Mikalo's Flame (16 page)

Another laugh.

God, I was getting sick of her.

“A question for you,” she then said, her eyes
on me again, her hand still on my chest.

I lifted my hand and, grabbing her wrist,
removed it.

Ignoring that, she continued.

“Is he living with you?”

I didn’t respond.

“Answer. Is he living with you?”

“Yes,” I finally said.

“And it is happy, no?”

“Yes.”

“And then, I don’t know, one day, he comes to
you and he says ‘oh, I need my own place. Maybe this is something
we can talk about,’ right?”

I didn’t respond.

A cruel smile spread across her pink glossed
lips.

“Ah, this is a yes,” she then whispered.

“It is a thing he does, I think,” she said.
“To live with you and love you and then, when it is good, to say ‘I
need my own place and then soon we will have our place’.

“But do you know what happens then?”

Holding my breath, I stayed silent, trying
not to pay attention but growing increasingly angry at her
accuracy.

“He finds his place, he moves into this
place, and then, one day, he will say ‘oh, my love, there is
something important to do, to say, something that is necessary for
our relationship, for our love’ and then do you know what
happens?”

I shook my head.

What I wanted to say was Oh shut the fuck up,
you stupid drunk bitch and get the hell out of my way so I can get
back to the man I love and who loves me.

But I just shook my head.

No, I didn’t know what happens.

She continued.

“That is when he will say ‘perhaps it is good
to take a breath’. And then he will be gone.

“That is what waits for you around the next
corner,” she then said.

I waited a long moment before speaking.

“Are you finished?”

Her eyes narrowed, her eyes growing
cruel.

“You are just one more girl who believes she
is special, but that he will throw away,” she said. “And I am happy
for that. Happy you will be with the trash on the street.

“You are not one of us. It is impossible to
think he would spend his life with you.”

“One of us?” I asked. “What do you mean by
‘one of us’?”

“You work. You are the help --”

“Yeah, yeah. To either fuck or fire. I get
it.”

“I am surprised. You have a brain. This is
good, perhaps.

“But, still, this is not something Mikalo’s
family would allow him to do, to make you his wife. They are very
picky, his family. And there is a strong tradition in his
culture.

“And pretty as he thinks you are, and I do
not know if that is what he sees, you will not be good enough for
his nonna, his grandmother. It is she who rules Mikalo’s heart and
it is she who will tell him yes or no when it comes to who is best
for him to marry.

“To speak the truth,” she said, her eyes
narrowing. “It is my thought that even with this love you have for
him, it is an impossible thing for him to be with you forever.”

She turned from me and faced the mirror,
jamming her hand in her overflowing purse as she spoke.

“You are no one to me, no one, but you are a
woman, still, and, because of this, I share with you this
truth.”

Bringing out her lip gloss, she popped it
open and, mouth open, started smearing it across her lips.

“Leave him before he breaks your heart into
two and then leaves you,” she finished, screwing the cap back on
the gloss.

Doing my best to ignore her, to not hear this
vitriol and hatred, I walked to the door.

“You are most welcome for this gift, my
friend,” she called after me as I left, closing the door behind
me.

Dinner was quiet, Mikalo lost in his
thoughts, me desperately trying to forget Mara’s words.

It’d be a hell of a lot easier if they
weren’t so accurate.

Still, she was a liar.

Remember this, Ronan. She lies.

But she was also right.

Damn it.

He was living with me and now he was
insisting on finding his own place, promising we’d soon have “our”
place.

Just like Mara said.

I drank some more wine, determined to get a
buzz big enough to shut my mind off.

“What you said was right, my Grace.”

He was looking at me now, his plate cleaned,
his wine glass in hand.

I put mine down and discreetly swallowed a
small belch.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“About my father’s company, my mother’s
company. What you said was right. If I am to run them successfully,
they need to be mine and I need to accept them as mine.”

I nodded.

“Are you okay with that?” I asked.

He shrugged and took a sip of wine.

“Yes, it is something I will be okay with. In
time.”

“Of course,” I said. “It won’t happen
overnight. But it’s good you recognize it has to happen. It’s a
really good, solid first step.”

He smiled.

“I did not recognize it, as you say,” he
teased me. “You told me to do it. I could not ignore this appetite
I have and I could not have dinner, you said, unless I agreed that,
yes, I would do this. So, like a good husband, a hungry husband, I
did what I was told to do.”

Husband.

Interesting.

I smiled, Mara’s words still ringing in my
ears.

Stop it. Just stop it. She’s vindictive,
she’s cruel, she’s dishonest, she’s jealous ...

“Speak, my Grace,” he said, interrupting my
thoughts.

“I’m sorry?”

He whistled, making the small sound of a
tweeting bird as he fluttered a hand briefly by his head.

I took a deep breath.

“It’s nothing, really,” I began. “I just ran
into Mara Byzan in the bathroom and, you know, she’s Mara
Byzan.”

“Yes, this I know.”

“Anyway, she said some stuff, stupid stuff,
really, and I’m ignoring it, but it’s hard.”

“She speaks in lies,” he said.

He looked so kind right now, the way his eyes
watched me, a small smile on his lips.

The Mikalo sitting before me was nothing like
the Cruel Mikalo she warned me of. How could I even think anything
she’d say would have one iota of truth?

Well, because tonight it did.

“I know she speaks in lies,” I answered
carefully. “But what if there is a tiny bit of truth in what she
says.”

“Even then, with her, the lie will be much
bigger than the truth.

“My Grace,” he continued. “She needs love.
She needs to be loved. It is the only thing that will quiet her
anger. And this cannot happen until she lets it be so. Right now
she is fighting you because you have something she does not have
and cannot have.

“This anger will drive her to say many
hurtful things. Do not listen.”

I nodded.

“Will your family like me?” I asked,
remembering Mara taunting me about not being “one of them” and,
therefore, Mikalo’s family wouldn’t accept me.

“You are in my heart,” he said. “That is all
they need know.”

And with that, he dodged the question.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the
table.

“Look with your own eyes and hear with your
own ears, your own heart, and that, that will be the truth. Not
anything Mara Byzan says.

“This is the truth, no?”

I nodded.

But it wasn’t. Not quite.

At least my truth, the truth I was living,
the truth he and I shared together, was bigger than her lies.

That much I knew.

It wasn’t quite morning, the streets quiet
outside, the sun still sleeping as the moon shone through the
window.

Mikalo slept next to me, turned on his side
toward me, his arm cradled under his head, his other draped over
me, holding me close.

I turned and looked at him.

He really was beautiful.

His eyes closed, his face relaxed and
peaceful, the lips parted as he snored, quietly. And, honestly, I
didn’t mind his snores. There was something calming about them.

Something that, like the sounds of the cars
passing below or the occasional noises of the house as it settled
or the clocks dinging or water running in a nearby pipe, had become
the soundtrack of my night, helping me to sleep.

Except tonight.

Nope, not a wink.

And I blamed The Byzan.

Okay, logic time, Ronan.

I slipped out from underneath his arm and
slipped my robe on. I’d need coffee if my brain had to work.
Especially in light of all that wine I drank.

Pausing at the door, I turned.

Mikalo still slept.

Now on his back, his head tilted, his chin in
the air, he had kicked away the sheet, one foot dangling free, the
other still hidden under the comforter, his naked torso bare.

I could go to him now, I realized. Slide in
next to him. Run my hands over his body and into his boxers. Kiss
his neck, his cheek, his sleepy lips, as my hand gently caressed
and stroked and fondled, coaxing him into hardness.

And I know he’d wake, ready. Eager for me.
The memory of sleep quickly tossed aside for the taste of me, the
feel of me under him, the sensation of me on top, riding him, his
hands on my breasts or holding my hips, guiding me as he inched
deeper.

I could do that, I thought, my eyes raking
over his smooth chest and sculpted abs. And I’d enjoy it. Very
much. As would he.

But no. It was logic time.

And I needed coffee.

I padded my way downstairs to the kitchen
and, the blaze of the sudden light hurting my eyes, headed to the
coffee maker.

First things first, Mara was a conniving,
heartless little monster who wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked
her on the ass.

So, that’s that.

Second, yes, Mikalo wanted his own place. It
made sense, really. And there’s no reason it needs to be the end of
us or what I had with him.

And if it was?

Well, then it was.

Didn’t mean I wouldn’t survive. Didn’t mean I
wouldn’t love him. And it certainly didn’t mean he didn’t love
me.

All it meant, if, in fact, that were to
happen, is that whatever we’re sharing, whatever we have now,
wasn’t supposed to last.

Again, I’d get over it.

Someday.

Milk, sugar, a quick stir, and that blessed
first sip.

I sat at the table and popped my lap top
open.

Mara had talked about other girls Mikalo had
loved. I knew of Claudia, of course, his girlfriend, the model who
had slowly starved herself to death. Based on what he said, it
certainly didn’t sound like he had abandoned her.

Truth, 1. Mara, 0.

But that’s all I knew. And, let’s face it,
Mikalo was one sexy fuck and it would be unrealistic to think he
had only Claudia and then me.

I mean, c’mon.

My email came up.

Ignoring all the new messages needing either
a response or a delete, I brought up a new message box, typing in
Deni’s address.

If anyone would know Mikalo’s history -- or
at least know someone who would know Mikalo’s history -- and be
able to tell me whether or not there was any truth to what Mara was
saying, it would be Deni.

And if she was still distracted by the
implosion of her marriage -- and, knowing Deni, she had shaken it
off by now and was back to wanting to fight --, she’d simply not
respond. No harm done.

So, I typed. Told her quickly about being
cornered in The Mercer Kitchen bathroom by Mara. Told her about
what Mara said. The claims of Mikalo’s moving out being the first
step to him leaving a girl.

And then I told her I loved her and hoped she
was well.

I paused, thinking of her. Still, after all
these years, somewhat still in awe of her. Her strength. Her
courage. Her beauty.

Friends didn’t come better than her, that’s
for damn sure.

I sat back and re-read the message.

Sipping my coffee, I clicked Send.

It’d be an early morning at work, I decided,
standing to climb upstairs and hit the shower. I’d get in early,
get some solid work done before everyone else showed up. Maybe take
a long lunch. Maybe with Deni.

Who knows?

I secretly hoped so.

I padded into the bedroom.

Mikalo still slept, still on his back, his
legs spread, one foot outside the covers, the other still tucked
under. His torso was still bare and he still snored. Quietly.

Despite it all, despite the doubt and worries
and Maras and the lies, I loved him. Very much.

Regardless what waited around the corner,
that wouldn’t change.

As I was leaving, freshly showered, make-up
in place, wrapped in a smart suit over a silk blouse, my trusty
Goyard bag at my feet, I had finally relented.

Sitting next to Mikalo, I had reached out and
touched his chest, my hand laying flat against the smooth
muscle.

He had stirred, his head turning to me.

Leaning forward, I had pressed my lips to his
cheek, kissing him awake.

Reaching his arms above his head, his back
arching as he stretched with a groan, he had wrapped them around my
neck and gently pulled me down to nestle close to his heart,
hugging me and holding me tight.

“Mmmmmm ...”

The sound rumbled through his chest.

“Good morning,” I had said, my nose snuggling
into his neck.

“Morning,” he mumbled, still groggy.

“You leaving?” he then asked.

“Yeah. You want me to put some coffee on for
you?”

I had felt him nod his head, his chin briefly
dipping low to graze my forehead.

And then he had wrapped his arms around me
tighter as he sighed.

For a moment, I had thought about how his
arms were wrinkling my suit. Or how my hair was getting mussed as I
sat here, resting near his neck.