Married to a powerful businessman feared all-over Portland, Mia Kingston has a reputation to uphold. As the CEO of MK, her own lingerie brand, everyone believes she has everything, including the perfect marriage most women envy.
She's beautiful, s...
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His soothing heartbeat feels like music to my ear. I hug him tighter with my head laying on his chest. We haven't moved or talked for a long while, but the silence feels like a powerful whisper of his deep voice—the same voice that never tires my ears.
My thoughts diminish as minutes fly by, and softly the numbness eases my mind. I gaze up at Red, hardly shifting my body from his tight hold. We are seated on a velvet couch in my office, my legs are tucked to my side as though I'm still thirteen.
"Talk to me," Red breathes.
"I don't know what to say," I croak, my voice too stark to say more.
"Anything. How do you feel?" he returns.
I sigh softly, close my eyes fleetingly, and clear my throat afterwards.
"I feel . . . like I don't know who I am," I answer in a low voice. Red remains silent, letting me go on. "It's as if . . . It's as if everything I did up to now has been nothing but a waste. It's like no matter what I do I'll always be a shadow of what I aspired to be. Like I can never be Mia without being Mrs. Kingston. I hate that his name overshadows my identity. I want to be me."
"That's not true. You are Mia Vera and I see nothing less than a woman many of your kind wish to be," Red replies.
I huff a laugh. Probably he's right, but mainly because I'm the wife of Patrick Kingston. It's the price tag kind of life many women envy about me, but do they really see me as how I want to be seen? Have I succeeded in being the inspiring woman I wanted to be to other women around me?
"Do you know how I started MK?" I slowly pull away from Red's arms.
He lets me go and I finally drop my heels off the fluffy rug.
My eyes find his attentive ones, and mild curiosity inflames the ember color of his irises as the sunlight bathes the room. I smile gently, nostalgically, while burying my face in my arms and lean my elbows over my knees.
"There was a designing competition hosted by Agent Provocateur—a British lingerie brand," I say with a pause, my mind traveling back in time when I thought and dreamed of nothing but to be a designer. "It was by chance I got to travel to London for a fashion show and signed myself for the contest." I glance at Red with a smile.
"Did you win?" he asks, smiling back.
I recline back on the couch and say, "Yeah. I came in first."
What a surprise it was!
"I thought so." Red strokes my cheek as if he's petting his little girl.
We share a soft smile.
"I got a good cash prize and plenty of opportunities, including to work for the brand, which I did for one year until I got married," I answer and suck in a deep breath.
