A Promised Fate

by Cat Mann

  Chapter 21

  Battlefield

  Stewing over drink after drink, I was obligated to fulfill my contractual duty for baio, stuck saying hello to people I don't know, thanking them for coming and then listening to them drone on about their likes and dislikes for the new line and the upcoming baio babe store.

  Baio could light up in flames for all I cared.

  At midnight, my sub-par job complete, I stood at the valet stand and waited impatiently for the limo. On the long, lonely ride home, I grew angrier and angrier. I couldn't believe Ava had just taken off without a word, without even a simple goodbye. Her attitude had reached a new level of selfish and by the time the car reached Dana Point, I was furious. My jaw clamped so tightly with rage that the pressure caused a near blinding tension headache. The driver wound slowly up our drive and I jumped out before he was able to come to a complete stop.

  Storming through the front door, I bounded across the entryway and then down hall in search of her. Cold, bare walls with nail heads poking out like miniature Greek Doric columns reminded me of her secrets and the anger inside me bubbled and boiled. Ava had pissed me off more than she ever had before and my hunt for her through the house only fueled my fury.

  I found her sitting in the living room, curled up in a corner of the couch, intensely studying the iPad that was perched on her bump.

  “Tell me now! Now!” I yelled, ready for a fight. I wanted a fight, I welcomed one.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Seething, I ripped the tablet from her hands and tossed it across the room.

  “Get up!” I spat and when she didn’t move, I grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet. “They had our alarm code, Ava. Now who is it? What do they want from you?”

  She pushed away from me and walked off through the house. I followed her, my feet right on her heels and I clamped my fingers around her wrist and flipped her around to face me, backing her into a corner.

  “Don’t ever walk away from me when I’m talking,” I snapped through gritted teeth and that’s when she slapped me across the cheek, not as hard as I think she could have, but hard enough that I lost what very little remained of my self-control. I screamed in her face. I cussed and yelled at my pregnant wife. I demeaned and debased her with insults draped thickly in foul language. I accused her of vicious lies and of hiding the truth from me. I blamed her for what had happened to our house. She pushed away from me and I grabbed her shoulders and pinned her back, holding her hostage. Ava stood up to the plate and fought back. Her eyes turned a deadly black and my skin crawled, goose bumps rushed in a wave across my skin. Ava is a killer, it’s an undeniable fact, a trait that, no matter how hard she might try to escape it, would always remain in her blood.

  With dark and ominous eyes, she locked her fists around my wrists, forced me slowly away from her and took her turn to threaten me. We traded insults at each other like bombs, our living room a battlefield and verbal abuse the weapon of choice. Our words were meant to cut deep and leave scars. No amount of remorse would erase this night.

  Her dark, relentless eyes held me at bay for a brief moment and she turned to leave the living room. I followed her through the house, swearing at her as she slammed door after door in my face. When I turned to leave, she followed me, all the while charging me with being pathetic, shallow and arrogant – and as being the one who was keeping secrets.

  We were beyond being rational. No ideas were exchanged, no issues were resolved – the conflict only got worse. We generated accusations but arrived at no solutions. I refused to tell her who I was, adamantly repeating that it didn’t matter. She denied over and over again having any knowledge about our intruder or about who might be out there waiting for the chance to cause her and our family harm.

  The night seemed endless and at some point, Ava’s anger bubbled over to sadness. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes welled with tears that flowed over the brim and down her cheeks. Her lip trembled and I saw her profound sorrow. I recognized my own guilt and grief and the stark knowledge that I all needed, all I wanted was her. The rest didn’t matter. “Ava…” I went to comfort her and to find comfort for myself.

  “Don't touch me,” she said quietly and turned towards the stairs. I let her go. I watched her climb the stairs and close herself behind the door to our bedroom. My gut churned and the hate I felt for myself surrounded me with its dark curtain. I sagged onto the sofa and tossed my head back and closed my eyes. When I opened them some time later I saw the iPad I had thrown on the chair earlier, rose from the couch and retrieved it to see what she had been looking at when I came upon her in rage.

  I unlocked the screen, and the webpage Ava had been staring at revealed itself. Today in Entertainment’s homepage was thick with coverage from the baio show and a great photo of the two of us that had been taken on the red carpet was front and center. Despite the fact that we were angry at each other all evening, we still smiled and our eyes were warm. Our fight hadn't meant we weren’t in love. She still looked happy in my arms.

  I followed the link to Ava’s interview with Olivia Chavez. Margaux had granted Olivia an exclusive talk with Ava. This would be the first time the public had ever even heard the sound of Ava’s voice. The first time that Ava would speak publicly about anything. Olivia had been allowed five questions and each question had been subject to my approval. We had spent days going back and forth isolating the most appropriate, generic and baio specific questions -- nothing personal, nothing off topic, and absolutely no Damien Kakos. It was understood that Olivia would follow a strict script, compliment Ava on her dress and ask who the designer was, congratulate Ava on the pregnancy and then lead in to the new children’s line, thank Ava for her time and wish her a nice evening.

  At first, the interview started the way it was supposed to.

  “Olivia Chavez reporting live from the tenth annual baio fashion show! I am thrilled to be talking with the one, the only baio heiress, Ava Alexander. Ava you’re stunning! I love this dress.”

  “Thank you, Olivia.” Ava smiled a bright, shining white smile.

  “Not only do I love, love, love this dress, but I am really digging your latest accessory.” She motioned to the Ava’s cute baby belly.

  “Tell us, who’s the designer?”

  “Well, the dress is a baio, of course, and the baby bump is an original Alexander.”

  I smiled as I watched Ava’s perfect grace and polished beauty on screen.

  “Speaking of Baby Alexander, you and your husband are expecting the birth of your second child and with this blessing comes the launch of a new children’s line. Can you give TIE a comment about what we can expect from baio babe?”

  Ava rattled off a short, general statement about the line. In truth, she was against the idea of baio babe. She didn’t want her kids attached to the baio spotlight the way that she had been growing up.

  Olivia nodded and her gold chandelier earrings bobbed and danced at her shoulder line. “Your scars have healed, your smile is bright again, Ava, you are a week away from the one year anniversary of your kidnapping by Damien Kakos. You’ve never spoken of your experiences -- care to shed a little light on the week you were savagely held hostage? Can you give the viewers of TIE a glimpse of the hell you went through?”

  “That bitch.” I mumbled under my breath and watched with apprehension at the two women on screen.

  Ava’s eyes narrowed and her forehead crumpled. She tried to hold on to her composure but I could see the crack forming in her façade. Ava’s pretty lips faltered and dropped downwards. She looked nervously over her shoulder. She was looking for me. Her glance darted along the corridor like a scared animal.

  “Ava? The world wants to know.”

  Claw her eyes out Ava.

  “Um.” Ava stuttered and Olivia shoved the microphone closer into her face.

  Ava cupped the scarred and tattooed flesh on her left wrist and she rubbed her sk
in anxiously with her fingers. The brink of an anxiety attack flashed in her eyes and her mind took her back to the dark and scary place that I had promised her she would never have to go to again.

  “I, uh, I don’t wish to comment on that.”

  It’s okay, Baby. I’m so sorry.

  “Give us one comment.”

  Ava smacked the mic away from her face and rushed away in a near run. I closed out of the web page and tossed the iPad back to the end of the sofa.

  That stupid interview that I made her do had driven her from the show without saying anything to me. I couldn't believe I had put her so carelessly in that position and I was numb with the knowledge that I had then come home and wielded my anger like a spear about her head.

  I crept up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door.

  She cried into a pillow, tiny whimpers choked out from her chest.

  “Ava? I don’t know where to begin … I don’t know how to fix this. What do I do now? How do I make this right between us?”

  She didn’t answer me.

  “Baby?” Warily, I nudged her shoulder with no response.

  “Oh…”

  Ava had fallen asleep, and she was having a nightmare -- the one that made her sad.

  I stripped down to my boxers and snuck into bed beside her. One hand was tucked away under her pillowcase and the other was spread out protectively over her tummy. She whimpered and her eyelids fluttered as her mind took her somewhere I didn’t understand, somewhere that I was clueless about. With extreme caution, I inched closer to her in bed and spread my fingers on her stomach beside her hand. I pressed my lips on her crumpled and messy bed head and whispered “I’m sorry,” until the gulls squawked at dawn.