heidi, Gisele, Adrianna, Miranda? They all had children and came back with killer, hell, even sexier curves than before! I guess you’ll need to soak up the temporary fame you have for yourself, because models go into the crowd easier than movie stars do. As my wife you would have been famous longer than you’ll be with what you have right now. You, glorious Stella Madison, are nothing but a fame-whore.”

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words: 1200
outfit

[stella]

outfit

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Stella remained silent as he talked on and on about the rum and coke. She seemed to ignore it. No, she didn’t seem to-she simply did. She didn’t care about the rum and coke. It was a drink. It doesn’t matter. She was glad he wasn’t on an alcohol binge again, truly, but she knew better than to show it. She knew better than to show absolutely any kind of emotion to be perfectly honest. She seemed to finish her drink fairly quickly despite the large glass it was in. The longer she stayed in his presence, the more she was compelled to get behind the bar and drink everything in sight. She was good at holding her liquor or at least she used to be. She didn’t drink much after she left Monaco so she wasn’t exactly sure how she’d hold up now.

As he continued though, she sat there and just listened, unable to meet his eyes. Had she used him for his fame? No. Everything he said wasn’t true. He didn’t know her at all. Not one bit. That was one reason why she said no to marrying him. It had nothing to do with this illusion of love. He didn’t know her and though he claimed he loved her, he wouldn’t have wanted to get to know her more than the superficial. He had become just like everyone else in her life and maybe that was why she came to the reunion of her family in the first place. She thought maybe she’d find some answers as to why she was the way she was. She wasn’t like this before. She used to be fun and spontaneous, loud and energetic. She wasn’t cold and calculating and anyone who knew her in Monaco that was still alive would be shaking their head at the drastic change. Maybe Pierre had knocked her in the head one too many times. But either way, his words seemed to cut her a bit deeper than she anticipated. She didn’t know or want to know why Milo had such an effect on her. It pissed her off and annoyed her to think someone could get under her skin when she had been trying so hard to become bulletproof.

“I read every single article,” she said it quietly, like she didn’t want him to hear her, “I watched every single interview, every award show, listened to all the gossip,” but then he cut her off to continue and she remained quiet again, looking at the second drink set in front of her. She was trying not to draw more attention than necessary toward them but it was becoming increasingly difficult with every accusation he threw at her, every insult she thought wouldn’t ever come out of his mouth. She wasn’t used to this Milo. Sure she’d seen this side to him a handful of times before but not like this. Not raw anger that seemed to be eating away at the very person he was. She locked her jaw and closed her eyes tightly as he called her a fame whore and she bit her tongue hard before she downed her drink so fast, she probably broke a record somewhere. Then she turned to full face him and locking her eyes onto his, she nearly yelled it out, “You have no right to say any of that because you don’t know who I am or what I’ve been through in any part of my life and this is precisely why I never told you,” the venom dripped from her words and for a second, she looked like a snake pivoting into position, ripe for the attack, “Don’t be so arrogant thinking I would need to use you to get to the position I am in today. Contrary to popular belief, I did this on my own with my own hard work. I busted my butt to get to this position and I wouldn’t let it go for all the love, marriages, or children in the world. Marriage is just a business contract, love is an illusion made up to keep us all from losing our minds with boredom, and I don’t want children that I refuse to risk losing again. I tried marriage, I tried love, and I tried children and it didn’t work! I lost all of them and I refuse to go through that again so if you’re done patronizing me with your ‘I’m way better off without you’ speech, I’d like to leave without having you breathing hatred and hostility down my throat! I get it, alright? You don’t need me, you loved me, I could have gotten more famous by marrying you but did it ever occur to you to ask why I didn’t want to marry you and just stay the way we were? No. You were too busy listening to all the negativity from all over instead of opening your eyes and seeing what you were really after.”

Her chest moved up and down heavily at her own outburst, glad there was music playing so only Milo could really hear her. She could feel her eyes tearing up at the frustration she hadn’t realized she’d had toward the man before her for not trying to dig deeper and try to get to know her the way she wished he had. She always wanted him to fight for her not just get comfortable. Couldn’t he see she didn’t need marriage to be with him? She didn’t need the ring or the nice houses or the fame. She was focused on her career-her work-not the fame that came with it. If anything she resented it, “I didn’t bury your hopes and dreams. You buried them yourself now deal with the cards you’ve been dealt and stop trying to make me feel guilt and remorse. I do that just fine on my own,” she looked away from him and took a gulp from the third drink, regretting, immediately, everything she said. No, he didn’t need to know about her failed marriage, the miscarriage, or anything about her past. He was her past. He wasn’t her future anymore or her present. She was her own future and it was probably why she was so self-righteous and such an ice queen. No one believed in her so she had to believe in herself.

[LERA GORBUNOV]

Milo didn’t have issues when it came to a dispute in public, because he could keep his calm in the face of the storm. He spat out all he wanted to strike at her and now he was waiting for whatever she would do. Stella Madison was not a predictable woman, because she had a way of making you feel insignificant. It was how she conducted herself that attracted Milo to her and kept him invested, but it was also what tarnished their relationship. No man wanted to hear that the woman he so desperately loved didn’t return the favor. He felt like one of those helpless nerdy men that wanted the hottest chick in the entire school and they had no chance. While Milo played that role once, he didn’t actually expect it to ever happen to him. What woman didn’t want a man of his distinguished caliber? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt that Stella Madison was on the list of women that didn’t want him. When he so desperately still wanted her as his wife or as his “partner” – whatever terminology floated her boat. He had so many ideas for them: to make a fashion line with her, a perfume, and he wanted to be move involved in the world she lived in. They didn’t have worlds that were far apart, but they certainly clashed in some aspects. They were an attractive pair and they both were accomplishing more together, but Stella had achieved more than Milo did after he left her. Stella was an inspiration for Milo to keep pushing forward, but he didn’t think he could get back to how they were before he left her and kept throwing in his own desires of marriage and children and maybe he just wanted engagement overall.

When they were together and out of the public eye, it was comfortable and Milo felt it was borderline perfect. On their lazy day, Milo and Stella would lie in bed watching the television and eating chips together. It wasn’t diehard romantic but it was them, it was how they worked. Milo would feel her pieces of cupcakes and when she accused him of trying to fatten her up, he just squeezed and snuggle her ass as he loved her little booty. Milo was the boyfriend that went shopping for his girlfriend because he knew her sizes and would take the clothes home to give to her. While Milo did have an impeccable taste of style, not all of what he bought Stella really suited her. It was the thought and the effort that counted and she knew that. She appreciated the fresh vase of flowers he bought for her apartment every two weeks and had them delivered to her. He made her dinner, after many culinary classes he squeezed in because he only knew how to make ramen noodles in a microwave before he did. He made them macaroni and cheese from the box once, before he took up the classes and it was terrible. He respected that Stella would tell him when he outright failed, but at least she told him she knew he made the effort. Then they promptly threw away the crap he made and went out for dinner and dancing. That was their life when they were together and he didn’t want to lose Stella. That was why he kept proposing, but when he was down he told himself he should have just been happy with what he had. Now he didn’t have her at all and he was ruining ever having her back again.

When she told him that she read the articles, watched the interviews, and the award shows – his heart shot with a pang of regret for saying what he had said. Milo did cherish and love Stella, but he was hurt and she was part of the reason. He was so distraught that he couldn’t have her that it had gone this far in the end. “I have no right Stella? I was so madly in love with you and you didn’t tell me anything? So how was I supposed to know otherwise!?” She kept exploding at him and he heard everything she said, but he didn’t want everyone watching them have this conversation anymore. Approaching her, he snaked and arm around her waist and the other found itself scooping her up and carrying her off bridal style. Suddenly there was cameras flashing, but Milo kept moving until he found a room that was offered for them. It was hard, but maybe there was saving left for their relationship. “Stella, you’re right I should have asked. I just love you Stella… I still do… Now I have an idea… There was someone else and you’re afraid of it happening again? You were married, in love…. ….You lost a baby? Stella you have to understand, if you just told me how you were feeling and some of this I would have understood. I wouldn’t have pushed so hard… I miss you; I want to get back to where we were… I can change, I can work at it. I won’t pressure you for marriage or kids or anything… I just want you.” He got down on his knees and clasped his hands. “I’m begging you, Stella. Everything I am is laid out right here. Please say something, Stella.” He was humiliating himself.

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words: 900
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