I wonder how Mikalo would look when he was Radek’s age? Handsome, of course. Still. Probably a curly mane of silver hair. A quick smile. A bit of a tummy, probably.
Well, he did like to eat.
Smiling, I thought of him polishing off his burger in four bites and then inhaling my french fries.
Yeah, that appetite would eventually catch up with him.
And I didn’t care.
I loved him. I really did.
And somewhere in there, somewhere in my heart, was the fervent hope that I would be there to grow older with him. That I would spend my life being with him, day after day, week by week, month by month, year after year after year.
It was a hope that was so fervent, so dear, a hope so treasured, that I refused to admit it existed. Ignored it. Wouldn’t visit it, or wrap myself in it, or give it life by breathing my dreams into it.
To do so would acknowledge my growing need for Mikalo, for a life with him. And doing that would wed me even more to this life I hoped for. And if it didn’t happen? If he were to leave me or we were to part or ...
I shook the thought away.
Even considering the possibility made me depressed.
And us not being together?
Ugh, I don’t know if that’s something I’d survive.
Yeah, it sounded weak. I know. But if I couldn’t be honest with myself, who could I be honest with, right?
And of course I’d survive. Eventually.
I stopped, waiting for the walk signal to change, the slender side street in front of me clogged with a line of cars turning onto an increasingly congested Fifth.
Across the street, he stood.
Mikalo.
With a woman.
He caught my eye. Smiled. Waved.
The signal changed and I crossed the street.
Reaching out his hand, he brought me close and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Ronan,” he said as he indicated the woman standing next to him. “This is Sue.”
She stuck out her hand and, gripping mine, gave it a firm shake.
“Hi,” she said.
“So,” I said, turning back to Mikalo. “What’s up?”
He turned to this Sue and then back to me.
“Well, there was an apartment to see --”
“A gorgeous apartment,” she interrupted.
“Yes,” he said, politely cutting her off. “And that is why I am here.”
He turned back to her.
“Please, if it is possible, allow me to talk with you later about what my decision might be. And thank you for your time today.”
Ah, I got it now. The slender briefcase in her hand, the sensible shoes, the Bergdorf suit slipped over the cotton blouse, all very loose and casual, but still screaming Success.
She was an estate agent. And she was showing Mikalo apartments.
I felt that lump in my throat again.
Damn it.
Breathe, don’t panic. Blazen was right. It wasn’t like you’d never see him again if he moved, had a place of his own, right?
It wasn’t, was it?
I took a deep breath, willing myself calm.
Mikalo and this Sue person said their goodbyes, him promising to call, her verifying he had her card.
And then she was gone.
He waited a long moment before speaking.
“Would you like to see it?”
“See what?” I asked.
“The apartment.”
Chapter Thirty
The large room was filled with ghosts.
We wandered, Mikalo and I, skirting our way around the furniture, moving the heavy drapes aside to peek through the large windows onto the park below. Listened to our carpeted footsteps as we moved down one hall and then down another.
Unlike the Byzan’s apartment a few blocks away, this one was far from empty.
But it was filled with ghosts, everything hidden under large white sheets, the dark room having an eerie, oddly spectral feel to it.
Couches, chairs, tables. The large paintings on the walls. The chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. Even the long dining room table was draped in white, the two large pieces of fabric joined in the middle.
“It is my father’s,” he had said quietly when we first entered.
I had stepped forward.
He had remained still, his back almost against the door.
Reaching out my hand, I had drawn him to me, pulling him close.
And then we had walked.
Discovering the library to the left and then circling back to the drawing room. Hallways giving onto more rooms. Bedrooms with their mattresses bare. Sheets and comforters still folded neatly in cupboards. A kitchen with a white tile floor and matching white appliances, many of them a decade or two old. But all of it in very good condition.
“It is to be sold, I think,” Mikalo explained. “Silvestro and Caugina, they decided and, it is the truth, I do not feel this place in my heart. It is not home. And so, yes, I said, it will be sold.
“Perhaps this Sue, this woman I met today, perhaps she will be the one we trust to sell it. I do not know. There are others to speak with in the weeks to come.”
He paused, running his finger along the edge of an antique console covered in yet another white sheet.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is not home, my Grace. My father, he would be here when he would come to New York for work. In my head, I hear of this place. This New York. And I know this New York is taking my father away from me again.”
He looked around the room.
“This home, this place, it is that New York I did not like when I was a boy. So it will be a good thing to be gone with it and, maybe, it can be a home for someone else. A real home. Not this.
“Now I have a New York of my own. With you. That is the New York I will hold in my heart and love.”
His eyes scanned the shadows again, briefly looking to the draped chandelier above and then to the console he leaned on.
“Not this,” he then said.
Stepping away, he wandered to the window, moving aside the heavy drape and peeking outside.
“You have a home with me, Mikalo,” I said.
He turned, watching me.
“If you want your own place, I understand. And I’m fine with that. Really.
“But you don’t have to leave,” I continued. “My home is your home for as long as you like. And I love having you there. It feels like home, to me, it feels like home having you there.”
I could hear my heart pounding, convinced the sound would soon echo through these dark, dusty rooms cluttered with the draped remnants of his father’s life.
Finally, he spoke.
“Do you love me?”
I took a deep breath.
“Yes,” I said, carefully. “Very much.”
What I wanted to say was Oh my god I love you so damn much and I can’t imagine life without you and you’re the best thing in my life and I look forward to having you in my life for the rest of my life and there aren’t words to tell you how much I love you.
But all I said was Yes.
“Yes,” I repeated. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” he said. “I like having the life with you.
“Your home is beautiful. It is warm and there is love and, of course, I am very happy there. To be with you every day, it is a gift. A gift I treasure with my heart.
“It is your home, my Grace. It is not mine. It is not ours. It is yours. I understand this and know that for a home to be mine, it must be mine. And then there will be a day, I hope there will be a day, when there is a home that is ours.”
I paused for a moment before speaking.
“Would you like to make my home ‘ours’?”
“No --”
“Mikalo, if there are changes you want to make, things you want to do, then tell me. Let’s talk about it. Let’s have that discus
sion.
“Why not work together to make my home our home? It’d be easier than you spending god knows how much to buy your own place and renovate and decorate and, I don’t know, whatever else you’d have to do to make it yours.
“This could be something we’d do together. It could be fun.”
My mind suddenly racing, I took a breath, suddenly excited at the prospect of us taking this step and, together, side by side, creating something. Something perhaps long and lasting. Something that would be ours.
“Seriously,” I continued. “I’m all for it if you are. Just let me know.”
With a smile, he walked toward me, coming near and, his arms wrapping around me, pulled me close, my head tucked beneath his chin, my nose pressed to his chest.
My arms circled his waist and hugged, squeezing tight.
“This would make me very pleased, my Grace,” he then said. “To make this home with you, it would be perfect.”
I closed my eyes, relieved and happy and looking forward to mine being officially his. It was incredibly exciting.
And then he said.
“But I have bought a home already.”
Chapter Thirty-One
As I slid behind the desk, my jacket tossed aside and my bag dropped near my feet, the phone rang.
Richardson.
“Hello, Rainier,” I had said, answering.
“Ronan, I’d like to see you in my office immediately.”
He sounded serious. Maybe even angry.
Or perhaps I was just feeling paranoid. Vulnerable. Scared.
As it was, Mikalo’s words were still ringing in my ear.
And now as I walked down the hall to Richardson’s office, they followed me.
“I have bought a home already,” Mikalo had said.
So, between telling myself to calm down and look at this bit of Mikalo news rationally, I was now wondering if perhaps, like Abby and Marcus before me, my neck was now the next one to see the chopping block.
Honest to god, there was no reason to worry. I was good. He was good. I could now call him Rainier.
But he never called, never, and when he did, it was huge. There was always a reason and, usually, not a very good one.
Let me work this through rationally.
Abby and Marcus had been settled. The Byzans were fine. They weren’t going anywhere. And I’d just gotten back to the office, Mikalo leaving to attend yet another meeting, and had yet to tell Richardson that all was well with the Byzans, but ...
Ah, that must be it. He was just checking in.
I’d tell him Byzan and I bonded, or something, and he’d be happy. Problem solved.
Which left Mikalo and his bombshell.
Okay, not really a bombshell, but still.
It’s not like he didn’t tell you he was doing this, right?
Right.
And, as Bill said, it’s not like he’s leaving your life or something, right?
Right.
So be a big girl and just calm the fuck down. You still had weeks if not months to enjoy his company. God knows how long it’ll take for the sale to go through and for renovations to take and redecorating and all the other stuff that seems to take longer than you want it to.
You’d be waking up next to him for a bit longer, Ronan.
So rein in the friggin’ dramatics.
Things were pretty damn good so just enjoy it for once.
There was the matter of Deni and her impending divorce, though.
But there was small comfort in knowing she was being adored and loved by her very handsome young Lucas.
When she needed me, I’d be there. No questions asked.
So if there was one small wrinkle right now, so be it.
Well, one small wrinkle I knew about.
Getting my ass fired might be a bigger wrinkle, but ...
I was at Richardson’s door.
Lifting my hand, I politely knocked.
“Come in.”
I opened the door.
Richardson sat behind his desk.
Mikalo, surrounded by three men I didn’t recognize, sat opposite him.
Mikalo stood when I entered and extended his hand for me to shake.
Rainier stood.
“Miss Grace,” he said. “I believe you know our newest client, Mikalo Delis?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
He sat in my office now, our meeting with Richardson and Mikalo’s attorneys having finished.
“You are not upset, my Grace?” he asked again.
I shook my head.
“No,” I finally said. “Just surprised. Why didn’t you tell me you’d decided to hire us? It didn’t have to be a big secret, you know? You could have told me.”
“Ah, but it was not a secret. There were many meetings, many lunches. With your friend Bill Blazen and with this nice man Rainier. There were many discussions and thoughts. Many things said.
“It is a very important decision, who to work with,” he continued. “And to share this with you before a decision is made, it did not sound good to me.
“It was an important thing, my Grace, to look at this as business and not personal. And I wanted to know, for the fact, if this Firm was right for my father’s business, my father’s companies. On my own. Alone.
“And then, when this was the thing decided, I would of course share the wonderful news with you.
“That is all it was. It was nothing more than wanting to be careful and discreet.”
Of course it all made sense, I thought. And of course there was no need to be angry.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t.
I was just overjoyed that Mikalo had chosen Macfarlane to represent his family and their companies in the States. When it came to fantastic gets, it didn’t get much better than this.
And thinking back on the last few months, it suddenly made sense.
“So,” I began. “When you met with all these different Firms, interviewed with all these different jobs, it wasn’t about the work.”
A small grin spread across his lips and then he shook his head.
“You were sizing them up and seeing if they were a fit,” I finished.
“Yes, that is correct. To meet with this people, with these Firms, as a potential client, one with a great deal of money, you see only the good side. The smiles and the laughs and, of course, they like you a great deal and are very nice. With money in the pocket, people cannot sometimes be nice enough.
“But if you are lucky to meet them as someone who is, perhaps, not powerful, someone who is in need, well, this is the time when you see the different side. The different face.
“There were those I met who were unkind, who had no respect for time and kept me waiting for hours. And those are not people I want to work with, or to give business or money to. To build a relationship with. Because to work with someone, there must be trust and sincerity.
“And how can that be?” he asked, leaning forward, his eyes on mine. “When already they have no respect for you or for the hours in your day?
“Then there were those who were nice at first. And then you say ‘no, I do not want to work with you’ and they were then not so nice. Not so respectful.
“And there were more I could not imagine trusting my father’s business to. My father’s wealth and all he had built.
“Maybe I ask too much, my Grace? But I need to like the people or I do not trust them.
“And Macfarlane with Rainier and this Blazen, these are people I liked.”
He sat back and watched me as I listened.
“It was not because of you,” he then said. “Not just you. No. It was something more. When I said ‘no, this is not a job I want’, they thanked me and invited me to return should I ever change my mind. You know this.”
Actually, I didn’t.
“My hope,” he continued, “as it has always been, would be that the work they offered me, the job I said no to, would go to someone deserving, someone who would be very excited and appre
ciate it. It did not happen. They gave it to that little man who causes many problems.
“So now that this man is leaving, this Marcus, they can try again and work with someone, give the job to someone, who will be wonderful.”
“This seems like a lot of work just to see if a Firm would be easy to work with, Mikalo.”
Another shake of his head.
“No, it is not,” he said. “It is necessary. To say it is a lot of work to see if one is better for you than another, it is like you to say that it is a lot of work to read these documents and find the reasons why one path is better than another for those people, those families, who put their trust in you.
“My father, my mother, what they built, what they sacrificed to give to me, to my brother, it is worth the effort, worth the time. It is even worth the lie of needing a job. To look behind their curtain and see the true face, it was worth the small lie.
“And the work I will do with Macfarlane, with Richardson and Blazen and perhaps you, or those you work with in your department, it will be wonderful, I have no doubt.
“Is not a small lie worth that much?” he then asked me.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “I see your point. And, honestly, it’s pretty darn smart.
“But if you have any worries about whether or not I’m upset by this or by the little lie you needed to use in order to choose Macfarlane or whatever, stop.
“I’m not upset or angry or anything. I’m happy. Happy because you made a wise choice, a wise decision, and I know we’ll take very good care of you. Protect you. And I’m happy because I see why you did what you did and, frankly, it makes sense.
“So don’t worry about it, okay?”
He nodded.
“Okay.
“My Grace,” he then said, a slow smile peeking through, “I think this is a thing to celebrate, no? Perhaps a dinner out would be nice.”
“Sounds good,” I quickly said, “on one condition.”
“Say it and it will be yours,” he teased.
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