Love Takes Your Breath Away

by Caleigh Hernandez

  “Get ready?

  “Where are we going? I don’t know if I’m up for going out,” I whine.

  “Nonsense,” Mazzy asserts. “Diego’s got a wonderful few days planned for you and you’re going to do them, enjoy yourself and forget the pity party you’d be throwing for yourself if you didn’t have us fabulous people loving you.”

  I’m not typically this weak. The one exception is someone leaving me. Not just someone, someone important. And Diego is immeasurably someone important. In fact, he’s my everything. I can feel my mood slipping. Mazzy’s right. Diego wants me to enjoy myself and knowing him, he’s concocted the perfect arrangement of activities designed to help with the hole his absence creates.

  With a sigh, I plop myself down on the couch next to her, certain the furniture has never been bounced on the way I just did. “Okay, then…I ask again, where are we going? What are we doing?”

  “I do believe that is for us to know and you to find out,” she resorts to playground taunting and sticks her tongue out.

  “Can I at least know how to dress? What to wear?”

  “Sure, but it’s not like you have a choice in the matter. Diego literally had me plan these next seventy-two hours or so, down to the dress…in tonight’s case.” Pointing in the direction of a set of double doors just off the living area of the suite, “That’s your room. Tonight’s ensemble is already laid out.”

  I kick off my shoes and push off the couch. I chug back the final sip in my glass and wiggle it at Mazzy. The universal signal that, This cup is empty. Please fill it.

  I make my way to my room. After the lavishness of the lobby, nothing surprises me, even the gold leafing on the walls. No doubt it’s real gold.

  I spot the satin dress I wore the other night on the yacht for our going away dinner. Memories of that night spark a longing in my loins, heating me from the inside out. I certainly hope dancing isn’t on tonight’s agenda. This dress is ridiculously too short for that.

  I spot a card on the dresser. In Diego’s beautiful scroll writing is my name. I tear into the card, eager for another message from my absent husband.

  Mi Bella,

  Wear the dress just like you did the other night and think of me.

  Tu Santo

  Well, now I’m certain we’re not dancing. He would never encourage me to go dancing sans panties.

  Diego’s insistence to do my hair and makeup to take him to the airport, a little clearer now. I’m glad I didn’t put up too much of a fuss. Of course, Diego has a way of talking me into just about anything. The man has a silver tongue only matched by its wickedness. Flashes of his dessert that night on the boat pass through my mind as I discard the t-shirt and Capri sweat pants.

  I slip the dress over my head and let it fall into place. I love the way it just hangs from my body.

  I grab my makeup and head to the en-suite bathroom. I may have done my hair and makeup before, but there’s been some tears shed and without looking, I know that my face can stand to be freshened up.

  No eyeliner on the bottom and waterproof mascara proved to be great decisions on my part. There’s little to touch up, if any. I apply eyeliner to my lower lid and dust my cheeks with some powder.

  I twist to check the back of my dress in the mirror. That’s when I notice the Tiffany-blue box on the counter.

  I slip the white bow from the box and remove the lid. Taking out the velvet pouch inside, I loosen the ties and empty the contents into my hand. To my surprise, a locket with charms, inside and out, decorate the exquisite surprise.

  Inside the platinum pendant are the diamond encrusted numbers 2, 4, and 7—24/7, his soccer number and my lucky number seven, a soccer ball, a diamond jeweled single music note, a black guitar, and a silver heart with the word amor engraved on it. Dangling from the outside is a large lily flower charm inset with diamonds and rubies and the perfect charm for my saint, a stick figure with a crooked halo. The plate that makes the background of the pendant reads always.

  “Hey,” Mazzy interrupts my inspection. So wrapped up in taking in the significance of the gift, I didn’t hear her come in. “You almost ready? We need to leave in fifteen.”

  “Just finished the touch ups. Did you see this?” I hold the charm up for her to see.

  “Of course,” she says, like it’s a silly thing to ask. She pulls a box out from behind her. “It goes on this.” It’s multi-layered platinum chain with a special spot to hang the locket. Mazzy fits the necklace into place and clasps it for me. I work to snap on the charm, it lands just at the peak of my cleavage.

  “Wow!” we hear from behind us. I look up into the mirror to the stare of Sebastian. “As if the girls don’t draw enough attention on their own, that not-so-little locket just screams, ‘Look here!’”

  After Sebastian’s appraisal, I make a mental note to take a pic of the necklace to send to Diego. If I’m drunk enough, I’m sure it will be rated Diego…nude. I chuckle to myself.

  I swipe the errant tear that welled up as I examined the beyond perfect gift from my ever thoughtful husband.

  Mazzy hands me a tissue from the box on the counter. She’s got one of those grins that tells me this is just the beginning, and with a shake of her head she’s ushering me out the en-suite bathroom and through the master suite and out to the waiting Sebastian.

  We make quick work of a pre-party glass of champagne with our customary toast, “We don’t love them hoes.” I barely have time to put down my glass before they’re herding me through the hotel suite’s double doors to the elevator and down to the lobby.

  Except we’re not in the lobby. According to the floor indicator we’re at the mezzanine floor. The mirror surface of the elevator walls and doors show me that my confusion is written all over my face.

  Making eye contact with Mazzy in the reflective surface, she simply says, “You know Diego,” with a shrug of her shoulders.

  It’s amazing what those three words really mean. There is no detail too small, no obstacle too challenging to detour him from doing—getting, what he wants.

  As we exit the elevator, I can hear soft music coming from just behind the Grand Ballroom’s doors. There’s not a soul in sight. Truly, this looks like a scene out of one of those monster movies I refuse to watch with Diego.

  My nerves are set to high. I’m on edge and the unknown is working a number on my pulse. Now at the sets of double doors to the ballroom, I can hear that it was a lonely guitar playing. At the moment, it sounds as if the guitarist is tuning the guitar.

  As if on a sensor, both doors of the central set to the ballroom swing outward with two hotel employees ushering us in.

  The ballroom is even grander than the name suggests. Floor to ceiling, the walls are draped with semi-sheer white cloth with parts that sparkle in the dimly lit space. Aside from the minimal hotel staff and us, the rather large room is devoid of any other patrons.

  The main source of light is a grand chandelier just at the edge of the stage at the back of the ballroom. The lights make the attached crystals sparkle casting a celestial blanket over the stage and the couch that sits front and center with a small table displaying a bottle of bubbly on ice with champagne flutes.

  Diego. It’s not a question. It’s an answer. The answer.

  We make our way to the couch. Mazzy and Sebastian look like they’re about to burst. They’re internal struggle with the excitement for whatever surprise Diego has planned has me giggling.

  “You two look like you’re about to explode. Care to enlighten me?” I prod.

  “Oh, Izzy,” Baz starts, “you’ll see.” His eyes twinkle. You’d think that this was for him. I love seeing him this happy. So often there’s a bit of a shadow that hangs over him, the sight of his gleeful smile is heartwarming.

  Comfortably seated between my two best friends, one of our attendants is filling our glasses while the other takes to the stage in front of us. He patiently waits for us to be situated with our glasses.

  “Good evening
ladies and gentleman,” I just realized it’s not the other attendant. It’s Brian. “Tonight, Mr. Santo has a fantastic evening of entertainment planned for you. So, without further ado, Mia Devereux.”

  “Holy shit!” It’s out of my mouth before I can reel it in. All eyes are on me and the besties are silently laughing at my reaction to the surprise.

  Mia was this brilliant musician I’d had the pleasure of seeing while I was in Chicago awhile back writing about local musicians in the Windy City. We’d started a cordial correspondence through email and talked about her coming out to Los Angeles to record something with one of my producers. It never happened, but I was excited to hear she had an album releasing this summer.

  Now, sitting on the lone stool on stage is Mia with her acoustic guitar.

  “Hi, Izzy,” she starts. Words escape me. All I can muster is a wave. “Judging by your stunned silence, this is every bit the surprise your husband said it would be.” She chuckles. “Well, I won’t make you wait any longer.”

  Mia’s playlist was an acoustic version of a love letter using all the songs Diego and I say they’re singing about us. At one point, Mia sat down her guitar and sang along with a man masterfully playing the ukulele in an island version of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.” This was my favorite. I played this for Diego when we started dating.

  When Mia was done, she sat down with us as we finished bottle after bottle of the bubbly. At one point, they convinced me to sing. I was certainly too Drizzy for that to happen. I don’t have the worst voice, but it’s not something I like to hear very often.

  What was originally a sweet serenading by Mia at the behest of my excessive, but sweet husband, turned into a mini after party with Brian the bellhop and a couple of guys from Mia’s crew joining us. When we saw the sky shift from twilight to the breaking of dawn, we took the gathering to the balcony of the ballroom.

  We continued to sip champagne as we watched the sun rise on what could’ve been an incredibly depressing night. Instead, I was serenaded with love songs and distracted from the knowledge of Diego’s increasing distance from me, surrounded by great friends and new ones alike.

  ****

  After the few weeks of shopping and hanging with Mazzy and Baz and tying up loose ends with my music label stateside, saying goodbye to them was more difficult than when I sent Diego off across the pond. It stands to reason, as I ponder the whys.

  With them, it’s as close to forever apart that I could ever survive. When Diego left, it was just a matter of time until we were back together. When I said goodbye to Mazzy and Baz, while it wasn’t forever, it would be awhile before I’d hug them again.

  Without Diego, I didn’t muster the clout to talk my way into having my friends go through airport security with me. So, we said our goodbyes in front of the metal detectors and scores of impatient travelers.

  When it was my turn to place my bags on the scanner belt and walk through the metal detector, I felt like the hot mess I’m sure I looked like on the outside. The streams of tears flowed from my eyes freely.

  I start my turn through the body-scanning machine and hear, coming from behind me, “Did we ever tell you you’re our hero.” Mazzy and Baz crooned out at the outskirts of security. “You’re everything we would like to be.” They continued on until I was out of sight. I looked like a mad woman, uncontrollable tears with an awkward smile reminiscent of Jack Nicolson as Joker in Batman.

  Sitting on the plane waiting to take off, I’m no better off. Still wrestling with the water flow from my eyes, I take comfort knowing I’m a not-so-quick flight from being in the arms of my love.

  Chapter Nine:

  Reunited and It Feels So Good

  “Izabella Santo, where have you been all my life?” He swoops me into his muscular arms giving me a big squeeze before dipping me low to the ground and planting one of his trademark kisses that make the female onlookers swoon and stamp a mark of ownership to ward off the male ones.

  Before he can finish the kiss, I choke back a sob and he quickly uprights me. The water works have started again and I couldn’t tell you why.

  “Izzy,” he says my name like a question. “Why are you crying?”

  I smile through my tears. How do I explain this to him? “I don’t know. I,” start and stop. “I just missed you so much and now that I’m with you and happy to see you I feel guilty because I was so sad leaving Mazzy and Baz,” I ramble out, “and—,” I trail off.

  “Mi bella, it’s all going to be okay. You and Mazzy have plans in just a few short weeks and well, no one really misses Baz that bastard.” He knows humor at the expense of Baz always makes me smile. “Come on. It’s 7 o’clock on Sunday morning. Let’s call them. They’ll appreciate the wakeup call.”

  “You know that’s not true,” I sniffle out. “Neither of those two can be bothered to get out of bed before noon on work days. What makes you think they’ll answer?”

  “Iz, you just spent almost twelve hours in a tin can,” throwing in some air quotes, “I think if my face shows up on their phones they’ll be quick to answer.”

  Making our way through Heathrow Airport, he dials Baz’s phone.

  “Diego? Is Izzy there?” he’s on speakerphone.

  “What’s going on, Baz?” we hear Mazzy in the background.

  “Everything’s fine. Just proving a point to Izzy,” chuckles out Diego. “Luego.” He hangs up.

  Before he can say anything to me his phone’s ringing. It’s Baz.

  “What the fuck, Diego?” That’s what all of Heathrow hears when Diego answers on speaker.

  I grab the phone from Diego and take it off speaker. “Untwist yourself, bitch. I was feeling a bit emotional,” I look up at Diego. “Okay, a lot emotional and Diego thought waking you two morning lovers would help cheer me up. And wouldn’t ya know it, he was right.

  “Now, do ya want to go back to sleep or chit-chat at seven o’clock in the morning? I’m good—.”

  “Why were you a lot emotional, Iz?” It’s Mazzy. Baz must have had me on speaker.

  “Oh, Mazzy…I was so happy to see Diego and then I felt bad ‘cause I still missed you,” going with the straightforward. Any attempts at deflection and avoidance will only make her push harder for the truth.

  “So, are we done feeling sorry for ourselves now? Seriously, Iz. You’re reunited with your hunk of a husband and you’re worried about missing Baz? Really, I promise you’re not missing much. And me? What’s not to miss?”

  “Hardy-har-har. I’m hanging up now. I can’t wait to get my hunk of a husband naked.”

  “Atta girl. Now, do be sure to do things I would do. Twice. I love you Izzy Pop and I’ll see you in about three weeks.”

  “So much, so much.”

  I hand Diego back his phone and a text message flies onto the screen. I don’t mean to do it, but I register the name on the screen. Sasha S.?

  Diego sees the text. “Iz, can you give me a sec? It’s the boss.”

  While we continue to make our way through the airport, Diego calls the owner of the team. There’s a bunch of the general agreeable affirmations. “Yes, sir.” “I look forward to it, sir.” He genuinely sounds excited.

  We’re curbside now, but before I can interrupt Diego from his call, a man—whom I presume is our driver, is waving us—me—in his direction. Diego places his hand on the small of my back guiding me towards the car. He’s hanging up as I’m lowering myself into the waiting limousine.

  Diego thanks Alfred as he glides in behind me.

  Holy crap! His motion was so fluid, watching him carry out the simple task of getting in the car was unnerving. In loose fitting jeans that hang low on the hips and a plain white tee that rises with the movement of his arms, the effortless task showed off the top of his delectable V and I can’t stop the groan that slips by my lips.

  I whip my head to see if Diego heard my very audible appraisal. The grin on his face tells me everything I need to know. His eyes tell me so much more.
There’s a promise for right here, right now. A yearning for something he’s had to live without. A hunger for something more than hurried and frantic. His eyes tell me that he intends to take it slow. That once he starts, we’re not going to come up for air until we’re both replete from our fill of the other.

  The slight nod of my head my wordless affirmation.

  “Alfred,” Diego addresses the driver, “I’d like to show Izzy London. Would you mind giving her the quick tour of London?”

  “A tour of London it is, sir.”

  “Thank you, Alfred.”

  And with that, Diego pushes the button that closes us off from Alfred.

  “Izabella, mi bella preciosa, are we going to need some music?” He quirks an eyebrow up. What he’s really asking is if I’m going to be loud or quiet. My answer will shock him.

  “Make it loud and bumping. We’ve got some catching up to do.” I flash him my megawatt come and get it smile and he’s on me. Hands tightly fisted in my hair, I’m robbed of my next breath as Diego’s mouth closes around mine.

  We work each other up to a breathless frenzy with every swirl and push of our tongues. A silent assault on our ability to take everything and leave nothing untouched. I hastily shove up Diego’s t-shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin and the rigidity of his muscles. Heat culminates in my core with the skin to skin contact. With his shirt up around his neck, he’s as reluctant as I am to break the connection between our intertwining lips.

  Taking the initiative, I pull back the distance needed to remove his shirt the rest of the way and just as quickly remove my own. Eliminating the need to separate again, we fuse back together with matched senses of urgency.

  It’s easy to get lost in the kiss. It’s as if breathing got exponentially easier with our lips twisting, sucking, pulling. Our tongues tangling as if our next breaths depend on it.

  Diego’s hands have made their way to the waist of my yoga pants. He hooks his thumb behind the elastic band and digs his other fingers into my hips; his cue for me to lift myself so he can further undress me.