The Saints of the Cross

by Michelle Figley

  “What are you trying to insinuate?” I say and feel my cheeks go flush.

  “You know what I’m referring to, Corazón, so don’t act like you don’t.”

  I flick my eyes sideways to Xander, and he’s looking even more confused than he did earlier. He’s studying Javier intently.

  “I have no idea what he’s talking about. Nothing happened,” I say to Xander, but I’m keeping my eyes trained on Javier, because I have the distinct feeling he’s up to something. I have the urge to grab Xander’s hand and run, so that Javier can’t say anything else poisonous. “Javier, I’m leaving right now, and I don’t want you to follow me.”

  I move toward Xander, but he’s firmly planted in place. He’s not going anywhere.

  “Come on,” Javier sighs in exasperation. “You can continue lying to spare his feelings, or you can do the right thing and tell him the truth.”

  “What truth is that?” Xander asks, with an edge to his voice. For the first time, I’m afraid. What if Xander doesn’t forgive me for losing my mind in that hotel room? I did kiss Javier, after all. I was confused then. I’m not confused anymore.

  “She’s in love with me,” Javier says to Xander. “She’s going to marry me after graduation.”

  “What?” My jaw is on the ground. “I never said that, Javier!”

  “Come on, cousin,” Xander says, a smirk crossing his face. “I know for a fact that’s not true.”

  Uh oh. What’s he doing?

  “Oh really?” Javier’s tone is just as condescending as Xander’s. “What makes you think that, primo?”

  “Because if she were as in love with you as you say, then what happened between us Friday when she spent the night in my bed would not have happened.”

  !

  Before I even have time to register what has just been revealed, Javier shoves Xander, sending him flying across the room. He crashes into a few tux-clad attendees and lands with a thud on the floor. All eyes in the near vicinity turn on us.

  I spin on my heels to yell at Javier to leave, but before I can open my mouth, a fist flies past my face, and a blond blur whizzes by me. It’s Christian, and his right hook has leveled Javier to the floor. He and Jude are kicking the shit out of him and shouting obscenities that would curl a sailor’s hair.

  I am paralyzed with shock for a few seconds, and the room is in utter chaos. Camilla is helping Xander back to his feet, and Laurel is standing next to me in her red-satin ball gown, mascara running down her face, screaming for Jude to stop. All of this happens within the span of two minutes. I look at Xander, who is standing with Camilla’s arms wrapped around him. He’s watching me, waiting to see what I do. I make a decision that I’m probably going to regret.

  I run up to Christian and grab his arm. “Stop, Christian, you’re going to kill him!”

  “Get back, Evie.” He pushes me away and continues his assault on Javier. I wrap my arms around Jude from behind and beg him to stop. Thank God he listens to me and stumbles back over to Laurel. Christian won’t stop. He’s a man possessed, and I have no idea why he’s sticking up for Xander. I’m pretty sure they hate each other.

  The only thing I can do is throw myself over the bloody mess that’s Javier, which is exactly what I do. I pull him close to me, propping his head on my chest. Christian’s leg is hiked up in preparation for the next heel-to-face stomp, when his expression turns to surprise as he realizes I’m going to be the recipient of the brunt of the blow.

  “Evie—” is all he has time to say before two very large spooks in black tuxes grab him by the collar, yanking him about two feet back.

  “What the hell is going on here?” the particularly large one demands. I look around them and see Xander and Jude, arms twisted behind their backs, in the custody of two more agents. Within seconds, we are surrounded. I wobble to my feet and look down at my chest and arms, which are covered in blood. So is Javier’s face. They broke his nose for sure. Maybe there are a couple of teeth missing, too. It’s hard to tell with all that blood.

  Two Secret Service agents grab Javier under the arms and lift him to his feet.

  “Let’s go,” one growls at us, and we are led outside as I hear someone else say, “Sorry for the interruption, folks.”

  Outside, we are handed off to DC Metro police, who are waiting with squad cars. Christian, Jude, and Xander—all handcuffed—are herded into one car, while Javier and I are tossed into another. I open my mouth to protest, but I promptly go quiet when I see the look on the officer’s face; clearly, he’s not putting up with any crap from us tonight. Javier’s sitting with his head propped against the window, and he looks terrible. He’s holding the formerly white handkerchief the cops gave him up to his nose.

  “Put pressure on it,” I tell him. He turns to me with a look that is part hatred, part disappointment. What have I done?

  I rap on the glass partition between the front and back seat. The officer on the passenger side turns and slides the door open.

  “He needs to go to a hospital,” I tell him.

  “Nice try, sis,” the officer laughs. “You two are going to the nearest precinct. Nobody ever died from a broken nose. Trust me.”

  “I’m fine,” Javier says and turns his back to me.

  I say in a small voice, “I have something I need to give you, because I can’t keep it anymore. I don’t want—”

  He snaps around and stares at me. “Stop right there, Evangeline. Don’t say something you’ll regret later. Just give it to me.”

  He extends his free hand out to me, palm up. I reach into my wristlet and my hand wraps around the two rings resting inside a satin pouch. I place the pouch into his palm, and he shoves it down into his pants pocket. He gives me a shake of his head and turns his back to me again.

  “You’re going to change your mind,” he mutters to the window. I want to tell him how wrong he is about that, but I don’t. After what happened tonight, I don’t have the heart. Instead, I just sink down in the seat and pray for this night to hurry up and end.

  We pull up to the precinct, and somehow the other car has already arrived because there’s Christian, Jude, and Xander sitting on a bench inside the main entrance. The two cops who drove us handcuff Javier when we get out of the car, but I’m walking freely next to them. A look of relief washes over Xander’s face when he sees me through the glass entry doors, but then his face goes stony again.

  An officer comes out from around the reception desk when we walk into the precinct. He looks at Javier and wags his head.

  “Jesus Christ, boys,” he says in Xander’s direction, and I think I see a fleeting self-satisfied smirk on Christian’s face. “You might as well take the cuffs off, McCreary. These assholes have diplomatic immunity. The whole lot of ’em.”

  “Lucky bastards,” McCreary says as he uncuffs Javier.

  I open my mouth to say something about my lack of stated diplomatic immunity, but the three guys on the bench frantically shake their heads in unison, so I stay quiet.

  “I want the pretty one to leave first,” the captain says, pointing to Javier. Christian stands before realizing the captain isn’t talking to him. “Not you, blondie. Sit,” he says, motioning to the bench. Jude and Xander crack up at Christian, but go silent again when they catch the captain glaring at them.

  “Gladly,” Javier answers and turns toward the entrance. When he grabs for the doorknob, I feel the unnerving need to reach out and touch him.

  “Javier, I’m sorry—” I stammer, before thinking about the consequences.

  “What the bloody hell?” I hear Christian say behind me, but I don’t turn to look at him.

  Javier stops for a moment with his back to me, hands on the door handle, and then turns to face me. He finally meets my gaze, and there’s nothing remotely resembling love or forgiveness in those fathomless black eyes. Without saying a word—he doesn’t need to, his expression speaks volumes—he turns around and walks out.

  “All right, boys,” McCreary says to
the guys.“Do the rest of you have rides home, or not?”

  I peer through the glass doors into the dark, just as the limo pulls up to the front of the precinct. Javier, still holding the blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose, turns back, and warm relief floods me when I see that his expression has gone soft again. I put my hand to the door, and he lifts his free hand in a brief wave, reminding me of that day at the airport when we first parted. He slides into the back of the limo, and William closes the door. I turn away, because seeing him go like that is putting a dagger through my heart. I open my eyes, and Xander is staring at me, hard. When he realizes I’m staring back, he looks away.

  “Our ride is almost here,” Jude answers. Jude, Christian, and Xander are whispering among themselves, and I take a seat by the door.

  A few minutes later, Laurel comes barreling through the door in her typical dramatic fashion—heels clicking on the tile floor, hips sashaying, hair billowing out behind her— with Camilla hot on her heels. She storms right up to Officer McCreary and, with a face that would send a seasoned assassin running, points a finger right in his face. I realize something; no matter what anyone thinks of her, Laurel has some serious balls, and we all have to respect that.

  “My mother is Katherine Danton, and if you don’t let my friends go, she’ll sue you for everything you’ve got and your great-grandkids will still be paying for it when they die. Understood?”

  “First of all, girlie, take your finger out of my face,” McCreary says, his cheeks turning crimson. “Secondly, are you telling me your grandfather is J.P. Danton?”

  “That’s right.” Laurel indignantly crosses her arms over her chest, face smug.

  “Cuff her, Collins. She’s American. She doesn’t have diplomatic immunity,” McCreary says with a glint in his eye, thumbing toward Laurel.

  “Wait, Officer, wait,” Camilla pleads, stepping between Laurel and Officer Collins. “She’s just upset, that’s all.” She whispers over her shoulder to Laurel, “Stand down, dammit.”

  Will wonders never cease? First, Christian steps in to defend Xander. And now, Camilla is defending Laurel. Could it get any weirder tonight? Officer McCreary’s eyes narrow at Laurel.

  “Get her out of here before I throw the whole lot of you in the clink—to hell with your diplomatic immunity,” McCreary growls, his hands on his holster belt. Collins steps back behind the desk and mutters something about spoiled brats. He’s clearly disappointed at not being allowed to throw the book at us tonight.

  Xander walks up to me and, without blinking, says, “I’m going to ride home with Christian and Camilla. Jude and Laurel will take you home.”

  “What? But—what about the limo?” I stammer, but I know what’s going on. Xander is wounded, just not in the way Javier was. I see it in his eyes. Xander’s fidgeting and uncomfortable, looking to Jude for help. I have to try to fix this. “Xander,” I say, “I’m sorry for—”

  “Don’t,” Camilla interrupts, stepping next to Xander. “It’s not the time or the place. We need to get out of here. Like, yesterday.” She throws a nervous glance back to the desk, where the cops are eyeing us.

  Camilla’s right; this is not the place to be having this discussion with Xander. We need to be alone. I really don’t want to explain myself, why I acted the way I did, in front of all these people.

  “Okay,” I answer. Xander turns and walks out the door behind Camilla and Christian without looking back. I’m left standing here, jaw ajar, staring after them. Jude’s looking at me with a sympathetic face, but Laurel looks like she could strangle me. I don’t blame her; this is all my fault, after all.

  Jude checks his cell phone and says, “Come on, Evie. My brother Jake is here to take us home.” I shuffle past Laurel, who’s glaring at me so intensely that I swear my skin is searing off, and I follow Jude out the door.

  The entire way back to McLean, as I listen to Laurel scolding Jude and blaming him for ruining her good time, all I can think about is how I’m going to get Xander back. I know in my heart that I’ve lost him, and I don’t want to accept that scenario. I can’t lose my rock. Not now. Not ever.

  CHAPTER 26

  What I can’t understand is how I can be so completely and utterly stupid. I haven’t heard from Xander in nearly two weeks, and I don’t blame him. When I went to Javier’s hotel, I pretty much threw everything he’s given me since the day I met him—all the warmth, all the dedication, all the love—right back in his face when I decided to go to Javier’s hotel room. Before I went to the hotel, I knew nothing good would come from that visit. And now this: I’m staring down at a package that just arrived for me via Fed-Ex from Spain.

  All I want to do is to throw the package into the fireplace and torch it, but I know that will never happen. I know it’s from Javier, even though there’s no return address—just the postmark from where he mailed it. No matter how valiantly I try to forget our history together, it’s there with its razor-sharp claws ripping me up from within and turning me inside out. We had something special once; I can’t deny that. I still care about him, or I wouldn’t have thrown myself down on top of his blood-soaked body to save him from Christian’s blind rage. In the process, I’ve alienated Xander.

  I don’t know why I’m sitting in my room, staring at the envelope. I’ve been in here since the Fed-Ex guy dropped it off over an hour ago. If I’d left for the mall as I’d planned, I would’ve missed the delivery, and I wouldn’t have received the package. Grandma Winnie would’ve taken one look at the postmark and thrown it in the trash. It was all I could do to keep Dad and Grandma from storming the Spanish Embassy after what happened at the Youth Ball. They were seriously pissed when they found out that Javier attacked Xander at the Youth Ball. Apparently, they never liked Javier. And that’s putting it mildly.

  So I rip open the Fed-Ex envelope and look inside. There are a few papers, and another letter-sized envelope addressed to me. The documents are written in Spanish and appear to be legal in nature, issued by the government. I’ll have to sit down with my Spanish dictionary to translate them, but there are five addresses; two in Spain, and one each in Italy, New York City, and London. I carefully open the envelope with my name scrawled in blue pen on the front. It’s a handwritten letter from Javier.

  Dearest Corazón,

  I know you said you never want to see me again, that you are done with me, but I can’t help holding out hope that you will realize I never meant to hurt you and that you will change your mind. I have never loved anyone but you. You are my one and only love. You are the reason I will fight to stay alive. I have to believe I’ll have you to come home to from this Godforsaken place when this war is over. It’s all I have, and it’s all I need. I will carry you always in my heart. Please keep the ring.

  Yours Always, Javi

  P.S. Enclosed is a copy of my will and the deeds to the properties I own. I have put them all in your name. If I should not make it out of this, I want you to have everything that’s mine.

  I turn the envelope upside down, and out falls the ring taped onto an index card. Not the ostentatious, four-carat engagement bauble that he gave me in the hotel room, but the heart-shaped treasure that symbolizes his heart and his love for me. With trembling hands, I place it back on my right ring finger and remember the night he gave it to me—how happy I was, how in love we were.

  I was different then. In those days, I worried about one thing only—myself. My biggest fear was losing Javier. I am embarrassed to think of how selfish and immature I was. Now I am overcome with real worries, like the probability that I’ll never find my mother, or meet my biological father—that I’ll let Emma and Ethan, and Mamaw Grayce down because I will fail.

  The prospect of Javier being killed in battle is absolutely mortifying. That’s paramount. Also, I fear that I have damaged Xander as a person. If we split up, will he ever be so selfless again with anyone else? Perhaps he will no longer be the same trusting and loving person because of me and my idiotic choices.

&nbs
p; My cell phone starts ringing, and I glance at the clock on the dresser. I snatch up the phone, and my heart races as I say a silent prayer that it’s Xander calling, but it’s not. It’s Coralea. I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand and clear my throat of the sob caught there.

  “Cora?” I say when I answer the phone.

  “Evie!” Cora’s tone is especially high pitched—her I’ve-got-exciting-news voice. “I’m moving to DC at the end of the month!”

  There’s a few minutes of silence suspended in the two thousand miles between us as I try to collect myself. I need her. I need her here with me more than I can put into words.

  “Evie? Are you—”

  I don’t know if it’s the relief at hearing that my very best friend in the world will be here with me by the end of the month, or the conflict I feel over my feelings for Javier, or the possibility that I’ve forever lost Xander, my rock, but I completely lose it. It’s the kind of sobbing mess that when you see it in a stranger, you wonder who died.

  I manage to pull myself together and launch into the whole sordid tale of what happened at the Inaugural Youth Ball. Coralea is silent the entire time I’m relating the story, which is completely outside the norm for her. I also tell her about the package I received today from Javier. Finally I finish and suck in a deep, replenishing breath. It comes back out as a pathetic little whimper.

  “Evie?” Cora hesitates.

  “Yes?”

  “You know I love you, right? You’re the closest thing I have to a sister, you know?”

  I smile to myself. “Yes, I know.”

  “Well, I hope you realize that I’m here for you,” she says, and I can tell she’s stifling a sob.

  “I know. Thank you.”

  We continue talking about her plans to move here in a month. She tells me that she’ll be attending Georgetown in the fall. She says we should room together when I tell her I’ll probably do the same. I must stay here and help find my mother, so Stanford is completely out of the question now. And to be honest, I’m not sad about that at all. The idea of going to college so far away from home is scary in and of itself. I need my family, and they need me.