Mia's Heart (The Paradise Diaries)

Dedication

To my daughter,

My littlest writing assistant and biggest fan.

I am more thankful for you than

you will ever know. 

I will love you forever and ever and ever.

Chapter One

Five
times.

That’s
how many times I have looked at the clock while my mother has been lecturing
me.

Five
hundred times.

That’s
how many times I’ve wished I could ram a sharp stick into my ears to prevent
myself from having to listen.  The ruptured ear drum would be So. Worth.
It. 

But
unfortunately, I’ll need my hearing for my senior year this year.  And
also unfortunately, I can tell by the bright red hue to my mother’s cheeks that
she’s far from finished.

I
sigh and stare out the window.

And
ponder my life.

Because
I live in a bubble.

A
fragile, beautiful, misleading bubble.

Anyone
looking in might think that life within my shiny bubble is perfect. That I have
the perfect parents, perfect home, a perfect life.  But it is far from
perfect and so am I.

Trust
me. 

Or
just ask my mother.

“Take
it out.”

Each
word that Adrianna Giannis spits from her lips is like an ice pellet. She’s
really pissed now, I can tell.  But I don’t care because I’m pissed, too.
My new nose ring isn’t hurting anyone.  It’s just a little silver
stud.  It’s not like I got a tattoo on my face or my nipples
pierced.  I tell her that and her nostrils flare out a little and she
cocks her head in a very dangerous way. 

I
take a cautionary step back.  My mother has never laid a hand on me, but
all good things must come to an end sometime.

That
time might seriously be now.

Mom
narrows her eyes and I might be mistaken, but I think I see red in them.

“Mia
Alexandria Giannis.  We have put up with your black clothing and the way
you dye your hair. We have even tolerated your new bad attitude. But this.”
 And at this point, she throws up her hands and waves them around. 
“This is ridiculous. You
know
that we have an image to protect because
of your father.  You know that.  Yet you don’t seem to care. 
You don’t care about anything but yourself.  What are we going to do with
you?”

I
stare back at her as firmly as I can and take a deep breath.

And
then reluctantly dive back into the same-old, same-old argument that we’ve
already had five hundred other times before.

Make
that five-thousand.

Or
five-hundred-thousand.

“Mom. 
I don’t understand why I have to pretend to be someone that I’m not just
because of my father’s job.  It’s not like he’s the prime minister. 
He just
works
for the prime minister.  People don’t care if the
MoD’s daughter dresses in black or has a nose ring.”

“Yes,
they do,” she insists.  “They notice and then your father has to field
their questions. The Minister of Defense is a very important position to hold
and people watch him. And when they see you acting like this, it’s
embarrassing.”

I
freeze and my eyes meet hers.

Fiery
green gaze meets fiery green gaze.

“So,
I’m an embarrassment?”

My
mother freezes too and for a moment, I see uncertainty in her eyes, a hesitant
waver.  But then she steels herself again.

“Why
wouldn’t you be?” she demands harshly, all traces of the momentary softness
gone.  “You do everything you can possibly think of to embarrass us. And
you do it on purpose.  I don’t know why you sound surprised. Yes, right
now, you embarrass us.”

I
am quiet and still as I assess this.  I never meant to embarrass them and
it is a strange revelation.  All I have ever wanted was to be left alone,
left to dress how I want and act how I want.  Is that really so much to
ask?

Apparently
so.

And
it hits me like a brick wall.

I’m
not going to win this argument.

I
am suddenly overwhelmed by frustration and anger and a little hurt, too. 
So I swallow hard, then swallow again. Then I walk right past my mother without
saying a word.  As I walk through my bedroom door, I grip the heavy wooden
edge in my fingers and slam it as hard as I can.

The
walls shake.

And
I am satisfied with that.

I
calmly stroll down the hall leading away from my bedroom, ignoring the shocked
expression on a nearby maid’s face.  Yes, we have maids.  And
butlers.  And pool boys.  No, I don’t like it.  But apparently,
my opinion is about as important as Monopoly money is in the real world.

My
mother comes barreling out of my room, just like I knew she would.

If
she had guns, they would be blazing.

“Where
do you think you’re going? We do not slam doors in this house, young lady.”

I
just did.  But I don’t say that.

I
am silent and mulish and I keep walking.

Mom
tags along at my heels like a rat terrier, but I still keep walking. She grabs
at my elbow and I shake her off.  She falls behind and stays there.

“Just
wait until your father comes home!” she calls.

I
have to laugh at that. 

It
would be a terrifying threat, if in fact, my father comes home.

But
he won’t.

Because
he seldom does.

I
keep walking.  I know that I’m being a spoiled bitch, but I can’t see past
my own annoyance at this point.  This need of my mother’s to force me into
a perfect mold without any concern for my own wishes has come to a boiling
point.  I can’t take it anymore. 

I’m
going to snap.  

And
maybe kill somebody.

And
I won’t look good in an orange jumpsuit.

Or
actually, I probably would.  I do look lovely in orange.

But
that’s beside the point.

I
climb into my little red Mercedes convertible and jab at the button that slides
the top down.  There’s nothing like the wind in my hair as I speed too
quickly along Caberra’s scenic highways.  And I always, always speed too
quickly. 

I
shift into first, then squeal my tires as I tear out of our curved semi-circle
driveway.  Mom ought to like that.  She can just add it to her list
of things that she’s pissed off about.

I
can hear her voice in my head right now. 
Stanyos Giannis’ daughter
does not squeal her tires, young lady.  You’re an embarrassment.
 

And
then
I
am embarrassed when I suddenly realize that hot tears are welling
up in my eyes. 

Damn
it. I wipe at them quickly. 

I
hate that I let her get to me like this.  This should not have escalated
into the feud that it has become.  It’s just a freaking nose stud.  I
can take it out and the hole will grow closed.  It’s not the end of the
world.  My mother, my father and in fact, the entire world, can eff off.

I
shift into third, then fourth gear as I speed along the highway that leads to
Valese, the capitol of Caberra.  We live ten minutes outside of town, in a
sleepy house where nothing happens. 

Ever. 

Except
for a few screaming matches between my mother and father and me.  And that
seems to be happening more and more lately.   It’s probably mostly my
fault, but I can’t bring myself to conform to their stupid rules. Why should I
have to?  I’m not hurting anyone.  Their stupid rules are
stupid. 

Asinine.

Ridiculous.

Pathetic.

The
shoulder strap of my black tank top slips down and I yank it back up.  I
seriously wish that my best friend was here. But Reece went back to her home in
Kansas for her senior year, taking another of my best friends, Dante Giliberti,
with her.  Dante’s father is my father’s boss, which makes Dante one of
the few people in the world who knows exactly how I feel about these
things.  But he’s gone now- a half a world away and I miss them both like
crazy.

I
fight the urge to pick up my phone and text Reece that very message. But these
curves are too killer to text while driving.  And I’ve already texted her
that little message about 200 times since she left a month ago.   It
didn’t change anything.  They’re still there and I’m still here. 

Alone.

I
can still feel my temper, right under the surface, boiling and hot.  I’ve
got to calm myself down. But I don’t have anyone to talk to.  Reece was my
only real friend, besides Dante and Gavin.  And Gavin is away until
tomorrow on a trip with his dad. 

I’m
on my own, like usual.

And
I’m pissed off at the world.

Like
usual.

I
sigh and maneuver my car through the busy streets of Valese.  Before I can
even think about it, I find myself driving toward the sea.  My favorite
place in the world.  I love everything about it. The vastness, the saltiness,
the beauty.  I love the taste of it on my lips and the feel of the sea
breeze in my hair. I love being here because I know that I will smell like the
sea for hours after I leave.  The water always seems to calm me
down.  So, before I even know it, I have parked my car and am standing
with my toes in the water.

I’m
not really sure how I got here. 

Or
why I am here.

But
I’m happy that I am.

Caberra
is beautiful.  I have to give it that.  An island nation just a
stone’s throw from Greece, it is gorgeous and tranquil and ancient.  I
wiggle my toes in the wet sand and enjoy how the cool water laps at my
ankles.  If it weren’t daylight, I might just strip off my clothes and go
skinny-dipping.

But
it is.

Daylight. 

So
I don’t.

Even
I won’t go that far.

My
parents would freaking kill me.

Instead,
I sit down and situate myself in the sand, keeping my toes in the water. 
I watch my black-glittery-toenail bob in and out of the current and I try to
zone out, to forget my current angst with my mother.   

I’m
succeeding, too. That is, until a cowboy hat walks into my periphery.

No
lie.

A
cowboy hat.

In
Caberra.

HolyFreakingHell.

I
stop what I’m doing, the zoning out into a vegetative state, and stare.  I
can’t help myself.  We don’t have cowboys in Caberra. 

But
apparently, we do now.

A
giant of a man, or a boy, or a man-boy, is striding over the rolling sand dunes
of the beach wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.  That is striking
enough in its own right. But the muscles on this guy, the
guns.
 
His biceps look as thick as my thighs. Which, as a thigh, isn’t that big. 
But as an arm!  It’s enormous.