Mikalo's Grace

by Syndra K. Shaw

  "Of course he would be quiet. Of course he would be discreet. Of course he would do whatever he needed her to do. And of course one of the last things she'd want him to do is tell you."

  "How do you know all this?" I asked. "How did you find out? I mean, it's not like you're down here all the time hanging out in coffee shops or something, right?"

  She stopped, her mind rolling.

  She spoke.

  "I have a friend, he works in fashion, he knows of Mikalo, he knows of you, he knew of this. End of story."

  "I had no --"

  "End of story."

  She turned and walked toward the park.

  I caught up with her.

  "You could have told me, Deni. I mean, this friend, he sounds like a great --"

  "You could have asked," she said, her voice rising. "You could have stepped outside yourself and your broken heart and your sadness and your constant, persistent drama, and you could have asked."

  Gesturing toward the coffee shop,

  "One of Mikalo's closest friends sits with a busted up face and all you can wonder is why you didn't know? Think about it."

  She was quiet, her eyes watching me as she waited for, I don't know, an answer. For me to speak. Say something.

  But there was nothing to say.

  "I love you, Ronan," she then said. "I really do. Like a sister. You know that. You're family. You are. I would be lost without you. I cherish you. I do.

  "But not everything in this world involves you or includes you or is about you."

  She buttoned up her coat, pulling the brilliant yellow silk scarf close to her chin.

  "Take your head out of your ass," she continued, "and start looking around. Life will look a hell of a lot better once you do."

  And, turning, she walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I couldn't sleep.

  Not only did Deni's words haunt me, so did Virginie's battered, wounded face. Her blackened eyes. And Mikalo's sincerity and kindness. His tenderness as his fingers cupped her chin, lifting her to him. The beauty of his smile as he gazed at her.

  And of course Deni was right. I had been totally OCD and self-obsessed and over-dramatic about everything the past few days. Or weeks. Or years.

  I turned over and pushed my face into the pillow.

  Oh damn. It smelled like Mikalo. His sweat, his skin. His supple flesh and firm muscle. The heat of his breath and the taste of him under my tongue.

  I wish he was here.

  Stop it! This is not about you!

  I flipped back onto my back, my eyes watching the dark ceiling above.

  But it was, in a way. It was about me. Sort of.

  I mean, I had feelings. My heart was hurting. I missed him and ached for him and, really, a quick phone call to let me know he was still in New York and he was okay and just spending time with a friend would've been nice.

  Oh, who am I kidding?

  Knowing me, I would've wanted to know what friend and who and where? And why? And who is this again? Is she pretty? Is she rich? Famous? Skinny?

  And when can I see you? I miss you. Are you okay? Do you miss me?

  And who is this friend again?

  Yeah, good call on his part. Totally the right thing to do, not calling me. Knowing he had chosen someone else over me would have been a worse nightmare than just being kept in the dark.

  Deni was probably right. I had been too OCD and depressed and obsessed about Mikalo. Work was suffering, my life was suffering, everything just feeling out of place unless he was there.

  I definitely needed practice when it came to balancing relationships and work.

  With Benjamin, it had been easy. His work on Wall Street had him leaving at the crack of dawn and not returning until sometimes late at night. And it was clearly understood that I was not to call him or disturb him in any way, shape or form during the day. Unless it was a huge emergency. And even then there was a question mark over what constituted an emergency.

  Benjamin had made it easy. Break the rules and you suffer the consequences. The condescension, the sighs, the silence. And finally the door of the home office as he closed it, locking it behind him. Locking you out.

  Mikalo's kindness made it tough. The temptation was there to lose myself in him in a way it never was with Benjamin because I know Mikalo would welcome it. Benjamin would have been annoyed and irritated. Would have reminded me, once he emerged from the office to lie next to me in bed, how trapped he felt and how he never really wanted this relationship in the first place.

  Had taken pity on me because I had turned on the "water works". So, he had married me because it felt like the right thing to do.

  And now he was stuck.

  It had never occurred to him that I felt stuck and trapped, too.

  I didn't feel that with Mikalo.

  This was ridiculous, I thought as I kicked the sheets away and got out of bed. There is no way I'm sleeping tonight. Besides, it's almost morning anyway. Might as well get up and get going. Hit the office early and make up lost time.

  Definitely call Deni and apologize. Let her know I cherish and treasure her, too, and appreciate her honesty and candor. As always.

  We'd had our bumps before, she and I. And we always came through.

  We would this time, too.

  As for my Mikalo, well, he knows where I live and he knows where I work and he has all my numbers. So, the ball is in his court. I'm here if he wants me, but I have a life to return to.

  No more waiting around.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He had been waiting for me.

  Coffee in hand, he was sitting on my stoop when I opened the front door and stepped outside.

  And now we walked through Central Park, our breath rising in delicate clouds of steam as we talked in the crisp morning air.

  "We are not over," he was saying.

  I remained silent, sipping my coffee.

  "The Firm, they wish to see me three days from now, on Thursday.

  "So," he continued with a shrug," we will then see what is to happen."

  "I want you to stay in New York," I said, surprising myself.

  He looked over at me and smiled.

  "This I want as well, my Grace."

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  And then quickly took another sip of coffee, the only obvious deterrent to me once again opening my mouth and possibly inserting my Manolo-shod foot.

  "A bird of worry is again around your head," he continued. "You want to speak?"

  I shook my head no.

  And took another sip.

  "Ah," he said, looking out over the park as we walked.

  He sipped his coffee and then sighed.

  "It was difficult not talking with you, my Grace," he then said. "But life, it was difficult, too."

  "You don't need to explain --"

  "You are worth that, no?"

  He was right. I was.

  I let him speak.

  "Virginie, my friend. You met her. She was hurting and, like a brother, I go. Her husband, this Alfredo, he is angry because in her job, sometimes she shows her body, yes? There is a lot of money she makes, but sometimes she is naked for the photographer. It is life and, for Virginie, it is work.

  "But Alfredo? This makes him unhappy, so he hits. I go to Virginie, I toss Alfredo out like a piece of garbage to the street, and then she cries. I let her. It is good."

  "I understand, Mikalo. And I'm so sorry. I hope she's doing okay."

  "Her face, it will heal. Her heart?"

  He shrugged and lifted his coffee to take another sip.

  His knuckles were scraped. I hadn't noticed that before.

  "Will she leave him?"

  He shrugged again.

  "I say yes, but Virginie? It is a process. I think she will choose yes. She will not let him into the home and she will go to Paris soon -- alone --, I think. She has many around her who love and will remind her of what is right and what is wrong. Alfredo,
he is wrong.

  "But this, it is not a decision for me."

  "Thank you for telling me," I said, my hand taking his. "I can certainly understand why she wouldn't want you to tell anyone."

  "Oh no," he quickly said. "She said 'Call her'. Tell you where I was.

  "But you, you have so many questions and, perhaps, you would not believe me. So it was better, I think, to give her all of my heart for a time and then, when there were no more tears and she smiled again, to come and offer to you my heart again.

  "This was right, no?" he asked, pulling me close.

  I nodded.

  What else was I going to say? That I went nuts? Was certain I'd been abandoned? Had gone all the way down to the Village to spy on him and Virginie as he comforted her?

  A nod was easier.

  "It is good to be with you again," he was saying. "This, this feels good."

  He stopped and gathered me close, his arms around me, his eyes watching mine.

  We kissed.

  His lips resting on my forehead as he held me near, he spoke, his words warm against my skin.

  "Yes, this is good."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There were violins, of course. A quartet playing softly as they sat discreetly in a corner surrounded by the buzz of conversation.

  And there were maids, their uniforms crisp, their smiles warm, the hors d'oeuvres balanced on heavy silver platters delicate and delicious.

  And there was champagne.

  A lot of champagne.

  "I'm throwing a party," Deni had said yesterday. "Tomorrow night. My place, say seven-ish or so. Blazen, Jeffords, Waxman, White, and any other Partner I can arm wrestle into coming will be there. A few celebrities for eye candy. An author or two for some smarts.

  "And you and Mikalo, of course."

  "Sounds like fun," I had responded.

  "Fun?" she had said with a laugh. "This isn't fun. It's business. The business of kicking Mikalo's ass from number two on Blazen's list to number one.

  "So be there. Look gorgeous, do your best to make him as presentable as possible," she teased, "and walk into that room hand-in-hand."

  Oh shit, it hadn't occurred to this would be the public unveiling of Us.

  "You know, --" I had began.

  "Unless you plan on not seeing him anymore, which I don't think is the case, or you continue to see him, but only if he's kept hidden in a box somewhere, everyone's going to know eventually, so don't even think of backing out now.

  "You're only as vulnerable as your secrets, Ronan. Ditch the secret and you kill anyone's ability to use it against you."

  She was right.

  And now here we stood in Deni's lavish apartment.

  Or at least here I stood.

  Mikalo stood talking with Deni in the corner, their bodies too close for comfort.

  Snatching a bite of cheesy, doughy goodness from a passing tray, I shoved the fifteenth or sixteenth hors d'oeuvre in my mouth, chewed quickly, and then took a healthy swallow of champagne.

  What the hell were they talking about over there?

  Deni threw back her head and laughed, her arm briefly on Mikalo's shoulder.

  I turned away, reminding myself that I had his heart. That I was still "my Grace".

  And this was Deni. I could trust Deni. I could trust Mikalo.

  I just wish I could trust myself to stop worrying, stop being afraid, and stop expecting the worst.

  It was becoming annoying, even to me.

  "You keep knocking those back, and I'll be calling you a cab."

  Blazen stood with his wife Susan.

  "I'm good," I said. "Just never quite sure what to do at these things, you know?"

  "Oh, I know," Susan said. "I can't tell you how many pounds I put on at these things. Sometimes it's just party after party.

  "They're so small, you see," she then said as yet another tray of delicious treats passed our way, "And you think 'oh, it's only one or two or three, it can't possibly matter'. And then --"

  She blew her cheeks out, making her very thin face look fat, and then playfully crossed her eyes.

  "Suddenly you're nine hundred pounds!"

  And then she laughed.

  "Susan, dear," Bill quietly said, stopping her.

  She turned to me, grabbing my arm.

  "Not that you are, my dear. Oh no, no, no. You're as beautiful as ever. That's not at all what I meant or was saying or alluding to or --"

  Bill turned to her.

  "Could you?" he interrupted, handing her his glass.

  She paused briefly, smiling apologetically.

  "Of course," she said. "I'll be right back. Pardon me."

  He waited a moment before speaking.

  "She didn't mean anything --"

  "No, of course not," I said. "It's just, I don't know, idle hands or something. I'm full, though. I've had enough."

  He nodded, smiling, before looking across the room at Mikalo and Denis.

  "And once again that gal of yours Deni throws a hell of a party on literally no notice. Susan spends weeks planning these things. Carefully. Meticulously. Deni? Two, three hours? And they're always a hit."

  "It helps when you know everyone and everyone you know owes you one thing or another."

  "Yeah, I guess it would," he said, laughing.

  "And you and Mikalo are an item, I take it?" he then asked.

  I paused.

  Whatever came out of my mouth next could either make things incredibly complicated or blissfully easy.

  "Yes."

  "Ah," he answered. "I see. And this will continue, I take it?"

  "Is there any reason why it shouldn't?" I asked.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact," the voice behind me said, the tone cruel and condescending, lacking in both humor and warmth.

  I turned to find Abigail White. Senior Partner. Litigation.

  Her dark hair pulled painfully into its usual tight bun, her outfit black and impeccable, her suspiciously smooth face as welcoming as an ice cold block of granite.

  "There most certainly is," she continued, a small sneer on her red lips.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "Abby," Bill began --

  "Abigail," she spat, correcting him, her eyes still on mine.

  "As you may not know," she continued, ignoring him, "being as young as you are -- and yet somehow still Partner, if you can imagine that --, Blankfein, Reynolds doesn't look kindly on fraternization between its employees, Miss Grace."

  "I'm aware of that," I answered, my tongue feeling thick as all those glasses of champagne started catching up with me.

  I breathed deep, steadying myself.

  Rodney Jeffords, the second Partner at M&A with Blazen, now stood near, listening.

  As did Susan Waxman. Another partner. Real estate. A woman who was too thin with hair that was too red and a demeanor that was too masculine even for New York law.

  "I'm well aware of that," I repeated, returning Miss White's stare.

  Across the room, Mikalo and Deni laughed, her hand again on his shoulder.

  I felt my cheeks growing red.

  "Then it's settled, isn't it," she said, looking to Blazen and then Jeffords. "Obviously the wise choice for this coveted position would be Marcus."

  "Your son-in-law to be," Blazen said.

  Abigail's smile froze briefly, her hand clutching her drink.

  "You honestly don't think we don't know who he is?" he continued.

  "No, of course you would know who he is," she answered through gritted teeth, her insincere smile still in place. "And my connection to him. But it's my daughter who's fucking him. I'm certainly not."

  The champagne hit. And hit hard.

  I spoke.

  "No, you're just fucking your long-suffering assistant, Richard."

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Everyone else froze, their hearts in their throats.

  "C'mon, Ronan," Bill then said, his hand on the small of my back as he tried to lead me away
.

  "I mean, are we going to talk about that?" I continued, resisting him, shaking him free. "Who's going to talk about that? About the summer vacations, the two of them off to Rome and Berlin and Zurich and god knows where else for the past, what, five years? Six years?"

  "Ten years," Blazen offered, his eyes low.

  "Ten years worth of fraternization, Abby," I said, now looking at her. "Ten years worth of expensive fucking. And all of it on the company dime."

  "Or Jeffords," I said, my voice calm. "I'm sorry, Rodney, but if Abby insists we talk about fraternization, then we have to mention the secret door in your office, right? The one that leads straight to --"

  "Enough!"

  Miss Waxman stepped forward, her eyes glaring, her red hair shining like some bright cherry flavored soda concocted in some laboratory somewhere.

  "You've made your point, Ronan," Jeffords, his voice surprisingly quiet, finally said.

  "Hey, listen, I'm not trying to embarrass anyone or air dirty laundry or something," I insisted. "Who cares what you do and with who? I sure as hell don't.

  "But when one finds happiness, true happiness, and love -- and God knows, Abby, you are not an easy woman to love, that's for damn sure --, should one's career suffer? Should anyone's career suffer? Love and life and relationships are tough enough as it is, you know?"

  "We give so much of ourselves to what we do," I said, continuing. "We rarely see family, miss holidays, birthdays. Even our own. But we do it, we miss all of that and spend our lives apologizing to those we love and never see, because we love what we do and we're committed to what we do.

  "To find someone you want to spend time with, to maybe even love, even if they work here, is that such a bad thing?

  "Look, I believe Mr. Delis has an incredible future," I finished, glancing toward this Mr. Delis and my best friend Deni once again deep in conversation, his head tilted toward hers as she spoke. "And I believe he could do great things, great things, with us at Blankfein.

  "Please don't punish him for following his heart. Or punish me for finding mine."